My Fella, Our Hero

You know what’s the BEST surprise when you’re serving on an ALA committee, trapped locked sitting in a leaky, claustrophobic hotel conference room FOREVER for three days with a bunch of book addicts, all of whom are desperate for a genre fix and some of whom voted against your nomination one’s esteemed colleagues?


"top pot"

My fella b(r)ought them; we, the committee, eated them:


As you can see. The delivery was perfectly timed, and kicked off a sugar high that resulted in some very giddy, pun-laden annotation writing — and made me worry, briefly, that the subsequent crash would lead to plastic knife fights over “How do you solve a problem like Steampunk?” or “Why is women’s fiction even a thing?” or “OVER MY DEAD BODY will I see Book X take the top spot!”

Fortunately, since we’re reasonably sane and functional adults — or at least, because we are NOT Notables — the rest of our meeting proceeded in cheerful, cordial fashion and business was conducted efficiently. And, as far as I can tell, we still all like each other. At least, I still like my fellow committee members; they’re a fun bunch to discuss books with.

Which is good, because I’ll be sticking around for a bit. I’m next year’s Book Getter, after all.

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