Last Wednesday night Orlando was overrun with women with only one thing on their mind–romance.

The Romance Writers of America Annual Conference was held in a sultry and magical corner of O-town and from the moment I learned it would be here I knew I must be a part of it…one way or another.

I’m not a RWA member yet. I think if–no WHEN–I actually finish my first draft I will feel as if I deserve to be considered a genuine writer instead of just another hopeful hobbyist. Since I am not a card-carrying member I couldn’t attend the workshops, meet and greets, and networking events even if I had coughed up the $500 bucks it cost to attend. I just wish it could have been held here in O-town next year or the year after when I will be ready–and so I wouldn’t have to find the dough for plane fare and hotels in some far-flung city. Oh well, perhaps it will be a fabulous (and tax deductible) excuse for a mini vacation next year…

I wanted to get a feel for what it was like to be surrounded by so many professionals, and secretly hoped some of their insight and talent could be stealthily soaked up by some miracle of osmosis. Luckily a couple of my Book Club Girls decided that we should pay a visit during Wednesday night’s “Readers For Life” Literacy Autographing. My heart audibly palpitated at the thought of being let loose amongst 500 published authors.

Funny thing was, I had never heard of the vast majority of them. Of course I recognized Nora Robers, Jayne Ann Krentz, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Linda Howard since their books regularly grace the NYT Best Sellers List…but I don’t read their books. I discovered that my idea of a romance novel is actually considered Contemporary Women’s Fiction, Chick Lit is a dying genre (oh no!), and trashy bodice-rippers are still heavily en vogue.

I (along with a couple thousand fellow book lovers) arrived armed with book bags, cameras and cash to find ourselves swimming in a sea of estrogen and expectations. Authors were lined up in neat rows, their books stacked in front of them displaying covers illustrated with fanciful images of lust and love.

Most writers had a few fans in front of their tables and seemed delighted to sign stacks of books lovingly presented to them by their admirers. The stars of the show were stationed in the back of the ballroom with lines of eager readers snaking through the crowd.

I hit Meg Cabot’s line at the start of the evening and picked up a signed copy of her latest lively read, Insatiable. I read the book when it was first released last month (checked out from the library, shhh!) so I already knew the spunky, tongue-in-cheek vamp story would be a welcome addition to my collection. Plus it looks good on my bookshelf (cool spine cover art). I was hoping there would be some copies of The Princess Diaries to pick up and have signed (come on, it’s practically a classic now) but I suppose I should have just brought my own since none were available. Anyway, it was fun to finally meet her after following her witty chatter on facebook for a while.

After navigating my longest line of the evening I dropped by Mary Kay Andrews booth. I love her breezy, Southern prose and I had some well-loved (and slightly beat-up) copies of Savannah Blues, Savannah Breeze, and Little Bitty Lies for her to sign. And I had to pass along how much I loved her beach cottage featured in last month’s Better Homes and Gardens.

Next I headed over to visit Jane Porter with a copy of Flirting with Forty. I have only read her “Modern Lit” novels–I had no idea she did Series Romance as well. I had a chance to chat with her for a little while, and found her delightful and down to earth. And she liked my new accidental haircut. (Never get a new hairstyle when voiceless and under the influence of cold meds.) How could I not love her?

But that was it. That was all the authors I had read.

My friends (and MANY other bibliophiles) went looking for some new books and browsed the author booths as if casually perusing a bookstore. I simply could not do it. There was no way I could walk right up to an author’s table, nonchalantly pick up one of her novels (created through weeks, months, or even years of blood, sweat and tears), read the back cover and then just put it down and walk away. OMG–it’s rejecting her right to her face. You might as well be saying her kid is too ugly or dumb for your taste. I was waiting for one writer to cry out, “Why don’t you want to read MY book?”

I hope they have thick skins. I overheard one woman (whose identity I shall protect) say, “NASCAR romances? Even I couldn’t read those…” It seems she was standing not quite far enough from the author, whose eyes widened in horror at the comment. Oops. But I can’t blame her–no way I could read one either.

Instead, I moved within the crowd, secretly coming up with snarky comments about the covers and titles. I read one Harlequin Romance when I was in high school, and it’s just not my thing. But apparently romance novels are still a hot commodity. Stacks of steamy cowboys, counts, princes, and billionaire tycoons (all with glistening abs of steel) stared up at me from the covers. And it seems only a true romance novel can make getting knocked up a story of passion and promise a happy ending.

Keeping up with the trends, vamps and other supernatural beings are hot, with their sultry, sharp teeth and dark, brooding gazes enticing women of all ages to cross over to the dark side.

And we couldn’t help but notice the abundance of Jane Austin related spin-offs. It seems that Mr. Darcy is eternally the epitome of romance…

All in all it was a fun night. I hope to be at the RWA Conference again…only next time with a finished novel and a book deal in the works…