Even though I’m a screenwriter and author, I’m also a reader and a fan of authors and screenwriters whose stories can’t get enough of.

Years ago, that author was Constance O’Day Flannery. She wrote the first time-travel romance novels, which were a huge hit.

That year when I went to a romance writers conference and saw that she would be in attendance, I became excited. I decided I was going to get her autograph, so I packed my favorite book, her first one, into my suitcase, determined I would see her.

I carried that book everywhere. To workshops, to meals, in the bathroom, everywhere. On the next to last day, I left the book in the room. I can’t remember if my leaving it was intentional or a mistake, but there it was. And, there was no going back for it. The distance and time it would take would make me late for the day’s events.

The day was massively long and still no sign of Ms. Flannery. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t carried it around with me, after all.

Bone weary, feet hurting, and brain dead, my writer friend, Maris, who was also my roommate, and I went to the elevators. There was another lady there, so we stood next to her waiting for the elevators to come down from higher floors.

We were chatting about the long day, when she turned toward us, slightly.

I looked at her name tag.

Constance O’Day Flannery.

“Oh, my God!” My heart racing, excitement welling up, I grabbed her arm. “You’re Constance O’Day Flannery! I’ve been carrying your book around with me the entire conference, wanting you to sign it! But I don’t have it with me right now! I’m so excited to meet you.”

I felt like I’d been screaming. I probably was.

She laughed and patted my hand. “Nice to meet you, too. Bring it with you tomorrow and if you find me, I’ll sign it.”

Our elevators arrived. She got on one and Maris and I got on another one. The doors closed. I looked at Maris. “I think I just slobbered all over myself.”

Maris laughed. “You did.”

I was so embarrassed. How would I ever be able to face Ms. Flannery again?

The next morning, despite the odds of seeing her, I picked up her book and put it in my bag. I probably wouldn’t see her, but if I did, I’d brush aside my embarrassment.

Lo and behold, at breakfast, I saw her. Before she left the room, I approached her with my book. I handed it to her. “I am so sorry for last night. I was beside myself, so happy to finally see you. I was slobbering all over myself.”

She laughed and said, “Honey, that’s why we come to these affairs.”