PARKER POSEY SHOULD BE MORE CAREFUL

Hello, friends. I made it. I’m at the desk in the London Office, drinking my tea.

I got two pieces of news while I was in transit. One, Girl At Sea was named one of the 2008 New York Public Library Books for the Teen Age. The second is that Girl At Sea has been named a finalist for the Romance Writers of America RITA award, in the YA category.

So much love for Clio and the gang! And just in time for the new paperback. (Okay, it comes out on May 20th, but close enough. Love is love.)

Naturally, I have to point out that tomorrow is the deadline for anyone applying to become a member of SCARLETT’S ELEVEN . . . the crack team I am assembling to spread the word of Scarlett and to Free Alan Rickman. Like I said before, the applications are coming fast and furious, and it’s going to be quite a task picking just eleven. I’m going to need help.

In the meantime, if you go here, you can get this excellent FREE ALAN RICKMAN button for your site or blog.

So, I want to tell you about this 100% true story of something that happened about two weeks ago. I was writing with some members of the YA gang . . . Scott Westerfeld, Cassie Clare, Robyn Wasserman, and Delia Sherman. We were at one of our favorite haunts (name redacted because our haunt is our sekrit, but it’s a pretty well-populated place south of 14th Street). We were writing away, minding our own business. Scott was talking a little about the awesome ZEPPLIN RIDE he is going to take as research for his new book . . . and these people came in and took the cluster of tables next to us.

Which is totally fine, obviously. These people were a little loud, but it was no big deal. One of the people in the party was sitting diagonally from me, next to Scott. And when I looked up, my brain said, “You know that face.”

I did. I knew who this person was. She was female, very pretty, quite tiny. Very, very familiar . . .

And then my brain found the file. It was Parkey Posey. I was sure of it. I have seen Waiting for Guffman 500 times. I know Parkey Posey.



Parker Posey


But still, my brain was doing this little “Are you sure that’s Parker Posey? Because I’m not going to let you work. I’m going to keep asking you this question.” dance.

Cassie was sitting next to me, but I didn’t want to shout, “HEY IS THAT PARKER POSEY SITTING IN FRONT OF US? BECAUSE IT SURE LOOKS LIKE PARKER POSEY BUT I WANT YOU TO LOOK.”

So e-mailed Cassie. Which is totally ridiculous, I know, since she was six inches from me, but I was trying to be polite and not start shouting Parker Posey’s name . . . because I think Parker Posey is a totally excellent actress. And even if I didn’t . . . everyone deserves to eat his or her sandwich in peace.

Cassie got my e-mail and did this totally slick thing . . . she pretended to get up and check her cell phone over near where Parker Posey had, and she came back and said, “Yep. That’s her. I’m sure of it. She just said her name about ten times into the phone.”

So my brain was content, because it could now label the image “Parker Posey” and move on. But John Green was on IM, and I like to remind John Green that he should be living in New York so I can write with him, so I always send him little New York moments to lure him back.

So I wrote and said, “Hey, guess what? Parker Posey is sitting across from us.”

I was expecting him to say, “Cool! I miss being there. I miss you guys.”

But instead, he COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT and said, “OH MY GOD YOU HAVE TO GO OVER THERE AND TELL HER YOU ARE A YA WRITER.”

And I said, “Why? She is eating a sandwich.”

And he said, “BECAUSE SHE IS STARING IN A NEW SHOW IN WHICH SHE PLAYS A YA EDITOR! GO OVER THERE AND TALK TO HER!”

And I said, “I can’t. She is eating a sandwich.”

And then John got really agitated with me and said, “NO YOU REALLY HAVE TO GO OVER AND TALK TO PARKER POSEY AND TELL HER WHAT YOU ARE! TELL HER A BUNCH OF YA WRITERS ARE SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO HER.”

But I am not the kind of person who can interrupt Parker Posey while she is talking to her friends and eating a sandwich. John was very, very disappointed in me.

Meanwhile, Parker Posey got out her phone and made a phone call. She was buying something—flowers or something like that. I know this because the conversation went like this:

PP: HI THIS IS PARKER POSEY. I NEED TO ORDER SOME [WHATEVER]. MY ADDRESS IS BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH . . . .

ME, to John: Parker Posey is totally screaming her address at us.

JOHN, to me: OH MY GOD WHY COULDN’T I BE THERE RIGHT NOW?

PP: GOT THAT? AND MY PHONE NUMBER IS BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH

ME, to John: And her phone number.

JOHN, to me: %@#^$%^#%$^#%^&%! WRITE IT DOWN! CALL HER! GRAB HER BY THE HEAD!

PP: And my credit card number, which is BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. And the expiration date is BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. And the security code is BLAH, BLAH, BLAH . . .

At which point, Scott lifted one of the Westerfeld eyebrows in a look that clearly said, “Parker Posey, esteemed actress, you should really not be screaming your credit card information in a public place like this.”

Because she really was screaming it. It was impossible NOT to hear Parker Posey’s address and phone number and credit card number. I actually put in headphones to block it out.

On the other end of the IM, I could tell John Green was pacing. He thought I should be flinging myself on Parker Posey, letting her know that I AM A YA AUTHOR. We were all YA authors. She needed to know us.

But I didn’t. And she sat there for about another hour.

Anyway, Parker Posey, who really is playing a YA editor on a new show . . . we were there. And you were there. And we are all a bit worried about someone stealing your identity if you keep this up.

And if you need to do some research, I am right here. You know where I get my sandwiches.