I reflected upon this over at The Insatiable Booksluts and thought I would share here…

This last summer, I was a totally awkward fan girl when I happened upon my current favorite author at Comic-Con. My main goal at this year’s convention was to do all things A Game of Thrones-related. Unfortunately, that was everyone’s goal and I got into none of the panels. After two days of striking out, I was on my way to The Guild panel (I’m a huge Felicia Day fan), and was pondering if I should take a break before getting into line. I stood in the hotel lobby and stared out the glass doors. I decided against it and turned around to return to my standing-in-line mission. Then I saw him and I froze.

Standing directly behind me was my Summer god, George R.R. Martin, the man who wrote my obsession, the man who commanded the crowds of Comic Con. He wore the very outfit I had grown to love from all of the internet pictures and videos I had seen of him. I was dumbstruck. After a few moments of inner hysteria, I thought to grab my smartphone to get a picture. He must have seen the crazy in my eyes as I stood there staring at him. He turned around and started to walk away.

I got my phone out finally and followed. I had to get a photo, I had to get over my shaking, I had to say something!

“George! I mean Mr. Martin! George?!” I tried to catch up to him as he stepped onto an escalator but it was too late…I stood there shaking, elated that he stood so close to me.

I also snapped a picture…it is an action shot of me trying to get his attention:

Oh boy. What a stammering goober I am!

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