Well, well, well.

Yes, it's great to be a finalist on any book award list, but I've also discovered it's also great to actually bring that award home.

Last Saturday I sat in a hotel ballroom with 700 people attending the 21st Annual Minnesota Book Awards. My book, The Compassionate Carnivore, was a finalist in the General Nonfiction category. After 48 books were submitted in this category, four were chosen as finalists, and I made that list, which was enough for me.

As the presenter for my category began speaking, I tried not to want the award too much. So when he read my name, I was stunned, but managed to get myself up onto the stage, dressed appropriately even. (Just before I'd left my house for the 70 mile drive, I'd noticed I was all dressed on top, but had nearly forgotten to change out of my black exercise pants with fushia and white strips up the side. Wouldn't have that made a lovely fashion statement.)

Who did I thank for the award? I thanked Melissa, of course, for getting me out onto the farm, which has---now that it's not trying kill me---provided me with a wealth of material on which to draw. I thanked my editor Renee Sedliar, who did such an amazing job of shepherding me through the complex process of writing this book that I sent her a real, honest-to-goodness shepherd's crook.

I added one more thank you then fled the stage.

Did I thank my dear friend Kathy Connelly, who was in the audience and has been incredibly supportive of anything I've done ever since the day we met in 1985? (which happened thanks to my puppy Tory racing out of the lake and jumping into poor Kathy's lap as she sat reading on the beach at a Wisconsin resort.)

I did not.

Did I thank my friend Pam Thiltgen-Hester, also in the audience, for suggesting to me, as we sat shoehorned into an office working as technical writers in 1986, that I should really consider giving creative writing a try?

I did not.

Did I thank Marion Dane Bauer, also in the audience, one of my first writing mentors in the early 1990s?

Nope.

Did I thank the Loft Literary Center for all its support, or the Friends of the Saint Paul Library for hosting the MN Book Awards?

Again, no.

In my own defense, I was nervous, a bright floodlight shone right in my eyes, and I was worried because the mike seemed too low. I just wanted to be out of there.

So I thanked Melissa, thanked Renee, then I---hold on to your hat--thanked my sheep.

Holy Stupid-Thing-To-Say, Batman.

Luckily ten years of Toastmasters taught me that the dumb things we say in public quickly fade, leaving nothing but a lovely blown glass award glowing on the living room table.