Two years ago, on a cold October night, I sat in a booth of an old pub house in Weymouth, England. The wind outside howled and whistled through the cozy little wood and brick pub. I held a letter written on thick, expensive card stock which bore the Weymouth…
Day: October 3, 2014
A lot of an author’s personal stuff goes into their books. Even without noticing it, without being aware of it, it happens. A little bit here, a little bit there. It sneaks in. In fact, it often takes other people who know you well, to point it out before you…