A Rainy Day in Seattle — I’m trying not to panic. Lugging a serious dose of nerves, a 50-count box of chapbooks, and my 12-pound computer case, I just got lost in the wrong hotel. Now I’m lost in the right hotel, it’s getting close to show time–I’m supposed to be giving a 25-minute talk on creating fiction from reality–and I can’t find the Left Coast Crime convention, let alone the Madison Room, or wherever the heck it is I’m speaking.
I check the map in my back pocket one more…
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