It started with Stephen King. He was seated at a table on the other side of a vast banquet hall. I knew he was there, though I couldn’t see him as I consumed several glasses of wine, working up my courage. At last desserts were served, the Edgar Awards concluded, and the lights went up. I made a beeline for his table. And—dang!—I couldn’t believe how handsome he looked in his tux. What was said isn’t important (I surely gushed about his excellent novel, Misery). Continue reading →
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