Indy Author Fair

If you're reading this on Friday, the Indy Author Fair is tomorrow, Oct. 25, and I'll be leading a session on Blogging for Writers, which is a thing I'm doing right now, blogging, though only for a moment. We're closing on two houses and moving this weekend and life is all about boxes.

I dream of boxes. These are, admittedly, boring dreams, but it's an adrenaline rush to score free ones. To retail and grocery stores I go, asking and asking. Sometimes they want to keep the boxes for themselves, which is understandable. I mean, maybe they are moving. Or hoarding magazines, as I've apparently been doing, unintentionally, over the last ten years. Bye bye, magazines. Thanks for hanging out in the basement for a decade.

 

If you're reading this on Saturday, perhaps you're already at the event at the gorgeous Central Library, a place I haven't visited in awhile. Remember the last Author Fair I attended? Let's hope for better health this year. Maybe you're even in my session, 1:45-3:15 p.m., and we're in the middle of talking about why writers might want to blog, what sort of platform to choose, how to connect with others, finding your material, audience, and scads of other things.

Scads: that's a word you don't hear every day. When I am unpacked, I'm going to hunt down the etymology of that word. Beyond Wikipedia, I mean. Like Oxford English Dictionary cross referencing. I love being a word nerd.

Maybe you're reading this on Sunday, or beyond, and the event is over. Where are you? What are you doing? I imagine that I am surrounded by boxes just like now except in a different house. At the old place, the dust bunnies have been swept and the doors have been locked and the keys handed over. The walls are bare of the art we spent years arranging and rearranging, taken down in an hour.

The empty house would echo if anyone were inside. But it won't be us. We'll be walking through a different door.