I remember when I was a teenager I would read about my writing heroes like Westlake and Lawrence Block having regular poker games with their writing buddies. I so wanted to be a fly on the wall—or hell, just hang with these guys. There was something mysterious and thrilling about the idea. Nowadays, when I get together with my own writing friends like Battles and Bell and Sokoloff and Causey and Rhoades, or I hang in the bar at a conference with Child or Gerritsen, I often wonder if other young writing hopefuls look at us (okay, maybe the others, not me, so much) in the same way. Then I remember Facebook. Some of us spend so much time here that all the mystery is gone. What fun is that?
Posted on: Sun, 16 Jun 2013 22:34:05 +0000
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