The picture isn't from Writers Cantina, it's one I created from a scene in my book, Accidental Wizard, which will be published in September.
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I had planned to be on the road by 3 pm. The assistant who scheduled me for the mediation did not care about my plans. The judge conducting the mediation did not care about my plans. The crime victims and others at the mediation did not care about my plans. Not one soul shed even a figurative tear that I had already missed shooting wheel locks and flintlocks. The law is a harsh mistress.
My tires eventually met the asphalt trail extending from my house to the Writers Cantina. Because of the late start, I dropped my wife off at a gas station so she could hitch a ride to her sister’s house. Actually, her sister came and picked her up, and I waited for her sister to arrive before I continued the journey. In contradistinction to last year’s experience, the hotel check-in and the room were unremarkable.
When I arrived at the temple of storytelling on Friday morning, the door was ajar—not the Mason type, but the open type. I walked the silent corridor, passing the reception tables and through the lobby area unchallenged, and eventually found...
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