This is a cheat, but I have a 5:30 a.m. pickup tomorrow and then a long-ish day — flight to LA, three events.
I came to Fort Worth for an extraordinary event, part of a series that is underwritten by a local foundation and the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. My writing friends, please heed my advice: If you are ever offered this gig, crawl across glass to do it. The series routinely draws 500 people and Jeff Guinn, the former book editor (and now a very successful writer in his own right) is the ideal interviewer, artfully creating a narrative from this writer’s nattering, discursive answers.
We went out for Mexican food beforehand, where I tried to be sensible, but the portions were huge. A margarita the size of my head, an appetizer of ceviche that could have served four. I felt as if I ate and ate and ate, only to make no progress.
I also spent time today with a young-old friend, someone I’ve known since my Waco days, which means I’ve known him for — oh dear — 25 years.