It's 8:30 and I've been up an hour already. Not of my own volition. No, no volition on my part. I'm at the North Carolina Writers' Network Conference in Durham, manning the desk of Main Street Rag Publishing Company with my associate editor hat on. Not that I have a hat. But I should make one. One with a feather. Or a bowler. Or a press hat, but instead of the card that says "Press," I would have a card that reads, "Assoc. Ed."
The good thing about MSR is that we have a rack of books large enough to hide behind. I'll probably nap soon.
I am a naturally born salesman. When people come to the table, I ignore them and type furiously, which, of course, makes them think I'm very important and so in an effort to impress me they'll buy many books. So far, these impressed people have left to get more cash, I can only assume, and will, I'm sure, be back any minute.
I have met plenty of cool people though. Sara Claytor, one of our excellent poets, and Keith Flynn, the embodiment of cool, a jazz-infused poet and poetry purveyor. More good times to come.
Well, all the browsers and potential customers are gone to panels so I can stop typing....
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