Letters From the Labyrinth 287

Typing this from a hotel room in Springfield, Missouri. I’m in town for Tremendicon, and head back home tomorrow. Mary didn’t come because she’s sick (not Covid, just the good old-fashioned flu). Mary’s daughter is in Colorado, having adventures the way young people should. My youngest son is in Florida with his mother, visiting extended family and Cape Canaveral. And my oldest son has started a new job. Even the outdoor kittens have scattered and spread out, exploring the boundaries of my front yard, back yard, and the neighbor’s yard, and having a ball chasing mayflies and lightning bugs. I wish we were all home together. But there will always be books to sign. There will always be people to meet. There will always be readers to whom I want to show my gratitude. There will always be selfies to pose for and panel discussions to participate in and Q&As and local press interviews to do.

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