Hear this article read to you: Tonight was going to be glorious. Everything was lined up. I had decided that with so many local children's book authors having launch parties at the King's English Bookshop I should hobnob at a few of them. It would be much cheaper than attending a writer's conference and, if I bought a book and had it signed, I might endear myself to the authors. You know, get them to open up to me. Share their secrets with me. Invite me over for dinner. Alas, all my clever plans were foiled. There I was, chatting up author James Dashner on Twitter , helpfully letting him know his countdown clock was wrong, and using my trademarked and incredibly clever repartee to show him that I was somebody he could not only share his secrets with but also could borrow his laptop. I told him I'd see him later tonight, then hurried off to get the girls from their high school. I had them all booked for babysitting. I would hit the launch party, graciously dec...
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