After a whirlwind week in New York, we’re back in snowy Vermont, but not without a small smile from the literary gods waiting for our return.
Last Thursday, I had the honor of reading at KGB bar. It was my first public reading, and beforehand we met up with friends to have a bite to eat and some refreshment.
Trying to think of where to meet, it made the most sense to hit up some place old, some place with a sense of permanence to tie into the memory of the first reading. So we went to McSorleys, one of the oldest, grimiest, dingiest bars in New York. And by far, one of the best.
Coming home today, sorting through the pile of mail, I had a moment of literary serindipity when I saw what TNY had selected for its cover this week: