The Rivards hosted the dinner, and the neighborhood came out in full force for the Wheaton Hills Book Club discussion of Angels of Destruction last night, the birthday of William Shakespeare, Shirley Temple, and my dad. These are the folks who see you out mowing the lawn, walking the dog, or cracking crabs on a hot summer day, and so it is passing strange to switch identities and be writer and readers for a few hours. But these conversations are often the most interesting part of the whole publishing process, the chance to hear others' reactions and questions, and to realize the great leap from imagination to the page. What begins as a stray thought turns into a very public display, one that is slightly uncomfortable yet gracious and warm and downright neighborly.
Robert Frost famously said that fences make good neighbors, but perhaps books can sometimes hurdle fences?
Thanks to one and all.