It felt like all books, all the time this past weekend – and the feeling continues this week.
I was fortunate to participate in Fact and Fiction’s Indies First weekend, an event launched by author Sherman Alexie that featured area writers working in their local independent bookstores the weekend after Thanksgiving.
Saturday at Fact and Fiction featured David Abrams of Butte (Fobbit), David James Duncan of Lolo (The River Why), and Kim Anderson, Humanities Montana Festival of the Book organizer whose uber-cool hat ended up on the front page of the Sunday Missoulian in Tom Bauer’s photo at right. I worked on Sunday, along with authors (from left, in photo above) Missoula’s Rick Bass (All the Land to Hold Us), Bigfork’s Leslie Budewitz (Death al Dente) and Ken Robison of Great Falls (Montana Territory and the Civil War). We served champagne and talked up books with store patrons. Great way to spend an afternoon.
I warmed up for Indies First on Sunday by going to a book group brunch hosted by Keila Szpaller and Brock Gnose. They went all sneaky and thematic on me by featuring Lola Prosecco (my protagonist’s name is Lola Wicks) and Jameson’s (Lola likes her occasional nip of same). The brunch was great fun – people asked lots of really insightful questions.
Today is a breather (by which I mean, a day to write), then on to Boulder for a reading Tuesday at the library there, and a reading at the library in Helena on Wednesday, both on days when the temperature is supposed to dive below zero. I’m hoping for stalwart readers. Luckily, things are supposed to warm up a little by Saturday, when I’ll read at Shakespeare and Co. in Missoula (at 11 a.m. so readers who are Griz fans can sneak it in before the game).
Fun football fact: The Griz are playing the Coastal Carolina Chanticleers (such a literary name!), from Conway in South Carolina. My parents just arrived at their winter digs in Surfside Beach, not 20 miles away. Apparently it’s in the 50s there, but folks are bundled up as though it’s the dead of winter. The high in Missoula on Saturday is supposed to be 11. Those southern players had better wear their woollies.
People hereabouts generally associate Dillon with its 
Copy editors occupy a narrow and sadly unheralded niche in both book and newspaper publishing hierarchies. At the top is an editor—the big picture person, who first reads a manuscript or story and (please God) points out the gaping holes, the unsupported leaps in logic, and the boring stuff that should have succumbed to the machete. I’m very lucky to work with 
His answer: Here’s the deal on Gary: he was a) a writing machine and b) incredibly generous of his time to me. He edited and re-edited and thought and re-thought Antler Dust many, many times. He would “live” with my novels for months and months and help me shape them. He’d send me emails late at night; he would call me. No writing pal was more generous or giving. He did the same for three other books that are still on my shelf – so much better for the role he played. He planted the seed for the idea for Trapline, too, by the way. I wish to hell he was here to help me with it now. I posted some sample emails 
Even though it made sense to wait to finish those before I dipped into the new acquisitions, I couldn’t resist peeking into some. The result? I got hooked, and ended up reading six books simultaneously. I’ve since finished a couple, including Spider Woman’s Daughter, by 
My parents have been doing quite the tap dance these last few weeks, what with both their daughters publishing first novels. My sister Kathleen, who writes as D.C. McLaughlin, recently came out with her vampire novel, 
In a way, Kathleen and I didn’t have much choice about becoming writers. We grew up surrounded by books and writers. My dad, Tony Florio, wrote and illustrated 
Well, hell. Right now I’d settle for plain old boring vanilla sex. Because when it comes to the work in progress, I am smack in the middle of the Gobi, without even the false hope of a mirage. Every time I look at the WIP, I feel like this zombified photo of myself that my whackjob—I mean darling—daughter sent me. I’m not blocked—not a big believer in 
Which pretty much sets the tone for the entire event. The festival features so many terrific authors that to name a few is risk slighting others who are equally deserving. There’