
Stein captured the attention of the audience of young and old easily as he discussed the germ that created The Art of Racing in the Rain and the struggle to find a new agent and publisher for a book narrated by a dog.
I happily wrote up the event for the D.C. Literature Examiner. I hope you’ll go over and check out the article and the video I took of the reading.
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Also don’t forget today’s National Poetry Month Blog Tour stop at A Few More Pages.

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Are you ready for the 41st Virtual Poetry Circle this week? I hope you are because we’re continuing the celebration of National Poetry Month.


James Patterson
When multiple homicides occur, Cross often is briefed at the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters in the Henry J. Daly Building, which was named after Sgt. Henry “Hank” Daly. He also often runs into the FBI at Quantico and elsewhere. Cross has crisscrossed the United States a number of times, but now he’s even traversed the ocean.
After reading a number of these novels, I think Washington, D.C., is an excellent location to have as a home base. The city has a high crime rate and is the home of espionage and more, but in 

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When I was asked by Nicole at Linus’s Blanket to join her on 
About the Poet:

Since Reb Livingston is a local D.C. area poet, this is a great look at her work as part of The Literary Road Trip, which has moved to 
Earlier today, I reviewed
Ten years ago when we moved into our current home, it had a perfect writing room on the second story, with large windows that looked out over the treetops to the faraway hills. A perfect writing space… except for the narrow hallway leading to it, too narrow to get my big desk through. I was heartbroken. My mom gave me two tables that she no longer wanted, and I installed these in my writing room instead — one for my computer, one for handling correspondence, bill paying, all the other stuff.
My theory is to make the room as welcoming and comfortable as possible, to trick myself into working longer hours! Above one desk, I have a painting by my husband that I love, “Tree of Life,” all greens and golds. That big mound of paper on the corner of the desk is a draft of my second novel. I feel guilty looking at it every day that I don’t get back to it. My computer desk has a stand for my handwritten first drafts. I learned long ago that buying expensive moleskin notebooks made me feel like I couldn’t make mistakes, so I have a closet of cheap notepads to write on. The shades are usually half drawn since the light is bright in this room, but I love to look out while I’m thinking. There’s a big sour cherry tree outside, and this time of year wild parrots, green with a single big red spot on their heads, descend on it, bouncing on the branches and squawking as they eat the fruit.


