I escape with my life after the afternoon writing workshop and head back over to the hotel to primp and prepare for opening night.
No jitters, not worried at all.
The faculty potluck is a bigger concern than the show, oddly enough. I shouldn’t have worried. Everyone is very hospitable and kind and in a way I wish I’d gone to grad school. I could have ended up teaching at a small college somewhere, talking about writing all day.
But, hey, I’m using my major. Which is more than what I can say for most people.
The food is good and everyone is terrific but I end up doing what I’ve typically done at faculty parties for the past fifteen years. I find a little kid and start talking about comic books. Daniel is just a year older than my son and he tells me he’s working on something. He shows it to me and I’m more or less blown away. It’s got drama, good writing, nice page composition . . . I mean, it’s not Jack Kirby or anything, but it’s amazing that an eleven year old kid put it together when he’d only seen for or five comic books in his life.
Seriously. There’s no comic book store in Orange City. The kid found some comics at a garage sale and, apparently, figured it out from there.
Warming up to his subject, Daniel gets started on how he wants to hire some more writers and artists and start a company of his own and I realize I’m talking to a young Stan Lee — which is impressive and scary all at once.