Mythical Creatures Do Exist

To say that I was tired after finishing my 24-hour shift at the fire station last Friday would be an understatement.

First thing Thursday morning we attended a special class, took a test, then it was outside pulling hose and drafting water out of lakes. We trained for almost four hours.

On our way back to the station for lunch, we caught a structure fire. After fighting the first structure fire, we were on the way back to the station and we caught a second structure fire.

Sometime after 3 that afternoon, exhausted, with soot still covering our faces, we sat down at the table and finally had lunch — cold, foot-long, chili cheese dogs and onion rings. It was the best hot dog I ever tasted.

Sprinkled in throughout the daylight hours were medical calls and paperwork — lots and lots of paperwork.

I thought the Captain was going to lose his mind when the computer blinked and lost the fire report he just spent the last hour writing.

That night, sleep never came. We ran medical calls, car accidents, gas leaks and, yes, more reports.

Friday morning at 8 I took off my fire helmet, put on my writer’s cap and The Wife and I headed to Chattanooga, Tenn., for the first-ever Chattanooga Festival of Writers. She drove. I slept.

Friday afternoon we wandered around the mezzanine of the downtown historic Sheraton Hotel. Scattered about in one large room were display tables loaded down with books from the authors who were speaking at the convention.

We bought several: “The Historian” by Elizabeth Kostova, “Rules For a Pretty Woman” by Suzette Francis, “Lunch at the Piccadilly” by Clyde Edgerton, and “Getting Published” by David MaGee.

That’s when The Wife spotted him - one of the most elusive and rare individuals in the book business. Up to that very moment I thought they were just mythical figures. But I was wrong.

For there, standing in the doorway next to his wife of 18 years, was a real live publisher. We knew it was him because his picture was on back of the book we had just purchased.

The Wife thought it would be tacky for me just to walk up and start talking to a publisher I didn’t know, but she wasn’t sure. So I did what anyone in my position would do and asked the one person who would know if it was tacky or not. I walked over and asked the publisher.

He assured me it wasn’t tacky. Come to find out we have a lot in common. He’s a newspaper columnist; I have a newspaper column. He has friends that are firefighters; I have friends that are firefighters. He’s had six books published; I’ve had ... well, did I mention The Wife and his wife talked about clothes, kids and the trouble with teenagers?

The Friday night dinner for the convention attendees was held in the Silver Ballroom of the hotel. The Wife looked stunning as always.

Me? Well, let’s just say the lady we sat next to said to be a real writer I needed a tweed jacket, said that I couldn’t write without one.

As luck would have it, she owned a clothing store in downtown Chattanooga. Tweed jackets were on sale. When I mentioned that it was going to be 75 degrees on Saturday, she mentioned that her seersucker suits were also on sale.

At 4 o’clock Saturday morning I woke to the sound of fire trucks and ambulances screaming past our window. Jumping up, I reached for my turnout boots and fire jacket. As the cloud of sleep left my mind, I realized my fire boots and jacket were still back at the station. I was in an expensive suite with my lovely wife still asleep next to me.

As she rolled over, I brushed her bangs back from her face, kissed her lightly on the lips, pulled the covers up around her, got out of bed and started to write. After all, it was a writing convention.

On Saturday I attended three workshops: “Writing with Humor,” “Finding your Niche,” and “How to Get Published.” During the two days I met with many other writers, all wanting to do the same thing: Get better at what they do so they can get published.

Me? I just enjoyed being around the world of writing and spending two days with The Wife.

At the end of the convention we had the chance to meet with the authors, and they graciously signed their books. We even had another sighting of the elusive publisher. He signed his book and wished me luck.

I think I’ll write a new novel and enter it in the Jefferson Press writing competition. The title will be “How I Hunted Down and Found a Publisher.”

The Wife is already planning our next writing outing. It will be a convention this September held somewhere in Rome. We will spend 10 days roaming the ancient city, walking around the Pantheon, sipping wine in the great Colosseum and carefully weaving through museums full of priceless artifacts from the past.

We’ll spend 10 days touring the city, by bus, by train, and on foot in hope of catching a mere glimpse of the rarest and most priceless thing of all: A Literary Agent.