Life Imitating Art

Too Long for the Bed: Hemingway’s Swede Finds a Home

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“Couldn’t you get out of town?”
“No,” Ole Andreson said. “I’m through with all that running around.”

So I’ve been feeding two cats outside my day-job office. One is completely feral but as sweet as any feral cat can be. Small and dark with a little white patch on his/her chest (after two years, my wife and I still haven’t gotten a good enough look at the nethers to gauge the sex). This one I’ve been feeding for a while; his/her ear is notched, suggesting he/she was spade/neutered, at some point long ago, before I came into the picture. A few weeks back, a second cat showed up: big, scarred, missing some teeth. A real big-headed male Tom bruiser. But he got along sweetly with feral Littlecat, who seemed to welcome the company. His presence even seemed to help socialize him/her, who started meowing for the first time after Bighead showed up. And with us, well, he was perfectly insistent that we feed him and love him and not touch his head (I have the scar to prove it).

Life Imitating Art

How Killer Nashville Taught My Wife to Fight Crime

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In August of 2014, my wife and I attended our first writers’ conference together. We went to Killer Nashville, which — for those of you who don’t know it — is a fantastic conference for crime writers. I went with a manuscript and, eventually, through contacts made at the conference, found my agent. And until today, almost nine months later, the good people at Maria Carvainis and the incomparable Elizabeth Copps were the greatest things to come out of that experience. But today, friends, I learned that Killer Nashville is, in more ways than one, the gift that keeps on giving.

Apparently, it also taught my wife how to fight crime.