Me, Steph, J. and The Old Man went out to dinner last night to celebrate The Old Man winning a shiny Fellowship that will make it possible for him and Steph to eat come January.

Talk inevitably turned to Jim Butcher’s new book. J. and The Old Man are big fans of Butcher.

“Are you coming with us Wednesday?” J. asked The Old Man. “You know Jim Butcher’s going to be at The Greene.”

“I don’t know… probably not. I have a big test Thursday.”

“You don’t want to see Jim Butcher?” I said, incredulous. The Old Man bought Butcher’s latest book the day it came out and finished it four hours later.

“Oh, I don’t know…” the Old Man said. “I’ve never really met a writer before.”

J. and Steph just kind of looked at him for a minute. I snickered.

Then we all burst out laughing.

“To be fair, you weren’t a writer when I first met you (ten years ago),” the Old Man protested, turning to me. “You were just a wanna-be.”

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