Within the swaddling warmth of the carriage’s interior, Lord Westermont himself turned in his plush velvet seat and splayed open the book he had brought with him. It was an old volume, bound in supple brown leather that still felt soft to the touch, despite its age. Its pages, crinkle...
I'dwritten a book, and it was terrible. But it opened up my mind and I kept having all thesestory ideasI just had to get out. Before long, I had dozens of stories and within about two years, I had around three dozen of them published traditionally. That first book went nowhere, by...