Last Monday, I found myself in a situation like no other I’ve encountered in my half century of journalism: as an author, interviewing an author, while the author’s grandmother, also an author, looks on.
It was an authors’ convention in the living room of a River Road-area house that backs up to a beautiful greenbelt to the west.
“So,” I said to the young author across from me, “there are three authors in this room. Which one of us is your favorite?”…