So when we introduced ourselves at this writing conference, we had to go around the room and state our name, where we’re from, the kind of book we’re writing, and the last good book we read.

I lied.

The last good book I read was by Janet Evanovich. But the last one (just days) before that was Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. My pretentious self said the latter.

Sorry, Janet. You still rock.