me in the piazza

I'm a writer, publishing both as SJ Rozan and, with Carlos Dews, as Sam Cabot. (I'm Sam, he's Cabot.) Here you can find links to my almost-daily blog posts, including the Saturday haiku I've been doing for years. BUT the blog itself has moved to my website. If you go on over there you can subscribe and you'll never miss a post. (Miss a post! A scary thought!) Also, I'll be teaching a writing workshop in Italy this summer -- come join us!
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Further to the account of my rescue from the Ft. Lauderdale Airport La Quinta Inn

I've been taken to task for not giving you the full story, which would acknowledge the contributions of the unsung heroes. This was negligent, and I apologize to the UH's. The full and complete tale goes thusly: when Jim Born rolled the cop cruiser into the La Quinta driveway, it wasn't because I'd called him. I didn't have his number. I'd called a mutual friend, Fred the Gun Guy, for it, left a message, and was pretty sure he'd get it to me eventually. Meanwhile I'd discovered a train from near the Ft. Lauderdale airport to near the West Palm Beach airport. My plan was to take the night flight from West Palm Beach to Philly and thence to La Guardia, my least favorite NYC airport but it was all I could get rebooked on. Unless that flight, by afternoon, was looking bad. Then I'd call Jim, whose number I'd have by then, so the theory went.

So I was working away at the desk at the La Q, getting some writing done and drinking terrible tea, when my cell phone rang. It was Jim, in his cop car by the side of the highway up in West Palm, telling me to hold on, he was about to ride to the rescue, because UH Reed Coleman had called him to tell him I needed him, because UH Judy Bobalik, every writer's best friend, had read my blog, seen I was stuck in Ft. L., and called Reed to tell him to call Jim to get the rescue underway. Which I knew nothing about until Jim called me.

So, as I said: what a difference a friend makes. Thanks, Judy, and thanks, Reed!

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