Let’s head back in time to attend a formative literary event in the annals of writing.
It was a birthday party for me, but whether I actually “attended” it is up for debate. You see, I was three years old.
It’s not that I didn’t understand the concept of a birthday party at that age . . . believe me, I was all for it.
So, there I was, seated on a chair. Whatever preceded my sitting down, I don’t recall, nor do I remember what followed after I got . . . The Best Present of All Time.