The other day, the author of Game of Thrones delivered three yards of compost to my house. The man is a genius at providing a dark, rich, and complex substrate to fertilize the imagination.
It wasn’t really George R. R. Martin, of course. But it was a man who could win an impersonation contest hands down. Black cap, glasses, long white beard, generous physique – it looked just like him. I even asked him how many times a day people commented on the resemblance. This being a rural, coastal area, the poor guy had no idea what I was talking about, who George Martin was, or what Game of Thrones was.
It’s too bad; I had some questions about Laren Dorr.