It was PhilCon, a convention that is, ironically, held in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. I was there for the first time, one of several author guests, and in between panels I was wandering the dealers’ room. I checked out the various tables, admiring weapons and memorabilia and other geek merchandise, but not surprisingly most of my attention went to the books. Not those sold by booksellers as much as the ones offered by authors and small presses. Those I stopped to examine more closely, looking over the covers, reading the back copy, flipping through the interiors. I’m a graphic designer and a book layout artists as well as a writer, so on the one hand I was looking at the books for their production value, but I was also curious what other people were writing around me.
One table had only a single book available, but its cover was enough to intrigue me—it was a frenetic scene, showing several figures pushing and shoving and climbing over each other in front of an island sunset, each striving for a glowing jar that floated just out of reach. Finders Keepers, the cover proclaimed. “A novel by Russ Colchamiro.”