“You know,” Cotton said in that baritone voice of his, “I wish I were an outliner. I really do. I’ve tried. I want to be one so I can say I’m one. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

The crowd laughed, and he continued. “For me,” he said, “outlining takes away a certain mystery. If I know what’s going to happen next, I can’t ask this: ‘What is the next best thing to happen here?’ I can’t ask, ‘What now?’ and that is my favorite part about the writing, finding out what happens next.” He shrugged. “Now I’m not saying this is the best way to be. I’d never say that one way or the other is the best way to be. But it’s the best way to be for me.”

An audience member argued in a high, whiny voice, “But how can you write an entire story without knowing where it’s going?”

“The same way you live a life, I guess. Just keep asking what is the next best thing to do. Or just watch and see what comes along and then deal with it. Like I said, I’m not saying this is a great way to live or write, I’m just saying it’s my way. It’s a messy way to write and I think maybe a messy way to live, but all that planning and outlining can really get a man knotted up thinking things aren’t going his way.” Uncle Cotton laughed and paused. “It might be that things aren’t going as planned, but they’re going as well as they can. Now I’m not saying not to plan at all. I mean, sometimes you have to plan certain events.”

The man in the front row didn’t let the subject go, pulling at it like a dog fighting for a chew toy. “But how can you ever know if you’ve reached your goal or finished the novel?”

Cotton clapped his hands together. “Well, I think when it’s done, it’s done. That’s it. You know when things are done. You just do.”

“I don’t get it,” the man said, and slapped shut a notebook. “That just doesn’t make sense.”

“I didn’t promise it would.” Cotton looked out to the audience now. “Any more questions?”

The moderator appeared from the side of the stage and announced that the time was up and Cotton would be signing at the book tent for thirty minutes. I stayed seated; Cotton passed me on the way out, and I lifted my hand. “Hey, there.”

He looked down at me. “Ellie.”

I stood for his hug.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “I have to head over to the signing tent, but how about I meet you when I’m done.” He turned to Hutch, held out his hand. “Hey, I’m Cotton.”