Larry Benjamin. Wordsmith. Writer. Author.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flashing blue of the Jabber message window. I felt —like the cold hand of death grasping your shoulder—rather than saw the dreaded name. Brett Buttler: Are you there? Theus Jones: I’m here Brett Buttler: Did you get my email? Theus jones: No. Brett Buttler: I sent it last night at 10. Theus Jones: I was offline. Brett Buttler: Offline? Theus Jones: Did you need something? Brett Buttler: Read my email. Set up a call for 9:30. Ping me with the call-in info. Theus Jones: ‘K Ten minutes later I’d read his emails—the first of which contained few words and little information and the second of which contained many more words and no information—assembled my team: Nigel, Diana, and Barbara the first whom I’d gotten out of bed—and dialed into the conference call where we waited fifteen minutes for Brett to join. “How can he be late for his own call?” Barbara the first asked.  We could hear her f...