Rob Laman crafts contracts by day and writes a variety of stories, fraudulent insect facts and unfinished novels at night. As a pre-teen he won a trip to Disney for his newspaper delivery prowess. Every Labour Day, he cans salsa that would make the food scientists at Old El Paso weep. Writing about himself in third person makes him uncomfortable because, “it feels like I’m presenting my own eulogy. That would mean I’m dead. I hope I’m not dead.” You can find some of his writing at roblaman.com.