On their way to Austin, my parents stopped in Michigan to see my 93-year-old grandmother, who read the first few pages of my book manuscript, which my parents were toting along. The book, which my parents were reading too, is now on my kitchen table. On the title page, underneath the disclaimer, she wrote a single comment
that sums up not only this week (as I try to juggle wedding plans with book logistics) but a lot of the tensions and joys of much of my life:
When and where do you have any time for romance?
That’ll make you sit up and listen.
UPDATE: My agent writes: “I think I love your grandmother.”