The first and most obvious separation from my son was his birth, of course. I’d gotten used to feeling him move in my belly, his sharp little heels poking out or his butt piking up to be rubbed through my …

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I think I’m getting the hang of this mom thing. I mean, adapt or die, right? And by die, I mean drown in the laundry pile or under an avalanche of unwashed dishes or waste away with scurvy or beriberi …

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My agent wants one relatively small revision to the latest draft of the novel before it goes back out into the world in search of a loving publisher. It’s a change to the penultimate scene, so I’m reading through the …

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