On Thanksgiving night, my dad died. Here we are, together.
This is a picture of my bird, Bird.
Bird came to us from a friend. Bird flew into her yard one day. Bird is a gold-capped conure. Male and female gold-capped conures look exactly the same. A genetic test, we were told, would be the only way to determine gender. We never bothered.
In the six weeks since my dad died on Thanksgiving night, Bird has laid four eggs.
None of these eggs will ever hatch.
Yesterday, the author copies of my first middle grade novel, THE QUESTION OF MIRACLES, arrived.
This is a book about lots of things, among them loss, and love, and eggs.
Some of which may never hatch.
This is the dedication page.
I am a writer. My job is to notice things, and write them down.
