Finished copies at last!

The actual printed book, as it turns out, doesn’t feel quite real at all. This is my conclusion after finding an Express Post satchel on my doorstep this afternoon when I got home from work, containing two finished copies of The Young Widow’s Book of Home Improvement. Relief, as if I had just crossed some invisible finish line, coursed through me like a rush of blood. I didn’t burst into tears, as I suspected I might, but felt sad and happy all at once. I picked up my book, turned it over, felt its weight; it seemed so contained and precise, when real life is chaotic and unfinished. One of the differences between a memoir and the life from which it’s written, I suppose.

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  1. Congratulations, my dearest friend. The end of one journey, the beginning of another? Knowing what it took to write it, knowing you as I do, I absolutely cannot wait to have it in my own hands, to see your name on the cover, and to celebrate my friend Virginia – the author.

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