A cry for help

Hello everyone! Some of you may have seen my post on the Night Publishing Facebook group or the Night Reading website, but on the off chance that you haven't seen it, I'm here with an appeal. You see, I'm trying desperately to go back to college to earn my Bachelor's degree in Business Management, but the funding just isn't there. At most, I have enough to go back to school for a year, but that won't be enough to complete my degree. Before you stop reading, no, I'm not asking you for money, and I don't need a huge commitment from anyone. All I need is two little mouse clicks: http://www.wyzant.com/scholarships/v2/essay33698-Millerton-PA.aspx That's the first click. I wrote an essay for a scholarship contest. The winner (the person with the most votes) will get a $5,000 scholarship. That money is desperately needed! After you click the link, please read my essay and scroll to the bottom. Your second click should be "vote for this essay." That's it. You can help me realize my dream of furthering my education and getting a Bachelor's Degree with two clicks of your mouse. Will you please, please help me? Thank you for your time, and thanks in advance for your vote. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. And if you feel like making a few more clicks and sharing this with your friends/tweeters, I'd be even more grateful. Thank you all so much!

Spirit of the Season

This time of year is always rather melancholy for me. I used to have the Christmas spirit, but over time it has faded significantly. One large reason for this is the fact that Christmas has become a retail holiday. There's so much pressure put on people to "buy that perfect gift" or "get it while they last" or "shop our early-bird specials" that it's no wonder people get anxious and depressed around the holidays. We are bombarded well before Thanksgiving even rolls around with special Black Friday Ads. Christmas trees appear in supermarkets almost before the Halloween displays are torn down. Holiday music is piped through loudspeakers to remind us that the season is fast-approaching.

In all this hustle and bustle, behind all the tinsel and glitter, there's a message here, and it's a negative one, in my opinion. We are being trained to buy the love of our family in the form of holiday gifts we'll willingly go broke over. I'm realizing that I've fallen prey to Black Friday sales and special holiday pricing. And I'm realizing how wrong that is.

There is also a focus on rushing around to get everything accomplished. Heck, stores are even open on Christmas Eve for those of us too busy or broke to buy presents beforehand. Rush here, race there, have a quick meal then head out the door onto the next event before you've even had a chance to let your stomach (not to mention your brain) settle. There aren't enough hours in the day to fulfill all of the "holiday obligations" we seem to have.

I spoke with someone recently whose long-term partner had recently died. Apparently, there was a huge fight brewing over who was getting the money, property, et cetera. I bet you anything she would have given the world, or at least all of her worldly possessions, just to get her partner back. The struggle over the material things was causing almost as much stress and grief as the man's death had. It really made me stop and think.

What I'm trying to say is that there is so much more to the holidays than presents and material goods. There's love and friendship, family and friends, laughter and cameraderie, hope for the new year and a fond farewell to what has passed. All of those things are priceless, worth so much more than a few baubles or trinkets or a hasty obligatory visit.

Instead of giving material gifts, focus on what really matters: Time. Take the time to call a relative or friend you haven't talked to in a while. And really listen to what they have to say. Donate your time to help those less fortunate than yourself. Give someone a hug if they need it, a shoulder to cry on. Give of yourself, not of your wallet.

And instead of just doing these things around the holidays, do them throughout the upcoming year. Give of yourself. The gift of time is a valuable one, and it doesn't cost a dime.

Just stuff

Hi everyone!
It's been a while since I've posted, and I wish I could say that my time has been spent on productive writing and promoting, but alas, I cannot. Over the past month or so, I've decided to give myself a break.

I think I've been pushing too hard for a while now, and it's starting to take its toll on me. My two works-in-progress are sitting and collecting dust, and while I have ideas that are rolling around in my head, the execution is beyond me right at the moment. I don't want to force it, although maybe I should, just to get back into the swing of things, but I'm afraid if I do, it'll come off as lackluster writing. And really, why not take a break? I've written 5 books in a year and seven months, and it's time to relax a bit and nurture those titles a little. Let's build some anticipation between releases, shall we?

So, I'm taking some time for myself. I've started yoga, and with the exception of today, have felt wonderful. I've also taken to hopping on the eliptical for a mile or so every other day to supplement my yoga routines. I'm on the path to being healthy, and I couldn't be happier.

I've also made the decision to return to school in the spring to get my Bachelor's degree. Education is very important, and I want to be a good role model for my kids. I want to show them that with perseverence and hard work, anything is possible.

We just returned from vacation in the Outer Banks about a week and a half ago. It was fabulous! We had a lovely time and I feel very much rested and rejuvinated since our return. It was wonderful to park my butt on the beach and feel the sand beneath my feet. We didn't really do anything special, but we spent a lot of time playing and that's really all that matters. I barely even logged on to Facebook!

We are also in the midst of a renovation project at home. What started out as a new floor and a new coat of paint has turned into a monster overhaul, but it'll be worth it in the end. I just wish the end was in sight! Mudding and taping and sanding are not my friends, just so you know...

As far as Six Weeks goes, it has been temporarily pulled from sale and will be re-released by Night Publishing in the very near future. I'll let you know more once I know. Deal?

I'd like to thank my readers for their undying and unwavering support of me and my books. The latest, The Storm Within, is dedicated to you, and I hope you enjoy it. It's the first in a series, and once I've gotten back into the swing of things, I'll be finishing up the second in the series. Stay tuned for more on that!

So, I guess that's it. It's been very quiet here and I'm enjoying the peace. I've unplugged a bit and I must admit I'm enjoying stepping back from the hustle and bustle of the online world.

Hugs to all of you. You are a bright spot in my day, and I thank you all for being you.

Jess

Sessha Batto and Shinobi

I am privileged today to have a very special guest on my blog. Her name is Sessha Batto, and she's the author of the amazing book Shinobi.

Shinobi takes place in modern day Japan, where clans of ninjas are at war with each other. Yoshi, the main character, is a shadow wolf, and a very special ninja. He is also used as a sex slave/whipping boy to fund the drug/other habits of the malevoent Rin.Yoshi is an amazing character, used to years of abuse, a powerful and hard enough ninja to withstand countless torments, a tormented character himself who doesn't realize his own worth.I'm not going to give the plot away, but suffice it to say that Yoshi, even though he's been sorely used under Rin's rule, performs selfless acts and shows that loyalty, sacrifice and love can indeed save a group of people, and eventually, himself as well.Let's hear from Sessha now...

JLD: I know that you like swords, weapons, and all things Japanese. Was that how you got the idea for Shinobi?

SB: Well, most of my writing is set in Japan – it's a culture and set of traditions I never tire of writing about – but Shinobi started more as an exploration of how someone could or would learn to cope and to survive long term sexual abuse. The ninja culture provides a fantastic framework for that exploration – fiercely loyal to no one but their clans, they are a perfect conundrum – loyal and dedicated assassins and spies. It allowed me to explore not only the characters themselves, but how I define good and bad.

JLD: Yoshi is a wonderful character, filled with a selflessness that most people don't possess. Is he modeled after anyone you know?

SB: Yoshi has bits and pieces of several people I know, as well as some of myself. He's the man I'd fall head over heels for . . . if he was real and not gay, of course.

JLD: How did you come up with his character?

SB: I started with the premise that he was strong enough to not only survive the abuse he'd been through, but also smart and private enough to want to keep it hidden from everyone he interacts with. So he became a construct, a face he'd show to the world with bubbling emotions locked away deep inside. I also needed to make him intriguingly different enough to explain the attraction so many people have to him, pretty wasn't enough, he needed to be exotic. Finally, he needed to be oblivious to a certain degree, not understanding or, at least, refusing to see why other men are so attracted to him.

JLD: One of the themes of the book really seems to be undying loyalty and altruism, even in the face of abuse and torment. Do you think that those characteristics even exist today?

SB: I think the possibility exists within all of us – we can be loyal to people, religious beliefs, values, and there are always those who refuse to buckle despite torture, even to the death. You can survive anything if you take it minute by minute. If that is too much second by second or even breath by breath – narrow your focus and the future becomes inconsequential, there is only this moment and anyone can live through a moment.

JLD: What is your fascination with ninjas and the ninja culture? Where did that come from?

SB: When swords ruled Japan, samurai were the noble warriors . . . and ninja were the bad boys. The shinobi didn't play by the rules, hiding in ambush, using subterfuge, masters of spying and assassination. But I don't see good and bad, right and wrong as being quite so cut and dried. Bad they may have been by the samurai standards, but they were fiercely loyal to their clans. Mercenaries, but not totally without honor. A wonderful contradiction, which makes for rich storytelling possibilities. Besides, everyone knows bad boys are the hottest.

JLD: Makoto is a wonderfully rugged character with strong protective instincts even while performing duties that are the antithesis of protection. Is he based on anyone you know? Why did you craft him that way, so internally conflicted?

SB: I don't see Makoto as conflicted – like Yoshi he's intensely loyal. He's protecting his clan the best way he can, by eliminating any and all threats in hopes of sparing others the treatment he dishes out. That strong protective instinct is why Yoshi can open up to him in a way he couldn't with anyone else. They both have a large dose of self-hatred, Yoshi for Willingness to look past that on both their parts is what pulls them ever closer.

JLD: Let's talk about you. When did you start writing? How long did it take you to finish Shinobi? It is your first published work? What else do you have out and forthcoming?SB: I started writing when I was four – I still have my first book 'Obediah the Panda Goes to the City'. I didn't start to share my writing until 2008 when I first heard about NaNoWriMo. Since then I haven't looked back!The first draft of Shinobi came out in one huge burst of half a million words over the course of three months. It took another year of rewriting and shaping to turn that into the first to and a half books of the series.My first published book was 'Strength of Will' which came out in the fall of 2009. The rights have since reverted to me and it's undergoing a thorough rewrite for re-release later this year. Other than that I have a few pieces in anthologies – Wintersong in Dancing in the Dark, Amadan na Briona in eightcuts Once Upon a Time in a Gallery exhibit and The Poetry Game in the soon to be released New Sun Rising: Stories for Japan.As far as what's coming up, the second volume of Shinobi – Struggle for Balance will be out in November and a prequel novella Geisha will hopefully also be out by the end of the year. The next major piece I'm working on is Onna Bugeisha, a twisted love triangle set in 13th century Japan.

JLD: What do you want your readers to take away from Shinobi? To me, it's a beautiful tale of self-sacrifice and finding peace amid horror. It's about acceptance and love, despite past deeds and agonies. Is that pretty accurate?SB: It's about trust, who and how we trust and why. The message is that love is a risk worth taking.

JLD: Thanks so much for being here today, Sessha. It's been a pleasure, and I hope others take the time to read your book. It's phenomenal and so worth reading.

Karl Kronlage, St. Peter Killed God

I'm truly lucky to have the wonderful Karl Kronlage on my blog today. You might know him as the winner of Slushpile Reader's first publishing contract. Congratulations, Karl! And not only is he a talented author, he's a heck of a nice guy, and I'm excited to give you guys a glimpse into his world...

JLD: Welcome, Karl!

KK: Thanks for having me!

JLD: So Karl, What inspired you to write your book?

KK: The first short story I wrote in 1989 won an award. It was about a little kid who cried all the time. A couple of people told me how they really liked it but I thought I could do better. So I started writing about a pathetic child who got picked on by his brother and sister, his friends, and teacher and cried all the time only this time I felt it was much better than that story I wrote in college. Then I started thinking, hmmm, how what would this kid be like as an adult? I started molding Father Peter after I had written all this background and eventually I used the scenes I was writing as part of the sermons he preached. But it really all began by trying to write a novel about a child. That and poems about what it was like working in a psychiatric hospital. I sort of fused the two stories together and added a third element.

JLD: How long did it take you to write it?

KK: Well as you can imagine, having two stories and trying to create a third and making them all related was sort of like having a gig saw puzzle. Some elements didn’t fit and had to be thrown out. Others created. Poetry turned into prose. That was 2000-2001 and I went part-time to complete it and I liked the way things turned out only no one else did. I tried to query agents and got no bites. So I hired a writing coach who published a novel and taught creative writing for masters of fiction degrees in California. He sent a twenty page email outlining everything that was wrong with it and suggested reading about 25 books. Some were about writing. Some were fiction related to my book in some way. I guess I’m a little slow and not naturally a very good writer. I had to learn it the hard way. I’m envious of those who do it so effortlessly. Any way, it finally clicked and I went part-time again in 2007-2008 doing several drafts. Shortly
thereafter, I put it on Authonomy and made the editors desk in less than a year. Then I put it on Slush Pile Reader. I year later they agreed to publish it and we did a little editing.

Sorry for rambling. But it’s a hard question. It took ten years to finish it, but I didn’t spend ten years writing it. I’d take years off before going back to it. I guess I’m a little slower than other writers and hopefully next time I decide to write a novel it won’t take as long.

JLD: What message are you trying to convey?

KK: I believe that different readers will get something different out of it. First and for most, I want people to be entertained. If it’s not entertaining, who cares what the message is – it’s bad writing and no one would want to read it. Second, I try to undermine arguments and let the reading feel comfortable choosing to believe what they want. I mean I really try to present a need for religion, a problem with religion, and no easy fix to make religion modern. Some readers might find Father Peter simply insane. Others have told me they’d walk out of church with Father Peter. I’m not even that bold. If I attend a mass and the priest walked out of church, I’d feel embarrassed for the priest but I don’t think I’d walk out of church in protest with him. Poor Father Peter was too deluded to realize that.

JLD: What is your intended audience?

KK: Readers. Anyone and everyone. I’d like people who are religious to read it as well as those who aren’t. I love talking to atheists, Muslims, Jews, and Christians alike about their beliefs. I hope they would find the book interesting as well.

JLD: Who are you?

KK: I’m Karl Joseph Kronlage but I go by KJ Kron. No idea why. I thought that if I went by my name, friends I knew growing up might see my name and say, “Hey, Karl’s book is out.” On the other hand, most people who have read the book on Authonomy and Slush Pile Reader simply know me as KJ Kron. I was on those websites for a couple of years and more than 1,000 people read a bit of it.

JLD: Where did you grow up?

KK: In a suburb of Washington DC on the Virginia side. Catholic family. My parents had four children. Wow, I just can’t imagine having four children. I have one and we’d like one more, but four? I don’t know how people do it. I’m such a wimp; I know I can’t do what my parents did.

JLD: What do you do now?

KK: I just finished my 15th year as an English teacher. Two of those years I went part-time twice to write Saint Peter Killed God. I used to think that having the summers off would give me enough free time to write novels, but it didn’t pan out. I have tried a couple of things that have worked. My advice to writers: work overnight. There are plenty of jobs that need overnight workers. Half-way houses. Psych hospitals. Jails. Most of those places have downtimes where you can actually bring in a laptop and write. I know; I did it for four years. It’s a great idea.

JLD: Any projects forthcoming?

KK: I wish I could retire. There are so many things I’d like to do. I’m trying to learn Spanish. I’ve been spending my summers in Spain for six years now and can only handle simple conversations. I need to study about an hour day. I’d like to get back into shape. I like to read. Oh, writing. Yes, yes, I’d love to write novels but there’s only 24 hours in a day. Is there some pill I could take that would make sleeping unnecessary? With a full-time job and a fifteen month old, I just don’t seem to be organized enough to write, other than keeping up with blogs.

JLD: Where can you get a copy of Saint Peter Killed God?





KK: You can get it at Amazon or Barnes and Noble as well as Smashwords. I don’t know how other people are doing, but getting reviews and selling books is hard. Slush Pile Reader is offering gift certificates at Amazon.com that are worth $1,00. Stop by and enter the sweepstakes. We’re still hoping it catches on. Night seems to be growing with experience and I hope everyone there continues to gain recognition.

JLD: You have been a very interesting, exciting guest to have here today. Thanks so much for joining me! And best of luck with your sales!

KK: Thanks, Jess!

Meanderings

I thought I'd go into some background information on Six Weeks, and what inspired me to do it. A lot of people have been wondering...

Six Weeks is really a very powerful story about a young woman who has nothing but difficult choices to make in life. Immy has to take care of her alcoholic, arthritic mother who has all but given up on herself and her children. A fifth of whiskey a day dulls her pain, but causes agony for Immy and her little sister Sadie.

When Immy discovers she's pregnant, the callous nurse-practitioner tells her that she's six weeks along, and that she only has six weeks to make a decision on what to do with the fetus.

What would you do in that circumstance? I have feelings and beliefs about abortion, adoption, and raising children, and I don't really want to foist them on anyone. But the question is there. A lot of people have very black-and-white beliefs regarding the subject of abortion, and I wondered what would happen if those beliefs were challenged.

It's sometimes difficult for someone who feels strongly about one thing or another to step back and reevaluate. But that's my goal for Six Weeks. I'd like to challenge readers to explore their own feelings on the subject and consider what they might do under such desperate circumstances. I think it's important to consider a subject from all sides before making a decision, and Six Weeks is a good tool for people to use to help them consider.

What would you do? Let's say you were in Immy's shoes. Do you abort the child and go on with your life to try to make it better? Do you keep the child and raise it, either in the same house with a worthless alcoholic and a little girl who needs too much? Do you birth the child only to give it away? Those are tough choices for anyone, much less a young woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

When I set out to write Six Weeks, I never really intended for the religious themes that are woven througthe the book to be there. But it seemed logical during my research. A lot of the "Pregnant? We can help!" places are run by churches or other religious institutions, and they offer alternatives to abortion. And really, isn't the whole pro-life/pro-choice debate theological? One of the main objections to abortion is the fact that God doesn't approve.

Really, the bottom line is that every person who may find themselves on the fence on the topic of abortion needs to consider plights from every angle. It's very hard to be logical about such an issues. Babies and pregnancy invoke strong feelings. Religion invokes strong feelings. I think, though, that it's important to consider that there is more than 1 side to every story, and unfortunately, there's not a one-size fits all solution for every young pregnant woman. I think it's important to recognize that there may not be a "right" solution; rather, there could be just one that seems less wrong than the others.

I ask that if you do run across someone in Immy's shoes, listen to her story first and judge later. Maybe the young woman won't do what you would do in the same situation, but maybe she's doing the best she can with her limited options.

And ask yourself: what would I do in her shoes?

Jess

Six Weeks

Without further ado, Six Weeks is on Smashwords! Amazon to follow in a few days. Stay tuned!

I thought I'd share the first chapter of my latest. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you keep reading!

CHAPTER ONE
The nurse-practitioner’s voice seems to echo off the stark white walls of the exam room. I hear her, but as though through a tunnel.
“Yes, you’re about six weeks along now,” she says, removing her surgical gloves with a crisp snap and tossing them into the bright red hazardous-waste bin. She pushes away from the bottom of the table and stands, looking at me with sharp eyes and an impersonal expression.
I am naked from the waist down, an inadequate paper sheet draped over my lap. I shift and the paper crackles. I sit up because I know I should, even though my body is only responding woodenly. I cannot think. I cannot speak. I am numb.

Six weeks.

I would give anything to be able to remember how I felt before my diagnosis, before I
received the news that threatened to destroy the fragile equilibrium that has been my existence, but I cannot.
Her voice echoes around the room again as it bounces around in my head, unable to land anywhere to be absorbed. This feels surreal, straight out of a bad dream.
“Do you have any idea what your plans are?” she repeats, dispassion coloring her tone alackluster gray. She has done this more times than she cares to count, and I can hear it in her voice. To her, I am merely one more in a sea of faceless bodies, faceless carriers of more faceless bodies, a link in an unbroken chain of unwed, youthful, pregnant women, breeders of other failed children. I am legion, yet right now, I feel alone.
I simply stare at her, unsure of what she would have me say. How am I supposed to know what my plans are? How can I know?
I had suspected that something was wrong with me only last week. So, I called, made
myself an appointment, and here I was, partially nude, exposed in many ways, expected toanswer a question for which I had no answer.
I shake my head and she frowns a little. She has seen this reaction before from young
women too stupid or careless to protect themselves. She has seen this insipid stare and glassy-eyed shock. She tries another tactic, a sharp slap of reality that leaves my body stinging.
“Well, at this point, you have about six weeks to decide. A fetus can only be aborted within the first twelve weeks of a pregnancy. After that, it is neither advisable nor legal.”
I nod stiffly. She hands me some pamphlets about diet, my changing body, and the
development of the fetus. She presses some prenatal vitamins into my damp, clammy hand and advises me to get dressed and see the receptionist up front to schedule another appointment.
My feet move of their own accord; I have been dismissed. She disappears from the room
before I even pull on my jeans and reach the door.
Six weeks. It can be a long time. It can feel like an eternity, perhaps when one is pining for a distant loved one, stranded on a desert island or locked up in prison. It can be a long time to wait for a much-anticipated vacation or for the end of a school year. But how can anyone expect me to decide the fate of a little being so small that I can’t see it,can’t even feel it, in such a short time?
How can I even begin to wrap my head around that? How do I cope with being pregnant at nineteen, much less decide what I want to do about it? My eyes burn, my head begins to throb. My heart starts pounding in my chest, staccato bursts of movement that make me worry for a moment that I’ll have a heart attack.
I glance at the pamphlets in my hand as I trudge to the reception counter. The marigold yellow one has information on “alternatives” to abortion.
This clinic is a state-sanctioned facility that is authorized to perform abortions. The pink pamphlet says so. It spells out the procedure, the cost (free to low-income women like me), the potential risks and side-effects in cold, clinical language that does more to scare than to soothe.
I reach the receptionist and she glances up from her computer screen. The busy clacking of her fingers on the keyboard stops. She gives me a disapproving stare and says, “Do you need to be seen again?”
“Yes, I need to schedule another appointment.”
“What kind of appointment?”
“Excuse me?” I am perplexed. Does she not know I’m pregnant?
“A pre-natal appointment or an abortion?” Oh.
“I—I don’t know. Can’t I call you after I’ve had some time to think?”
“You don’t have much time, you know,” she says, unmoved by my plea. I’m but a link in
the chain, after all.
“I know. I’ll—I’ll call you later, ok? I need to catch the train.” She shrugs and goes back to
her typing. I am dismissed again.
As quickly as I can, I step out of the office into the bright sunshine of a fragrant May day. The flowers have just come into bloom. The delicious scent of lilac wafts in on the slight breeze. I inhale deeply, as a force of habit, just to sniff the sumptuous fragrance, and to steady myself. This moment is etched into my mind. I will always recall the smell in the air, the feel of the sunshine, warm on my bare arms, the sound of the passing traffic, a siren far off in the distance.
Like those who remember clearly where they were the day the Twin Towers fell, my traumatized subconscious is committing each miniscule detail to memory.
My world has changed. A few little words, carelessly spoken, have altered the course of my existence. They have irreparably changed the fabric of my life.
The walk to the subway does little to calm me. Although I am outwardly placid, my insides are jumping like hot embers in a fireplace. I place one foot in front of the next, trying to match my footsteps with my heartbeat, trying to slow both.
I wonder about the being inside me. There is some controversy about when a fetus becomes a child, when a glob of cells that have no distinct shape and form become human. What is inside me right now? Is it comfortable? Happy? Does it know what turmoil it has caused, simply by being discovered? By merely being?
I near the entrance to the subway, but apparently I am not walking fast enough for the dynamic go-getters on their commutes. One such businessman, a not-quite-thirty-something in a charcoal suit and shiny, tasseled loafers brushes past me rudely, jostling me a bit as he forces his way by. I shrink back, unwilling to subject myself, or the thing growing inside me, to such rude treatment. I allow the intrepid businesspeople to go first and head down into the dark tunnel only when they all have passed.
The turnstile lightly bumps my stomach as I push through it. I wonder if it can feel the pressure, if it is shaken by the force of the metal against my abdomen. Then I push the thought out of my head. I can’t think about it now, but it is all I can think about. I am at war with myself, and I don’t know what to do.
Six weeks.
The subway is crowded today with suits in various shapes and sizes, housewives and maids laden with shopping bags, women with infants strapped to their chests or their backs or with grubby hands clasped tightly to their own.
I watch the women, amazed at how commonplace it is for them to travel with their burdens.
One such woman intrigues me. She looks to be only a few years older than I, but already she is work-worn and weary. No matter how tired she appears, however, she has a gentle smile for her
little offspring, a boy of no more than five who looks up at her with such worship in his eyes it is almost sacrilegious. He smiles at his mother from his perch on the hard plastic bench and says in a little voice, “Are we almost home? I wanna play with my new ball.”
“Yes, honey, almost home. Another few minutes.”
“Ok. Can I have cookies when we get home?”
“No, you’ll spoil your dinner. We can have cookies later.”
He nods to himself, content with her answer, and passes the time until their stop by
thumping his little sneaker-clad feet against the bottom of the bench. An elderly woman looks up from her newspaper with a frown, but smiles when she sees what is causing the vibration on her seat. She must have children, or even grandchildren of her own, the way she’s looking at the little boy.
It’s hard for me to equate the little boy in front of me to the growth inside me. It’s strange to think that something that starts out so small will eventually want cookies and wear sneakers and walk and talk, that it will rely on me for its daily sustenance. Will I provide it? Can I?
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to handle it, how to handle myself. I cannot digest the news. I cannot react. I cannot change the past, but I can change the future, if I so choose. What should I choose?
The subway lurches to a stop and I blink against the searing sun as I exit and head toward home. Only one thing is for certain in the midst of all this uncertainty: I have six weeks to make a decision.