My nine-year-old is away from home for the first time this week, away on a school trip.  I know he’s having a wonderful time and I am so glad he has this opportunity, but missing him is like gastrointestinal distress or a mouth ulcer – a constant, unpleasant presence that could flare up into pain at any moment.  I know he’s not a baby anymore, but come on, he’ll always be my baby.

I’m also working on a revision this week, and I happen to at a part of the story where my protagonist has suffered a devastating loss.  So at least I can harness the pain of the temporarily empty nest…