The Writer Daughter

Back in the 60s, my friend Connie and I used to hold long discussions not only about our fellow high school students but also, with at least as much enthusiasm, about books. From about age 14 on until our mid-twenties and the birth of her first child, these discussions were a big deal. Then I had an all-consuming newspaper job and she had a baby and a move with her new family to another state.

That daughter, in her mid-thirties and living in the Pacific Northwest, now has an agent for her first novel and an excited editor who is presenting the book to his house's acquisitions committee this week.

This news is to me gratifying beyond measure. It feels right! I feel as if it proves some sort of immortality for those long-ago conversations while walking from my house on Mimosa Place over to hang out at the shopping center on Oleander.

Somehow this development makes the universe feel less random, reminds me that everything matters. Which is kinda thrilling.


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