Tuesday is starting to loom large. We meet with the surgeon on Tuesday to learn The Husband’s biopsy results and to discuss next steps. Most likely, that evening my life will resemble yet another episode of “Parenthood” (telling a kid with Asperger’s that a parent has cancer? check!) and we’ll be having a conversation that nobody ever wants to have. So, things are a little subdued around here, to say the least.
I tried to distract myself with Bloggiesta this weekend but I confess, I wasn’t quite feeling it this time around. That’s absolutely no reflection on the awesome job that Danielle and Suey did in organizing this event – quite the contrary. I saved all of the mini-challenges to do later, because they look fantastic.
I managed to get a few things accomplished on the blog front, which I’m happy about, but today I had to get out of the house. There was a children’s consignment sale being held not too far from us so Betty and I went down to see what they had. She needed some new pants and tops. Since today was the third day of the sale (it started Friday night), I wasn’t sure what to expect, but we were pleasantly surprised. I wound up getting 17 items (mostly all name brand pants, tops, sweaters, etc.).
I’m ending September and starting October by reading Tell the Wolves I’m Home
, a coming-of-age novel by Carol Rifka Brunt about a 14 year old girl who is trying to make sense of her beloved uncle’s death from AIDS in 1987, when we didn’t know much about this epidemic.
Yeah. I know.
When I heard about Tell the Wolves I’m Home
earlier this summer, there was a part of me that sort of collapsed inside. If you’ve read any of my posts about The Novel in Progress
, you know that this is incredibly, incredibly similar to the novel I’m writing – and have been, on and off, for the past 10 years or so. I don’t think it’s anything other than coincidental.
Still, I wasn’t sure if I was going to read Tell the Wolves I’m Home,
if I wanted to read it, or if it was even a good idea for me to read it.
But when I saw it in the library – face out on the New Books shelf, no less – I grabbed it and I realized what my hesitation was about.
I was afraid.
I was afraid that Tell the Wolves I’m Home
would be better than my story, that it would make me abandon my novel, which I really don’t want to do.
Which I can’t do.
My reaction to this one so far is hard to explain. It’s a highly personal one, and for me, Tell the Wolves I’m Home
is a hell of an emotional ride on several levels. But even though I’m only on page 53, I’m enjoying the wolves. (How could I not? Junie is me, absolutely.) And overall, I’m glad I’m reading it, because although the storyline has some definite similarities, there are some differences too. I wouldn’t have known that if I refused to read the book.
I would have remained afraid.
Sometimes you have to let the wolves in rather than pretending they’re not there.
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