There are things I was thinking of blogging about today — about the mess that is my manuscript and the folly of posting goals in a space as public as a blog. About a large publisher’s recent decision to take on a self-publishing imprint, with possible publication by one of the publisher’s traditional lines as the ever-present carrot for authors. About reading Charlotte’s Web with my daughter — we finished last night — and being overwhelmed by the beauty and simplicity and perfection of White’s language.
And then my husband came home and asked if I’d heard about what happened in Connecticut.
So he told me, and I kissed my daughter on the head about eighteen times without telling her why, and now she’s downstairs and safe and I’m up here in my office. I cried. It feels like a bit of a presumption to do that, since I didn’t know anyone involved, but I couldn’t help it.
Somewhere, parents and families are dealing with the worst thing imaginable.
My thoughts and prayers go out to them.
I’m going to go sit with my daughter now.