Jennie, left, holding a copy of my book, with Morgan, right.
Jennie (aka my “new daughter” who’s staying with us temporarily since her family’s house burned down) read my book. I gave her a copy a while back, but didn’t have the nerve to ask her until last night if she’d read it.
She had. I asked her what she thought of it.
Jennie: “It was like reading somebody’s diary. Only I know you, so it was weird.”
“I’m in the book, too!” Morgan said.
“I know,” Jennie said. “That was weird, too.”
Morgan has a copy, but she hasn’t read it yet. “There are things about me in there that even Morgan doesn’t know,” I told Jennie.
Jennie: “Then why did you put them in the book?”
“Because if I only put things about me in the book that Morgan knows, it wouldn’t be a very interesting book!”
Then Jennie asked the question I’m starting to hear with growing frequency from people who have had advance copies for one reason or another.
“Was it hard to write all that personal stuff, knowing all these people are going to read it?”