Ah, those good intentions about blogging regularly. How quickly they can evaporate!
In my defense, it’s been a bit of an emotional roller-coaster around here. Our dear old cat-boy, Tuna, is coming to the end of his road. Our dog, Holly, has developed seizures – a journey which has required two trips to Tufts’ Foster Hospital for Small Animals, first for a neurology consult and then for an MRI and spinal tap (…erg…) to rule out brain tumor, stroke, or infection as the culprit. Happily, all tests came back negative, but that leaves us with the rather ephemeral diagnosis of idiopathic epilepsy. Holly’s eight, a bit old to have this just show up, but we always seem to have animals that bend the rules, as our dear veterinarian Dr. Jenny Gamble can attest. At any rate, as of last night she is on meds (Ka-CHING! these things are expensive!) and time will tell. Still, it’s disheartening to know that no good was going to come out of this no matter when the tests revealed.
In addition to all this, a friend’s mother is battling lung cancer; another friend’s brother is fighting colon cancer, and his mother is recovering from a stroke; a third friend just underwent an abdominal CT scan in a hunt for the cancer that may have returned to haunt her after ten years free of the monster and, well, you get the idea.
There is, however, a bit of rosy glow on the horizon, at least so far as I’m concerned. Today, I’ll be talking with my agent Bonnie Solow to decide when we will begin submitting the proposal and manuscript of The Man Who Loved Elephants to editors. This has been a long and exciting (and occasionally frustrating) road. I’m delighted … excited … terrified. Here goes my baby (our baby, I should say, for the book is as much Roger’s child as it is mine) into the world. I hope it receives a warm welcome.