So the other night I visited my first book club. (More to come.) I didn't know what to expect. Really. I wasn't even imagining a bunch of women in glasses with their legs primly crossed at the ankle. I literally, typically, did not have a single preconception. I think I've officially become too tired to preconceive. On account of all my conceiving, I suppose.
Anyway, I loved these women. And not just because they loved my book. But really, how could you not love a bunch of people sitting around talking about your novel like it's some kind of real book with things like "plot" and "character development." It blew my mind. And, they were funny.
And deep. The motherhood vibe was very strong in the room and I can say, without any hesitation, that I love mothers, strange though we may be in large playground settings. My people, my people, my people of poop, my people of sleeplessness, droopiness, worry and neurotic love, my people of Baby Toy minutia, of Feeding Kids Sucks, my people who do not mind seeing the word vagina on the first page. My people who are glad vagina has made it to the front page. You all make me proud.