Finals are over. I'm so relieved. Some wonderful moments of this semester, and some amazing students made it all worthwhile.
But still, it's so much work, I'm glad, glad, glad to be done for a few weeks.
The still early mornings mean no homework, just sitting with my laptop, my story about Grant O'Grady struggling to wend its way forward, Freya snoring nearby, and Christmas tree lights twinkling blue against the black early morning sky.
A magical way to start the day.
Speaking of Grant O'Grady. My protagonist is a fourteen-year-old boy in North Dakota in 1937. His Idol is Bob Feller, who grew up in Van Meter, Iowa, and who pitched for Fargo-Moorhead (Grant got to watch him play), before he was snatched up by the Cleveland Indians at age seventeen.
Bob Feller died this week. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Even though Grant is a fictional character, he lives in my head, in my life, and all of that part of me grieves Bob's death. Yet, Bob had a good life. That we should celebrate and remember.
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