Natalie is three. She can’t read yet, but she likes playing book party.
This morning when I woke up she pulled two books off the shelf for her. “Daddy, this is my book. It’s called, uh, Letters. And this book is mine. It’s called, uh, Cousin Bunnies.”
She gave me my novel off of the nightstand and told me I could read it. It was called Ghost Brigades, but I decided I needed to make up a name for it, so I said “My book is called, uh, Bob Dylan … Flies to the Moon … to Fight Ninjas.”
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