Inhuman Pain, Blindness, and Grief: My Spring So Far
Or "Why I Haven't Finished Editing Your Book Yet: I'm Sorry"
Starting to sweat now, I barrelled out the door of the Dollar General without so much as a "Thanks; you, too," and made a beeline for the white hatchback. Collapsing behind the wheel, I tore my handbag apart searching for the tiny white tube of salvation: the only thing I'd gone inside to get.
As I did, the horrible drumbeat intensified through …
