Just finished Nick Hornby's Slam, which was a terrific read. I don't know if he'll get any flak for it because it is not unreservedly negative about teen pregnancy, but it was a great, great book.
Everytime I read Nick Hornby I get depressed, because it seems so easy to write like that, yet I somehow can't. I want to be that good at anything at all, never mind writing itself.
I had my first and only child at 26, so I can't really empathize, but I felt (and feel) many of the same emotions Sam does in the book. You'd think I'd have gotten the hang of it by now.
You'd think.
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