It was supposed to be our starter home, bought after my father’s first novel was published almost ten years ago. The book wasn’t a blockbuster, but it was well reviewed enough that he was offered a contract for a second novel. Which he still hasn’t written, even though author is the only job he’s had since I was in grade school. For the longest time, I thought he got paid for reading books, not writing them, since that was all he ever did. Turns out he just doesn’t get paid at all.
