I used to think that launching a book was a little like giving birth. My memories of my first novel, Rush Home Road, are enmeshed with the births of my children. I was pregnant with my first child when I wrote the book. My husband read it in the days before I gave birth and we discussed the fine points while I was in labor. Nearly a year later, I nursed my feverish son in front of a dozen people in the boardroom at a major New York publisher. I was pregnant again, with my daughter, by the time of the book’s debut, and gave birth while I was still doing events.