Lyda came alive the moment I arrived in Prague. Together, we wandered the winding cobblestone streets, perused the quaint bookstores and bakeries, and explored Old Town--where it felt like time had stood still since Lyda's time. We imagined where she would live, places she might go, and tragedies she'd have to overcome. Of all of the characters who haunt me at night, Lyda is the most patient. Maybe that's the reason I keep putting off editing her traverse across war-torn countries in search of the baby who she wasn't allowed to hold.
