Writing a book seems like a solitary process: a woman alone at her computer listening to the voices in her head. And in some ways it is. In other very important ways, it isn’t. The forthcoming novel, Losing Clementine, is dedicated in part to the Gator in the Pool Gang, an affectionate name for the group of friends-who-are-family who surround me always. This past weekend, one of the gang celebrated her 40th birthday, and no one knows how to do it up like the Gators.

Happy birthday, Jessica.

First, we choose a beautiful beachy location. Nothing too stuffy. They have to be able to put up with us, after all.

We put out flowers.

Then we arrange for very good food. (Even if it means Ashley has to learn how to shuck an oyster.)

Birthday girls wear tiaras. Even gators. Especially gators.

And never to be upstaged, the guys put on their best. Only a gator could pair a tux with flip-flops and make that work. Watch and learn, boys.