The other day, a friend e-mailed me the link to Patricia Cohen’s New York Times article “A Mother’s Memoir, a Son’s Anguish,” which discusses how British author Julie’s Myerson was “pilloried” after the release in Britain of The Lost Child: A Mother’s Story, a memoir about her son’s drug addiction. Apparently the press in Britain…
Read MoreLast week, Zoë started “school.” It was awful. I should have known it would be awful, but I didn’t. D and I dropped her off on the playground with Stella, and she was fine until she realized we were going to leave her there, and then she burst into tears—wailing and pointing to the door.…
Read MoreI still think of summer as a season of down time. During the cold winter days I imagine the warmth and green and playing at the park with the girls, and somehow I equate those images with relaxation. But long gone are the days of nothing at all on my calendar, of sitting outside with…
Read MoreI have never had an office in our house, a space where I can write and organize and tack up my lists. There was a section of the basement where I used to work on the computer, but I don’t spend time down there anymore because our desktop computer is so old that it freezes…
Read MoreIt’s been an odd few days. I had a lovely birthday on Saturday—a really perfect day with breakfast in bed (strawberries doused in sugar and a vanilla latté). D and Stella and Zoë all piled onto the bed and I opened presents and the adorable card from Stella and Zoë, “I LOVE MOM” carefully spelled…
Read MoreI’m not a patient person. I’m just not. And unfortunately, impatience isn’t a helpful character trait for a writer. So much of a writer’s time—at least this writer’s time—is spent waiting, thinking, revising, waiting. Did I mention waiting? I wait for letters to come back from journals. I wait for responses from editors. I wait…
Read MoreFor several weeks while I was in 10th grade, my goal was to become a speed reader. Okay, so this was unlikely—I had never been a very fast reader—but Mrs. K, my English teacher, had convinced me it was possible. Mrs. K was a kind woman, if a bit stern. Now I would call her…
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