Writing is the way I figure things out.
I don’t function very well if I don’t do it.
After my 33-year-old husband, a well-known rock cellist, drowned in Lake Geneva, Switzerland while touring with singer Regina Spektor, I found myself searching for meaning in the intersection of fresh widowhood and young motherhood. I documented both at Dear Audrey, a blog where I shared my grieving process. An excerpt was published in the NY Times. A lot of things became unknown to me during that time: marriage, mothering, faith, and language itself. I’m working on a memoir about all of that.
I write on themes of love and loss, time and memory, faith and doubt, intuition and synchronicity, and hope as a way of knowing. I also enjoy writing subversive or thought-provoking cultural commentary, and making the things we’ve become accustomed to take on their proper strangeness again. I’ve been published in the NY Times, The Washington Post, and The Atlantic, among others.
Write as if you were dying. At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients. That is, after all, the case.
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