Is there a better feeling than being on the homepage over at Food52? In these pandemic days, I think not. I wrote about missing my mother’s cooking — specifically her spinach — and my mother. And father. And sister, aunt and second mother. You can read all about it by clicking here.
Can I tell you a story about how some essays come into being?
I first wrote this piece, about my grandfather’s death and the secret I didn’t know about his work and his life, in college, oh, 20+ years ago. I wrote it as fiction, because it was a fiction-writing class and I didn’t know that I wasn’t really a fiction writer and I figured, what the hell? Who will know this is all true?
Over a decade later, I resurrected it for a workshop in graduate school, this time in its proper memoir form. Then, a few months ago, I decided to take a look at it again, make a few more changes, and send it off.
So what you’re reading here — or what you will read here, please and thank you so much! — is a piece that started in 1999 and is now seeing the light of day in 2019. Sometimes this is how it goes.
You can read about it all here. xoxox
This weekend marked the 25th Anniversary of the Montreal Massacre.
I wrote a short piece for the Archipelago on Medium about how it impacted me as a daughter, a feminist, and now as a mother to a little girl. You can read it here. And then go call your mama.