What I’m Writing…

Well, we have had a summer of adventures starting all the way back in May (which I know isn’t technically summer) when we went to windswept Donegal and stayed at the romantic, practically-perfect-in-every-way Breac.House.

From there to colorful Kinsale and then to Dingle to teach at the Dingle Writers Workshop. (Our website will be updated after Labor Day, but dates for 2027 are May 14-27) Ireland is truly the gift that keeps on giving, jaw dropping vistas and brightly painted villages and sheep and Guinness and rainbows…

Then we spent two weeks driving around the Baltics: Finland, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. An entire new region to fall in love with. So many surprises along the way—craft cocktails in secret speakeasies, storks and poppies, postcard pretty old towns, a lagoon and a library that I want to live in…

Back in the USA, it was three weeks of teaching—at the Newport MFA, Maine Media, and Truro Center for the Arts at Castle Hill, before collapsing in our middle of nowhere beach town for two weeks.

Weary but happy, we returned to our beloved West Village and spent a week catching up and catching our breath. More than once I remembered my days as a TWA flight attendant, rolling my crew kit through JFK and points beyond fifteen or twenty times a month. How did I do it? I wonder, tired at the very thought of working all those international flights (in high heels!). Well, friends, I was much younger, for one thing. And I didn’t have any obligations at all. Now, I have books to write and student stories to read and a happy home where I like to curl up with my beloved and my cats and a good book.

A week back after so many away means getting organized, setting myself up for the work ahead. All of which is to say that I didn’t get any writing done this week, although I did work with two private students. (If you are interested in doing manuscript consultation with me, send me a note!)

Here’s what I did to prepare for the work ahead:

Re-read my editor’s notes for the (hopefully) final set of revisions on my new novel, Maybe This Time. Gathered and began to read books I’m using for research for both my new memoir on long grief and a new novel. Got busy work out of the way: taxes, nine month budget, setting up speakers and faculty for the Newport MFA in January and the 2027 Dingle Writers Workshop. Read and blurbed two books.

In other words, my days are clear to focus on my writing through the fall.

What I’m Knitting…

As I picked up my Granny Square to work on in my Uber to JFK, I realized I wasn’t even sure which end was up? And where was I supposed to get the yarn to do my chain 1 when my crochet needle wasn’t attached to anything? And also: working with one needle is really awkward for this knitter.

In that moment, as my mind raced with questions—What comes next? Why am I even doing this?—it struck me that this little square was a metaphor for the every day crises that arise when I write a novel.

Just about every day I ask myself what comes next? And like this little square, there’s a pattern, aka a plan of some kind, that doesn’t always make sense.

Somewhere in the middle of a draft, I can’t see my way through the story. I panic. I take things apart and try again. I question my choices.

That’s how I was feeling that day in the Uber. I texted Annabelle for help and she sent me great visual aids as well as a pattern I couldn’t understand.

She sent this:

I studied, read the directions, and did this:

To which she replied: “Please hold while I figure out what you managed to do.”

This led to that writer’s question: Why am I even doing this? Also, I was getting car sick.

But in Edinburgh (more on that in a bit), we were meeting up at a pub and she told me to bring my project.

Not only is pub crocheting fun, I also remembered why I was doing this. It’s challenging It’s new. It’s interesting. And at some distant point in the future, I will have made something beautiful.

Just like writing a novel.

What I’m Thinking About…

Time!

More specifically, making the time to write. Even more specifically, women making the time to write. Over the years, I have been struck by how many female students—and friends—feel guilty taking writing time.

On May 12, 1939, Shirley Jackson wrote in her diary: “I should be writing, but the house demands to be cleaned, and the groceries must be bought, and so my great work is defeated by dinner.” (Jackson did all that and still managed to write “The Lottery” and The Haunting of Hill House.)

For a good long time, I wrote full time, taught writing and gave lectures all over the world, and bought the groceries, did the cooking, took kids to and from school and activities, cared for my parents, organized and threw dinner parties, paid bills, filled out school forms and camp forms and field trip forms and doctor’s forms, found child care…oh, the list goes on and on. My working friends and I used to joke that we needed a wife.

If you haven’t yet published though, all those other duties gobble up so much of your time that it’s too easy to feel guilty carving out even an hour a day to work on your book. But publishing shouldn’t be the entry fee to writing. After all, if you don’t write, you can’t get published.

So I’m beseeching you—all of us!—to not do the laundry, or to order pizza for dinner, or whatever it takes to find just one hour a day to write. And don’t feel guilty for that time writing. Virginia Woolf’s “room of one’s own” was a room with a lock on the door to shield women from the constant demands and interruptions of domestic life. But I think sometimes we put the lock on the wrong side of the door, keeping our writing all alone inside.

And Also…

Edinburgh!

When your kid is doing the lighting for a show at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, you hop a plane and go. Cousin GJ joined me on this madcap 48 hours in this glorious city and we had a blast.

Ten years ago, Sam produced and starred in a show there and I hopped a plane then too.

As you know, Scotland is one of our favorite places. Michael and I have gone to visit distilleries from Islay to Skye, always adding on a day or two in Glasgow or Edinburgh. So I was happy for this getaway to cheer on Annabelle and tootle around the city. Also, to be in cool, clean air kissed with drizzle. Heat and humidity are not my friend.

Annabelle’s show was provocative and a delight, as was Little Pink Dress, the other play we saw. We ate and drank and walked and took in all the buskers lining the streets.

One of my favorite stops was Topping & Company Booksellers. The bookstore of every reader’s dreams, with its two floors of rabbit warren rooms piled ceiling high with books.

We blinked, and we were on our way back to the airport and home. But such a fun trip. My advice: if someone invites you to go somewhere exciting for 48 hours, do it!

PS…

Some bits and bobs for you:

Should you find yourself in Edinburgh, may I recommend staying at the fabulous and quirky 24 Royal Terrace? It’s an art filled boutique hotel in a Georgian townhouse with the best customer service, the plushest purple robes, yummy breakfasts, and a very well stocked whisky bar.

This blue boyfriend shirt from Old Navy is the best bargain I’ve found in a long time! $19.99! It’s soft and versatile and comes in white and stripes too. I wore it in Edinburgh with a black linen skirt and with cozy leggings on my flights.

As I’m struggling with my Granny square, it is with great relief that I pick up two knitting needles and work on another Sophie scarf…

Michael and I are doing a craft talk together on zoom on by Living with Another Writer on October 4 from 8-10 PM EST. I hope you’ll join us! Bring lots of questions too!

Speaking of my beloved, his new YA novel, A Taste of Somewhere Else, is coming out on September 8. I think you’re going to love it.

Thank you for reading, friends. And for subscribing and—my heart be still—being a paid subscriber. I’m grateful for every one of you.

Snag a boyfriend shirt, take a short trip somewhere fun and surprising, make time to write every day—no guilt.

PPS…

I’m writing this from my own bed in our little 411-square foot apartment in the West Village, a cat beside me, another by my feet, my darling husband at his desk writing.

There is street noise: the hum of some kind of machinery, the occasional sounds of laughter or talking from people passing by, car tires on cobblestones. It’s a sunny, coolish 69 degrees outside and sunlight is making the leaves shine.

Today, we’re going to work on our secret joint project, then head over to see Broad Strokes, a one woman show at the Lucille Lortel Theater down the street. I’m making pasta alla gricia for dinner tonight after cocktails and cribbage.

Sigh. It’s good to be home.

What I’m Writing…

Over two years ago, I got an idea for a novel. When that happens—and thankfully ideas have kept coming to me for over four decades now—the first thing I do is live with it for a few weeks or months. I don’t write anything down yet.I get to know the characters, the story, the general arc of it.

At that point, if you asked me what the book was about, I wouldn’t be able to articulate it. It’s still vague, an amorphous thing with a beating heart. Eventually, I have a first line. That act of faith—writing the first line, seeing it on a page—leads to a second line, and a third, and soon that blob with a beating heart starts making sense to me.

My first (blessedly unpublished) novel, The Betrayal of Sam Pepper, was a vague revenge story written in a mishmash of styles: a little Fitzgerald, some Flannery O’Connor, a dash of Raymond Carver, and anyone else I happened to read over the three years I wrote the thing.

Don’t get me wrong, writing that novel staved away the loneliness I often felt as a twenty-two year old new hire flight attendant living far from home, spending time all alone in hotel rooms in far off cities. Those handwritten pages got me through perpetual jet lag and over a dozen moves in six different cities and towns.

But, friends, this novel was terrible. I didn’t know that, of course. Not until tragedy struck and my older brother and only sibling died suddenly. After a hot, sad summer at home with parents, I found a very tiny sublet on Sullivan Street in Greenwich Village. On leave from work, I was determined to finish my novel and try to get it published.

When I sat down to read it, I actually laughed. This book, I thought, is terrible! And I walked downstairs and threw the whole thing, hundreds of pages, into the dumpster. By the time I got back to my apartment, a first line was repeating in my head.

Sometimes that first line changes; sometimes it doesn’t. Either way, it leads the way to everything else.

That idea I had over two years ago? After more than a dozen revisions, I’m on the home stretch at last. One more revision and…drum roll, please…Maybe This Time will be on its way to you!

From that blob with a beating heart to here, I have felt inspired, elated, frustrated, angry, ready to cry or scream or throw the thing away. I have felt brilliant and determined and grateful.

Which is all to say, dream and keep at. You’ll get there.

What I’m Knitting…

Speaking of dreams, I imagined that by now I’d have dozens of colorful Granny squares, oodles of them. Alas, I do not.

For two weeks, Michael and I have been tucked away in our happy place by the beach.

We eat hot dogs for breakfast, tomatoes and corn for lunch. We work all morning on a secret joint project, then go to the beach and read. Some days we go to the beach later and drink gin and tonics and eat peanuts and watch the tide come in.

So even though I brought all the Granny square supplies with me, I did not open that bag.

Until…

Annabelle arrived and offered to teach me. In no time, I had this!

Two things Annabelle kept repeating really resonated with me: “Touch the project more.” “Use tension.”

Isn’t that exactly what we need to do in writing? I’m taking this advice with me into my writing projects this fall. Maybe I’ll even write it on a Post-It and stick it by my computer…

And, a surprising update on Latvian wedding mittens!

You might remember that I did not buy the kit when I was in Riga in June. But this person, who I do not know, is making my knitting dreams come true…

Elaine was on a cruise of the Baltics with a stop in Riga, and asked her to buy me (and Ellen) a kit! Can you believe the serendipity of this? Fall knitting challenge is on!

What I’m Thinking About…

Bounty!

These two weeks by the beach offer up such bounty to us. In the form of corn and tomatoes…

…in flowers and herbs…

Out our window are herons and osprey, down the street the ocean. I’m a city girl through and through, which is maybe why I so appreciate this time spent in the quiet, surrounded by the beautiful, natural world.

In fact, I realized that I need a few days every few months to do just this: sit back and appreciate the bounty around me.

My love of my West Village neighborhood knows no bounds. We can walk to three Off Broadway theaters and five independent movie theaters in about twenty minutes. We have half a dozen favorite restaurants within around five or six blocks. Our street is cobbled, the bars and cafes around the corner buzz.

But these brief stays in places so different, so full of a different kind of bounty, feed my soul and imagination too. I think we should be mindful of those things—dahlias and just picked corn, snowy city streets and dinners in bustling restaurants—that feed us. And we should make sure we are fill up on them when we need to.

If you’re a country person, take a trip into a city for a weekend. Feed yourself on museums and the hum of traffic. If you’re a city person like me, be sure to dig your toes in the sand at a beach or walk down a lane lined with stone walls and bleating sheep.

Such bounty all around us!

And Also…

Gilmore Girls!

Were you as gobsmacked to hear that Netflix was pulling Gilmore Girls for streaming as I was?

Gilmore Girls got me (and my daughter) through the wreckage of divorce and dislocation. It made me laugh and cry and feel hopeful. Annabelle and I would eat spaghetti carbonara or risi e pesi and binge watch our way through every season.

Every Christmas I tucked a Gilmore Girls themed gift into her stocking—a Chilton t shirt, an I Smell Snow ornament, a Luke’s Diner coffee mug.

As she got older I wanted something more substantial, a book that delved into the impact of Gilmore Girls on so many people. When I couldn’t find one, I did what writers do—I wrote one (along with fourteen other fantastic writers): Life’s Short, Talk Fast: Fifteen Writers on Why We Can’t Stop Watching Gilmore Girls.

Happily, Hulu and Amazon Prime are still streaming Gilmore Girls and more generations of mothers and daughters can enjoy it together.

PS…

One thing I always have to make in summer is pesto sauce. I’m not going to sweat in a kitchen to make barbecue sauce when there’s very good ones on the grocery shelf. But you’re not going to find a pesto sauce as yummy as one you can make yourself.

The first time I made pesto, I used dried basil! Epic failure, for sure. The next time, I almost went broke buying enough pignoli nuts. Third time’s charmed though, right? I used the recipe from The Silver Palate Cookbook and…success!

Over the years, I’ve adapted it to a foolproof, super simple version that takes less time than getting in the car and driving to the store.

Put 2 cups of fresh basil in the food processor (this is a terrific recipe to double, by the way) with 2 cloves of garlic. Lots of recipes call for 4 or more cloves of garlic but I think that overpowers the freshness of the basil. Add 1/2 cup of pecans. The SPC uses walnuts, but my son is allergic to them so I switched them out for pecans, and more of them.

Give that few pulses, then drizzle a cup of good olive oil in the funnel thing and blend until smooth. Add a cup and a half of good Parmesan or a mix of Parmesan and pecorino with a big pinch of salt and freshly ground pepper and blitz it.

If it’s too thick, add more olive oil. Taste. Adjust seasonings. Swoon.

Thanks for reading and subscribing and supporting my writing with paid subscriptions. You all make me so happy!

As we head into the final weeks of summer, maybe make some homemade pesto and remember to touch your project every day, whatever it may be. If I could conquer the Granny square, anything is possible!

What I’m Writing…

Did you take the write-a-story-a-day-challenge with me? Let me know how it’s going!

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In his preface to In the Garden of the North American Martyrs, Tobias Wolff perfectly captures my excitement about writing short stories: “I was caught by the challenge of the form—to hold the world in a grain of sand…”

Here’s my update!

Obviously, unless we have all day to write or we are writing flash fiction, it’s not possible to actually write a story a day. So for three days I started a story every day. I loved writing them. I began each one without a plan, just a first line or situation that I wanted to explore.

When I got home (see above: happily home!) I worked on one each day for three days. At this writing, Story #1 has 9 pages, Story #2 has 5 pages, and Story #3 has 7 pages. Of course, they are all glorious messes right now. I am just writing them with abandon and having a blast.

Story #1 has the most potential, I think. Story #2 has the least; I’m too close to the subject and haven’t yet figured out a way to fictionalize it honestly. Story #3 is the wildest, and I’m loving where it’s going.

My schedule has been really lovely these two weeks at home. I read in the mornings for my research for the memoir and the new novel I’ll start writing mid-August. In the afternoons, I work on my stories. Pretty perfect summer days.

What I’m Knitting…

I see a theme emerging here…

Take chances! Do something different! Step out of your comfort zone! (I actually don’t like that phrase, but, hey, it works!)

I have been wanting to take a virtual class through Modern Daily Knitting https://www.moderndailyknitting.com/ forever (and their classes all look fantastic), but I always seem to have a conflict. Until now. I was actually able to take an online class on crocheting Granny squares. I’ve been loving all the retro accessories using Granny squares and the class included a pattern for a scarf that really spoke to me.

With great excitement, I walked to my local yarn store and bought the required six skeins of bulky yarn in six different colors and a number 9 crochet hook.

Just touching all that yummy yarn had me dreaming of making Granny squares all summer, turning them into scarves and hats and vests and who knows what else. “You’ll be lucky if you even finish one,” the very helpful woman told me. “But the class is two hours long,” I said with a wee bit of indignation. “If you need any help,” she said, handing me my beautifully wound yarn, “come on back.”

Just like the A student I’ve always been, I lined up my supplies and signed in fifteen minutes early. How awkward to have just one needle, I thought as I followed the instructions for a slip knot and then how to make a chain.

By the time I managed that, the class was already moving on to clusters and double crochets and magic something. In other words, I was lost. Totally lost. The instructor was lovely, I was just too much of a novice or too slow a learner.

During the break, I watched a YouTube video to try to catch up. But alas, at the end of the class, instead of a colorful Granny square, I had this…

But unbelievably, rather than feel like a failure, I felt excited. I remembered the day over twenty years ago when I walked into Sakonnet Pearls for my first knitting lesson, how my (now) friend Jen kept taking out my stitches and urging me to just “try again.” My tension was too tight, my stitches tangled. I don’t know how long it took me to feel comfortable holding my knitting needles, only that I kept at it and finally—finally!—I learned to knit.

My daughter is a person who can sew without using a pattern, who taught herself to bind off after I couldn’t explain it to her, who crochets and felts and can do any craft with ease. She is a marvel. So I immediately called her for Granny square help.

And now I have this…

Still no Granny square, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Or rather, I get it, do it twice, then mess it up. Just like when I learned to knit, or when I’m writing a story. Or honestly, like so many things in life. But we keep at it, don’t we? We surround ourselves with people we love and who love us back, who help us with our decisions and our mistakes. And our Granny squares.

Gertrude Stein wrote in a letter: “Well anyway lots of good luck to you, and the best of good luck in knitting, Miss Toklas says tapestry is even more soothing.”

Maybe tapestry is next?

What I’m Thinking About…

Fettuccine Alfredo!

I admit, I have a thing about cream in pasta sauces. Meaning I’m not crazy about it. Partially that’s because I’m an Italian-American with my roots in southern Italy, where the tomato rules.

But I also find that a lot of restaurants add cream to sauces that shouldn’t have cream. Like carbonara! I beg of you, please never put cream in carbonara sauce. Or in Alfredo sauce. More on that later.

Anyway, a few days ago I said to Michael: “I never order fettuccine Alfredo because there’s always cream in it, and too much cream.”

Then I find myself looking at the menu at Wild Cherry last night and what catches my eye? Yup. Fettuccine Alfredo. “Based on what I said just yesterday,” I told Michael, “you’re not going to believe what I’m about to order.”

Before I did, however, we asked our server how it was made. Butter. Two kinds of cheese. And fettuccine. Tossed table side.

So I did what I never do. I ordered fettuccine Alfredo. And loved it!

By the way, fettuccine Alfredo was invented around 1907 in Rome by restaurateur Alfredo Di Lelio, who made it for his wife, using just butter and cheese, after she gave birth. When Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford tasted it, they loved it so much that they brought the recipe back to Hollywood where it was a cream-less hit.

So. Writing short stories. Learning to crochet. Ordering something I never order. All of it thrilling! Friends, try it. Do one new thing today. Even one small thing out of your comfort zone. I’m here to say, it’s worth it.

Also…

Carbonara!

Remember I asked you to please don’t put cream in your carbonara? Like Alfredo sauce, carbonara only has three ingredients: cheese, bacon (or guanciale), and eggs.

Simple, right?

Have you found, like I have, that people have a tendency to over complicate things? But the good news, I think, is the trend toward returning to simpler things, and to so called “grandma hobbies.”

In a NYT article on why this is happening, Cal Newport, a professor of computer science at Georgetown University, said, “Grandma hobbies reconnect us to ourselves.” The article goes on to say that with all the screens and AI and noise in our world, we are trying to quiet our brains. They called it, “Meaningful self-forgetfulness.”

I’m all for it. Let’s simplify our pasta sauce and our lives…

PS…

We are heading off to our happy place by the beach in a small town in Massachusetts for two glorious weeks.

Life there is definitely simpler: lots of corn and tomatoes from the farm stand, dinner on the grill, reading on the beach, lots of cards and board games.

What do I pack for two weeks on the beach? Even less than usual!

Two or three kaftans that are good for sleeping, hanging around, and the beach. Two casual dresses for the rare dinner out and cook outs with friends and family. My old white linen pants and two linen shirts for cooler nights. A fun tee shirt. And a bathing suit. Sneakers and Birkenstocks, though I’m mostly barefoot.

Remember, simplify? We don’t need a dozen pairs of shoes at the beach! Or fourteen outfits! I actually watched someone on Instagram pack a suitcase just for purses and another for jewelry and shoes. Oy.

In her wonderful Substack titled “Why I don’t iron,” , a former executive who tossed out that lifestyle and moved to a croft on the Isle of Skye, writes: “I shall remain my crumpled self and anyone who can’t see past that to the person within isn’t really going to be worth knowing.”

I’m looking forward to being happily crumpled for the next two weeks.

PPS…

By the way, my recipes for red sauce (we called it gravy in my house), meatballs, carbonara, and more delights are in my memoir, Kitchen Yarns: Notes on Life, Love, and Food. You want simple? My friend Matt’s pasta with tomatoes and Brie is the perfect, easy summer recipe. It’s in here too! Let me know if you try a recipe.

Thanks, wonderful people, for reading and for subscribing. Thanks to everyone who pays to subscribe. This newsletter is always free so it touches me greatly that you want to help support my writing.

Happy August, everyone. Eat lots of corn and tomatoes. Try something new. Simplify your life, if you can. And remember to find a little joy every day.

Two weeks ago I sent a special international edition of my newsletter after many requests asking where I’ll be teaching in the next year. I promised a North American one soon and here it is!

If you aren’t a writer—beginner or otherwise—please know I’ll be back with my regular Three Things next week. You might enjoy this glimpse into a writer’s life anyway…

On October 10, memoir writers can zoom with me via the San Miguel Writers and Literary Conference. Details are still TBD but check the website for details.

My friend and wonderful writer Hester Kaplan and I have been running prompt based writers workshops together since the pandemic. Our next one is a one day workshop on October 17 in Providence, Rhode Island. Please email me at amhood@gmail.com for details. Meanwhile, check out Hester’s new memoir, Twice Born: Finding Mt Father in the Margins of Biography.

And October 26 - 30, fiction writers can Zoom with me from 12-2 (EST) through the Provincetown Fine Arts Center.

I’ll be teaching a memoir workshop live and in person at Writers in Paradise from January 16-23 in St. Petersburg, FL. Applications open August 1, so get ready!

And then I’ll be back in Todos Santos, Mexico January 30-February 6 teaching fiction. Registration is now open.

I’d love to see you online or by the beach!

PS…

I know Italy isn’t in North America, but I just learned we only have 1-2 spots left in Tuscany at Spannocchia March 13-20. If you’ve been dreaming of writing in Italy, now’s the time!

Ciao until next week!

What I’m Writing…

Oh, boy, Michael and I have been on the road. Literally. Driving from NYC to Providence to Rockport, Maine; Rockport, Maine to Providence to Truro on the Cape; up and down Route 6, a lot; Truro to Providence; Providence back to NYC. Phew. Too bad there aren’t frequent driving miles.

When we have long drives like these, we listen to a book on tape and always have a book at the ready for me to read out loud. As we drove around the Baltic states in June, I read all nine of J.D. Salinger’s short stories. This time, we brought Raymond Carver’s Cathedral.

And we listened to Susan Cheever read her wonderful memoir, When All the Men Wore Hats. In it, she looks back on some of her father’s best stories—”The Country Husband,” “The Swimmer”— and connects his art with his (and her) life.

One wonderful coincidence was learning that Carver’s story “Trains” was a response to Cheever’s “The Five-Forty-Eight.” Such synchronicity as our little Fiat chewed up the miles.

Susan Cheever tells us that during one serious bout of drinking, her father’s editor, Malcolm Cowley, suggested he write a story a day for five days. John Cheever could not accomplish that, but it gave me an idea.

When I am teaching so much, like these past four weeks, I don’t get much writing done. But in Truro, my workshop ended at noon and except for one day when I had a long drive to meet up with friends, I had my afternoons free. We were leaving on Friday, so that meant I had Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday to write.

I decided I would take Malcolm Cowley’s challenge! Not five stories, but three. And not complete stories, but beginnings.

Friends, I had a blast. No pressure of deadlines and revisions and the like. Just an idea. A first sentence. And go!

For the rest of summer, I will be doing research for my new memoir (on long grief) and my new novel. And I will finish these three stories! It’s so exciting because I haven’t been writing stories for some time because of the difficulty in placing them. Now I’m on the road to getting at least one, if not all three, in shape by fall.

How about it? Do you want to take Malcolm Cowley’s challenge with me? If you aren’t a fiction writer, do personal essays instead. Let me know how it goes…

What I’m Knitting…

I have so many marvelous memories of our trip to the Baltics (Finland, Estonia, Lithuania, and Latvia).

But among my favorites is our visit to Hobbywool in Riga, Latvia where I got to behold, live and in person, the beauty that is Latvian wedding mittens.

Darn it, I didn’t bring home any kits because I was out of packing room and I knew the store had a good website for online purchases. But when I tried to buy three kits, I got the message that they don’t deliver to the US. Sigh.

However, I did get to write about the store, and the mittens, and Riga for the fabulous Modern Daily Knitting. Warning: you might need an umbrella while you read this.

What I’m Thinking About…

Cookbooks!

Not just because my husband is busily writing a new cookbook. But because a cookbook is the heart of the new novel I’m dreaming onto the page. (More on this when there are actual pages, and characters, and a plot!)

In Truro we stay at Edgewood Farm at Castle Hill in a breezy room with a small study and use of a big kitchen and comfy sitting room. I actually teach in that comfy room, at a long wooden farm table. Pretty heavenly.

The kitchen has just two cookbooks: A Table For Two by Eldene Davis, published in 1913.

And lo and behold! My beloved The Silver Palate, the cookbook I cooked my way through as a single woman in NYC back in the 80s.

I’ve written about my love for The Silver Palate, and for its Chicken Marbella in my memoir/cookbook Kitchen Yarns: Notes on Life, Love, and Food.

But oh, to thumb through its pages and remember…

Cookbooks are a kind of culinary diary, aren’t they?

Someone gave me a Betty Crocker’s Cookbook (the one withe orange cover) when I graduated from college. That’s where I got the menu I’d make if I invited a guy over for dinner: salad with candied walnuts and mandarin oranges, chicken Kiev, and cherries Jubilee.

I can still see Laurel’s Kitchen opened to the page on whole wheat pizza during my brief vegetarian phase. The Moosewood Cookbook with its quirky drawings, the gazpacho recipe stained red from tomato juice drips. (I still make that gazpacho; my personal spin is to use V-8 juice instead of tomato juice.)

I have half a dozen Barefoot Contessa cookbooks on my shelves and still make her lentil soup, roast chicken, and meatloaf. All entries in the culinary journal of days of raising kids and throwing dinner parties for neighboring families.

These days it’s too easy to just look up a recipe online, isn’t it? Maybe we should rediscover the joy of thumbing through a cookbook, studying the pictures and gaging how hard a recipe might be. Planning a menu for a romantic night, or dinner for your family, or even something just for you.

What cookbooks do you love? Why?

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Also…

Greece!

You all received my special edition newsletter on all the wonderful places I’ll be teaching in the coming months. (And I hope I’ll see you somewhere faraway!) Well, the wonderful people at Rosemary’s House in Greece sent me the below information to share with you:

Apply for a Week in Greece with Ann Hood

This September, I’ll be teaching at Rosemary’s House, a residential writing workshop on the Aegean coast of Greece.

Rosemary’s House is built on working across form, whether that’s novel, memoir, essay, or beyond. If you haven’t come across it before, this piece by Thee Book Club gets at what makes it different: a place where writers from every genre sit at the same table and sharpen their work.

September 13-20, I will both be on-site, leading my own workshop.

You might love this week if:

• Your own creative and professional aspirations feel aligned with the kind of work I do — memoir, personal essay, fiction, or writing through the true and difficult things in life.

• You’re craving a creative community that lasts well beyond the week itself — not just a workshop, but a relationship.

• You don’t want a traditional workshop. You want the friction and generosity of writers from different genres and backgrounds, all working on craft together.

A few spots remain, and applications are reviewed on a rolling basis. Use the code FLYGIRL for €100 off upon a successful application. If you’d like to ask questions before applying, you’re welcome to join an upcoming information session.

Apply here . I’d love to meet you in Greece this September.

I’m so excited! You can get 100 Euros off with the code FLYGIRL.

PS…

I had to laugh when a student last week asked me if I also had a winter uniform. “I love your summer uniform,” she added.

As many of you know, I am not a great shopper, but I am a great packer. One suitcase only! I happily wear the same things on repeat. Sure, I love my dress with the pears on it, but that’s the exception. Typically, it’s loose, comfy, dress up or down easily dresses.

If you want a summer uniform, may I suggest…

Stay tuned for winter uniform…

PPS…

Heat dome! Yellow sky! Scary salad!

And ticks that make you allergic to beef!

What a strange summer. Am I the only one a wee nervous about going outside? The other day in the Truro General Store I heard myself yelling to the young woman making my turkey sandwich, “No lettuce!” I ordered a salad at the Winslow Tavern and asked them to basically hold the salad parts. When I drive by all those trees and grass I wonder how many ticks are in there, waiting to ruin my love of hamburgers.

I’m a worrier. A catastrophizer. I drive my kids crazy warning them about flash floods in the area, bike helmets, sharks at Rockaway Beach. I sent my son bottles of permethrin insect repellent before he heads to Martha’s Vineyard.

Maybe once you lose someone you love to something you never even considered, you see danger everywhere.

But after my daughter points out that she is nowhere near that flood zone or my son reminds me that he knows about those ticks too, then I make myself pause and consider that this beautiful, messy world we have the privilege to live in has scary stuff, sure, but also so much marvelous stuff.

So don’t eat salad for a while and use insect repellent, but please let’s also take a walk on the beach or a hike in the woods. And remember to hold the people we love close.

Thank you for reading! You make me so happy that you show up here, and subscribe, and support my writing by paying for a subscription.

Happy rest of July!

Hello, Friends! I’m sending this special edition newsletter in response to all the emails I’ve been receiving asking about where I’ll be teaching in 2026-2027.

This is the international edition; the US edition will arrive in a couple weeks. I wanted to send the international one first because I know that travel takes some planning.

The traveling hat is going to be busy!

One of the unexpected perks of being a writer is that I get to also teach writing. And sometimes I get to teach writing in far flung places!

If you are interested in studying with me, I hope you will consider hopping a plane and meeting me somewhere fabulous in the next year.

Below, a list of all the places with links to their websites. If you’re a reader but not a writer, feel free to skip this special edition. Or just read for the fun of it. I’ll be back next week with a new installment of my regular Three Things.

In September, I’ll be at Rosemary’s House in Halkadiki, Greece from September 13-20.

Straight from Greece, I’ll be flying to Barcelona to hop at train to beautiful Collioure, France to teach at ‘s amazing Come to Your Senses from September 21-25. (Note: I am filling in for a writer who had to cancel so if you see a different name listed, it is actually going to be me!)

Then in March, I’ll be at Spannocchia, my happy place in Tuscany where I’ve been bringing writers for over a decade.

The dates are March 13-20, 2027 and we are already almost full! So please email spannocchiawritersworkshop@gmail.com if you’d like to join us.

In May, I’ll be in Dingle, Ireland from 14-28 with a great faculty, lots of pubs, crab toes and mussels, and a rainbow or two. The website isn’t updated yet but contact info is correct.

For the most far flung of all, I’m honored and excited to be at the Himalayan Literature Festival and Writers Workshop in Kathmandu from May 29-June 5 with my wonderful husband . Details are below. If you drop my name, you get 20% off!

If you’d like to study with me and want a little adventure, there are lots of opportunities in the next year!

I hope I’ll be writing with you and eating souvlaki, or sardines, or pasta, or fish and chips, or dal bhat…

As always, thank you for reading! I’ll be back next week with Three Things I’m Writing, Knitting, and Thinking.

What I’m Writing…

Thank you all for all the Piggy love! It’s been such fun visiting bookstores and signing copies. And reading the book to adorable little ones.

I want to also let you know that I’m honored and delighted to have an essay in Best Women’s Travel Writing, Volume 13, edited by the brilliant Lavinia Spalding.

My essay, “The Sound of a Hummingbird’s Wings,” is about a trip I took to Tzintzuntzan, Mexico, to participate in the Day of the Dead celebrations there.

Since Grace died over twenty-four years ago, I have been exploring how other cultures experience and deal with grief in the hopes that I might grow and learn for them.

The celebration we participated in was with the family of Blanca Villagomez Estrada, an award-winning traditional chef.

The day had a profound effect on me, and I am so happy you can all read about it, along with the other essays by such wonderful writers.

What I’m Knitting…

Yes, yes, still…you know…Sophie scarves.

I’ve been sitting a lot this past week at the Newport MFA, which is the low residency MFA program I founded at Salve Regina University in Newport, RI. Of course I’m biased, but it truly is one of the best low residency programs around.

I designed it so that our faculty is not only brilliant and well published, but they are also nice! And we have terrific guest writers, editors, and agents visit every time.

I also love doing creative programming, which this time meant award winning writer Ben Shattuck giving a reading from his extraordinary book, The History of Sound. Then showing the movie made from the short story at the fabulous Jane Pickens Theater, followed by a talkback with Ben and Academy Award winning actor Chris Cooper.

Oh, what a night! What a week!

So, back to all the sitting I’ve been doing—every afternoon and evening I’m listening to craft talks and readings. They are inspiring and incredible, but I’ve learned that I listen better when I knit. Before I learned how to knit, I was a squirmer. A daydreamer. A drifter. But knitting keeps me present. I hear, and absorb, every word and idea.

In fact, years ago I was sitting and knitting at the Tin House Writers Workshop in Portland, Oregon, when I noticed how many writers there were knitting. I wanted to know their stories: When did they learn to knit? What does knitting give them?

And in that moment an idea was born for an anthology of writers writing about knitting.

Sue Grafton, Barbara Kingsolver, Ann Patchett, Elizabeth Berg, and more were happy to write about their knitting (and failed knitting!) journeys. Knitting Yarns was followed by a second anthology, Knitting Pearls.

This is a reminder that there are stories all around us. Sometimes we struggle too much over what to write, when just being in the world sends us so many things to write about.

For example, one day I looked at the tomatoes ripening on my windowsill, and my essay “Tomato Pie” was born. Beatles’ songs, Latvian mittens, haircuts—such simple things can be so inspiring and lead to essays or short stories.

Try it? Look around. See what is in your world. Write about it.

What I’m Thinking About…

Summer!

To be more specific, past summers. Summers of my childhood and teenage years. Summers of eating sandy cherries and blue popsicles and Del’s lemonade on the beach. Of building sand castles using Dixie cups, or empty Del’s cups—as molds.

Summers of Coppertone and neon colored bikinis and talking nonstop on a blanket beside my best friend Beth. Nervous double dates to the beach with cute boys who carried us into the water on their shoulders and shook their shaggy, wet hair on us to make us scream.

Oh! How lucky I was to grow up by the beach in Rhode Island! We went almost every day in summer, cousins crammed into the station wagon, AM radio playing, our mothers smoking up front. If the evening was hot, back we went, just to run in and out of the ocean—a dip, we called it—to cool down.

Sigh.

These days, summer means teaching, driving from place to place with a coffeemaker and xeroxed stories and clothes for any weather—rain, heat and humidity, cool nights.

Are you a Betsy-Tacy fan like me? Annabelle and I read all of those books together in summers past. "It was June, and the world smelled of roses,” Maud Hart Lovelace wrote in Betsy-Tacy and Tib. “The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside."

Ah, the power of smell! In one of my favorite books, The Natural History of the Senses, Diane Ackerman says, “A smell can be overwhelmingly nostalgic because it triggers powerful images and emotions before we have time to edit them… When we give perfume to someone, we give them liquid memory. Kipling was right: ‘Smells are surer than sights and sounds to make your heart-strings crack.’”

Even though the start of summer is busy with work for me, I can still close my eyes and smell my summer smells. That Coppertone. Salty ocean air. Hamburgers on the grill. Wet bathing suits. Fried clam cakes. A tangle of sweaty cousins in the way back of a station wagon.

If you’re having a busy summer too, take a moment to conjure the smells of your bygone summers and make your heart-strings crack. We deserve it.

And Also…

Providence!

The one in Rhode Island, not the godly one.

I impulsively left my beloved Greenwich Village and followed my heart (um…and a man) back to Rhode Island over thirty years ago. In many ways, that decision brought me so much happiness: my kiddos, my friends, my family. It meant that I could raise my kids near my parents and be with my parents for the rest of their lives.

But it also brought me pain. So many losses. And that hopeful, open heart that led me there got broken. I can’t drive down certain streets without crying: the one with Grace’s school, the one where I raised my family.

Driving from Newport to Providence a few days ago, when I passed the exit to Gogo’s house, the house where I grew up, where four generations of my family lived, I had the strongest impulse to take that exit. To drive past the mall where I spent so many Saturdays walking around with my pals, buying 45s and eating ice cream. To drive past the Dunkin’ Donuts where my mother and I would sit late at night when I was in high school and couldn’t sleep; we’d eat donuts and talk about love and life. Across the little bridge and past my elementary school and the church my family went to and then up the big hill to the white house with the mountain ash trees and lilac bushes. The house where my father always waited on the back porch for me when he knew I was coming home, and my mother always put on a pot of coffee and made me meatballs or sausage or chicken cutlets.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go back. I decided that for me, visiting there only in my memories is best.

Going back can be hard, can’t it?

The poet Philip Larkin says it so beautifully:

“Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft

And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase.”

PS…

And so off I go to teach at Maine Media in Rockport, Maine, and then to Truro on Cape Cod to teach at Truro Center for the Arts at Castle Hill. (If you find yourself on the Cape and want to write with me, you can still enroll!)

I’m writing this before the Fourth of July, which we are spending under the Heat Dome covering NYC. But the Fourth of July was my father’s birthday, and I’m always spending it in my heart with him and the rest of my big, wonderful family at the beach, playing bocce and eating and drinking and loving.

My father always said the fireworks on July 4th were for him on his birthday. When I see them now, I always feel like it’s him still shining bright, still sending me love.

Thank you, thank you for reading and subscribing and for going down memory lane with me. I hope you are all wrapped up in some warm and happy memories as we step into summer.

Take a deep breath. Smell those smells of your bygone summers. Then have them carry you forth into this one.

What I’m Writing…

One of the hardest things I have to tell students when I teach memoir is that someone’s story—no matter how interesting—may not be a memoir. Instead, the writer might have three or four very good essays. A memoir is not an autobiography; it’s, as Dani Shapiro says in her terrific essay “Dear Disillusioned Reader Who Contacted Me on Facebook,” looking out just one window of your house at a time. In other words, a memoir may be about quitting drinking (Drinking a Love Story by Caroline Knapp) or the year following your husband’s death (The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion) or your youthful love affair with a fellow artist (Just Kids by Patti Smith).

Sometimes, as time passes and you write more and reflect more, those excellent essays could become the foundation for a memoir. Of course this isn’t always the case. Some memoirs present themselves more fully formed. But when they don’t, we might use too much filler to extend the page count. But as Andre Dubus III says, “We don’t want to read about every ham sandwich you ate.”

For years now, without me realizing it, I’ve been writing essays about long grief, the feelings of sadness and loss that linger after someone you love has died.

Almost twenty-five years later, I still miss Grace every day. For the amazing girl she was. For the woman who she would have been today.

So when I read that The American Psychiatric Association named this Prolonged Grief Disorder and characterized it as a mental health issue, I got pretty upset. True, anything that is debilitating and prevents you from living normally (whatever that is!) needs to be addressed. But symptoms of PGD include grieving for more than twelve months and yearning for the deceased. Seriously?

When I first read about that diagnosis four years ago, I wrote an essay about it for Rhode Island Monthly, “Building a New Nest.” More essays followed and I can finally see them taking shape into a memoir.

After my novel revisions are (finally!!!) done, this is what I’ll be turning my attention to writing. And it will be hard. But important for me, and I hope for many others.

What I’m Knitting…

Literally this.

But as we traveled this past month, I did a lot of brain knitting too. Untangling. Connecting. Planning. Stitch by stitch.

When I start a new knitting project, I read the pattern, circle my size in each row, gather my tools. Same when I start a new writing project. So I’ve ordered memoirs that might be helpful to read and set up an interview with my grief counselor for her insights on long grief. It’s exciting, but at the start feels like the dizzying pattern for these mittens.

People often ask me if I work on more than one project at a time. My answer is “kind of.” I can’t literally write two book length projects at the same time. But I can focus on one and have some dalliances with the other. I’ve also got the kernel of an idea for a new novel, so I’ll be doing some reading to help me along on that too.

What I’m thinking about…

Joy.

As I happily traveled from Dublin to Donegal, Kinsale to Dingle, Helsinki to Tallinn, Latvia to Lithuania and back to Latvia and Estonia, this is what kept popping up in my mind.

“The way we are living, timorous or bold,” Seamus Heaney wrote, “Will have been our life.”

It’s so easy to hold grudges, to simmer or spite, to stay at home or stay away. I feel all those things.

But I have chosen joy.

And you can too.

If you don’t believe me, please let me tell you—without the sordid details—that for a long time, I felt unhappy and alone. Trust me, I didn’t realize that then. I had a very close relationship with both my parents, lots of cousins and friends, my fabulous kiddos and a career I loved. I traveled for book tours and magazine assignments and just for fun. I loved my little red house with the bright blue door and tilted floors and six fireplaces. Still, we can be unhappy or lonely even in a crowd, even in a house we’ve lovingly created, can’t we?

If you are feeling this now, I want you to know that choosing joy despite the people or circumstances making you unhappy is possible. Maybe it’s something small, like knitting yet another Sophie scarf. Or eating pasta for breakfast (which I literally just did!).

Or maybe it’s something big, like a decision to leave the people or circumstances causing such unhappiness.

For years I chose small joys: an afternoon movie alone, drinking coffee with my mom, dancing like crazy with my kids after dinner. When I left my marriage at almost sixty years old, that was big. And scary. But it was time to choose Joy, capital J.

We had the great luck to see Daniel Radcliffe in the play Every Brilliant Thing on Broadway and without any spoilers, the main character keeps a list of every brilliant (aka wonderful) thing in his life, like ice cream and the color yellow and reading a good book. I think this is a terrific idea. Maybe we should all give this a try?

Alan Lightman wrote recently in The Atlantic: “The simple fact that we are here, conscious and aware, is so unlikely that it borders on the miraculous. Because we experience that miracle every day, we treat it as ordinary, even guaranteed, mostly unnoticed at all. We postpone joy, assuming there will always be more time. We don’t see the beauty in small moments. We simply go about the business of life, without taking a second to notice life itself.”

Why is it so hard? Because life can knock us down. Boy, can it. Because people stand in the way. Because we stand in our own way.

But we can get out of our own way too. And take a step towards joy. Even if it’s a small one.

What can you do today to have a moment of joy? Me, I’m going to fall into a good book.

And also…

The Big Trip!

The head swirls with images, memories, wonder. Here’s a very brief roundup of some of my favorites.

Craft cocktail bars are thriving in the Baltics, rivaling NYC’s. With bars with names like Who Hit John? (Vilnius, Lithuania) and secret passwords to even get in (Whisper Sister in Tallin, Estonia), we loved our nightly ritual of trying wild, creative drinks.

What great food we ate!

The architecture dazzled us every day.

The history was sobering, yet hopeful. We visited KGB prisons, museums of occupation, and memorials. But we were always reminded of hopefulness and resilience.

And then there were such wonderful surprises!

All more stuff for my brilliant things list, I think.

PS…

Marimekko!

When I was about fourteen, a boy brought me to a play in Cambridge (MA) on a warm summer night. We arrived early, so he suggested we go to the Glass Mall, which apparently now is called CambridgeSide and has, among other things, a TJ Maxx and a Foot Locker. Sigh.

But in 1971, it was a wonder to a girl like me whose local mall was surely not made out of glass. That was the first time I saw Marimekko, those bright red flowers and hot pink patterns. The Glass Mall actually had the exclusive licensing for Marimekko then. The play, as I recall, was done at least partially in the nude. And outside. Head officially blown.

Somehow, that night held a magic that I always associate with those Finnish designs. I even have a Marimekko shower curtain and towels now.

So I had to go to the mothership when we were in Helsinki. Little did I know that those colorful, fat flowers practically fall out of the sky there. There’s even a store in the airport! Talk about joy!

PPS…

A travel tip!

I’ve heard so many people say that the night before they fly home they stay by the airport. I get it: it’s easy and convenient. But I also know that airport hotel rooms are usually pretty sterile and the restaurants have at best mediocre food.

What I like to do instead is splurge on a nice hotel and go out for a final, wonderful meal. I want to end my vacation with an exclamation mark instead of ellipses.

I had eyeballed Hotel Telegraaf in Tallinn when I was booking the Big Trip, but three nights there was too pricey. However one night—our final night—was doable.

There was champagne and charcuterie waiting in our room, thick bath towels, a big comfy bed, and French doors looking out at the old city wall.

We had our final meal at Vesta, recommended by a bartender here. She told us we had to sit at the counter, and she was right. We loved watching the action of the open kitchen. What a memorable last night!

Better than mediocre, overpriced hotel food, yes?

The poet and teacher Miller Williams used to note at the end of some student poems: “You gave me champagne all the way, but ended with Coca-Cola.” So let’s end on champagne next trip!

Thank you, thank you for reading. For taking the Big Trip with me and for taking my writing and knitting and thinking trips too. You arefinitely on my brilliant things list.

My friend Amy sent this Fly Girl this 1967 TWA recruiting film and I loved it. It made me smile and brought me joy. So I’m sharing it here with you. The hairstyles alone should make you smile. To think this was just ten years before my own flight attendant interviews…mind blowing!

What I’m Writing…

I purposely chose to leave my computer at home for this five week romp from Dublin to Vilnius because I wanted to embrace thinking time. We don’t give ourselves enough thinking time, do we?

But for me, not writing is as valuable as writing. The time spent away from the computer can be as productive as the time spent tapping (or, if you’re me, pecking) on the keyboard. Here is when I dream my book. It doesn’t yet exist. It’s just a puff of air. A blurry something way in the distance. A bit of magic, of possibility.

In order for it to actually become a book, it must live in my brain for a bit.

And I must live in the world—seeing new things, tasting delicious food, walking, walking, walking. All of it feeding my imagination.

I cherish this time here in Dingle. And I also cherish this time to immerse myself in my imagination. To dream my way into my next big projects…

In the fall of 2018, I wrote an article about daydreaming for QuadAngles, my alumni magazine, that begins:

“Here is what we need to do. All of us. Right now. We need to stare out the window. Or go outside and lie on the grass and look up at the sky.”

That’s where I am metaphorically right now. Dreaming.

"Daydreaming,” the poet Edward Hirsch said, “is one of the key sources of poetry—a poem often starts as a daydream that finds its way into language."

Maybe it’s time for you to daydream too?

What I’m Knitting…

I have an abundance of gorgeous yarn!

The fabulous went to Cork to visit dreamy Hedgehog Fibers and brought back this yummy yarn:

Knitters: Any ideas for what to knit with this?

And Annabelle visited This Is Knit in Dublin and brought me this beauty for, yes, a Sophie scarf.

But she also brought back a pattern for a Sophie scarf with a twist. Look at this beauty:

Remarkably, that’s not cabling! I’m so excited to try it.

But let us not forget my most recently finished Sophie scarf!

Oh, friends, I’m dreaming. Of new stories, new knitting projects, the next wonderful things to come. Let’s all indulge ourselves in some hopeful dreaming, shall we!

What I’m Thinking About…

The Baltic States!

Many of you have been in on my planning of this upcoming trip, and here we are, about to embark on it. When you read this, we will most likely be in a sauna in Helsinki, about to jump into the Baltic Sea.

This trip is a great example of dreaming about something, then working to make it happen. I don’t like the term bucket list for a lot of reasons. But I do like the idea of making dreams come true. And visiting Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania has long been a dream of mine.

You may be asking why. The answer is both simple and complicated.

Years ago when I was a flight attendant, I had the opportunity to live in Libya and work flights taking pilgrims to the Haj in Mecca. I immediately signed up. Then, at the last minute, I chickened out due to unrest in the Mideast. And I’ve always regretted that missed opportunity.

That’s why we decided to go on our fabulous Egypt trip…

And why we went to Georgia a few years ago…

And why we still visit Patzcuaro, even though it’s in Michoacan, which has a Level 4: Do Not Travel advisory from the State Department…

Why we are so grateful to have visited Cuba when that was possible…

And why Sam and I went to Sarajevo, where people actually asked us, clearly confused, “Why are you here of all places?”

You know that I love traveling, and I’m always happy to revisit cities I love. (Hello, London and Paris!) But sitting on a beach—even a beautiful one—or lounging at resorts or chasing sunshine just don’t do it for me anymore. They used to. When I was younger, I loved going to the Caribbean or Waikiki in my bikini and flip flops, drinking tropical drinks with little paper umbrellas, and soaking up the sun and sea air.

Now, I’m eager to see the places where tourists don’t typically go, places where it’s possible we won’t be able to go. For example, I’ll always feel sad that my beloved and I didn’t visit St. Petersburg when we had the chance. Seize the day, I say!

So I’m excited for this next adventure! And I have lots more places on my dream list…

And Also…

Rain, glorious rain!

The Irish heatwave blessedly ended and Dingle has given me the rain and wind and chilly air of my dreams.

I have to sing my praises again to the Finisterre Longline Stormbird Waterproof Jacket in Olive Green and my Kathleen McAuliffe rain hat, which have kept me dry and warm.

A shout out to three other indispensable items:

My red Quince Mongolian Cashmere Scarf, which provides warmth and a pop of color on gray days…

And to my black Dudley Stevens tunic length turtleneck, which is soft and warm and perfect for layering—and it has pockets!

And, of course, my navy blue Alex Mill Kerry Linen Dress, which is maybe the favorite thing I own…

Shout outs too to Frank and Eileen Mackenzie oversized shirts in blue and in white and in black and my Merry People Bobbi rain boots (mine are black but they come in fabulous colors!). Oh! Just a reminder, I don’t get anything for mentioning this stuff, just the satisfaction that I’ve shared something you might like too. Especially for traveling.

PS…

Today is pub day for Piggy!

Welcome to the world to my first ever picture book!

Thank you, as always, for reading and subscribing. And thank you to those who support my writing through paid subscriptions—it’s more appreciated than you can know.

Next time I see you here, I’ll be sharing my adventures in the Baltics. Until then, give in to some dreaming. We never know where our dreams might take us.

And speaking of dreams, Annabelle and I have long been fans of the app Rain, Rain, which gives you a multitude of rain (and other natural) sounds to lull you to sleep. Rain on tent. Rain on tin roof. Light rain. Torrential rain…

But here in Dingle, we get rain most every day. Beautiful rain. Enjoy!

We’ve been eating crab toes every chance we get and perusing used bookstores and sampling the seventeenth century pubs.

But I wanted to pause to thank you, my cherished paid subscribers, for supporting my writing. I’m so grateful …

Read more

What I’m Writing…

I admit that a few days before we were scheduled to leave for Dublin, I was feeling a bit low. It looked like reading student papers, teaching, necessary appointments, and social commitments were going to keep me from finishing my revisions on my new novel. I had blown the thing up and saw the path to typing THE END clearly. But I simply had no time.

Or so I thought…

After I took a very long walk, I sat outside at the Whitney Museum with a very good smoked turkey sandwich and a notebook and pen. For almost an hour I jotted down plans and lists to help me find the time to get my revisions done. As I wrote, I felt lighter and lighter. More focused. More committed to reaching that finish line.

In fact, I felt positively inspired.

I went home and did my back to back Zoom meetings and then on to my acupuncturist appointment. From there, I rushed uptown to meet my beloved for cocktails and a terrific play…

Then we grabbed burgers from our local Mobil gas station for dinner on our way home…

Do you notice something interesting here, friends? Much of what was keeping me from getting my writing done was actually fun stuff. Sure, there were work commitments too, but I was also socially committed. (Hey! Girls just wanna have fun, right?) But until I took a deep breath and got recentered, I couldn’t even appreciate that. I could only see that I had failed.

Now that I had a plan (more on that in a couple paragraphs), I could relax and stop beating myself up.

The next morning I spent happily cooking and setting up for a luncheon to celebrate my fabulous daughter in law getting her Master of Event Management from NYU. Yay, Katherine!

I made Ina’s Curry Chicken Salad with cashews, two asparagus and gruyere quiches using Julia Child’s unmessupable three ingredient quiche formula, and a Caprese salad, and I bought Magnolia Bakery cupcakes—with purple frosting, of course—for dessert.

We all went to Radio City for the graduation, and then to a rooftop bar with a perfect, up close view of the Empire State Building.

The next morning I woke up, ate a piece of leftover quiche, turned on my computer, and wrote for six hours straight.

I’m telling you, it was bliss. And: I finished the revisions.

My darling husband read the whole manuscript (for the millionth time) and when he finished he looked up teary eyed and said: “It’s beautiful. You did it.”

(Note: having someone who will read your drafts a million times is very helpful.)

By my count, I deleted six characters and three major plot points. Rather than tweak what I’d already written, I started a new document and wrote anew—as Joseph Conrad said: revision literally means to re-see—but I cut and pasted from the last draft as I went along. (Another note: my agent and editor will surely have revision suggestions, but I am so proud and happy with what I’ve done!)

The next day, I flew to Ireland feeling lighthearted.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in Tender is the Night: "In any case you mustn't confuse a single failure with a final defeat."

I’ve been frustrated with these revisions, so when it looked like I wouldn’t have then finished by my (personal) deadline, it sure felt like a defeat. We have to remind ourselves not to give in to those feelings. Get some fresh air and a pen and paper. Eat some protein. Take a deep breath and make a plan for success. Throw a party, then get to work.

What I’m Knitting…

As a kid, one of my favorite things to do was to read the dictionary. That pleasure has not diminished. For example, let’s consider the word to knit.

From Merriam Webster:

1: to form by interlacing yarn or thread in a series of connected loops with needles 2 a: to link firmly or closely knitted my hands b: to cause to grow together time and rest will knit a fractured bone

chiefly dialectal : to tie together

intransitive verb

1: to make knitted fabrics or objects 2a: to become compact b: to grow together c: to become drawn together

With these definitions in mind, I thought a lot about all the things I have knit. And I’ve knit a lot of late.

I knit a celebration of family and friends.

I knit a novel.

I knit a surprise. (More on this later!)

I knit a time for cousins to be together.

I knit a far flung getaway for Michael and me.

I knit a Sophie scarf!

Well, kind of…

I knit away happily on our train from Dublin to Cork, listening to Caroline Fraser’s masterpiece, Murderland (more on that in most recent newsletter; also, thank you ). Somewhere around Tipperary, I noticed my ball of yarn was getting smaller but the scarf was getting bigger. Which it should not have been because I was doing decreases.

I stared at the scarf. I scared at the yarn. Uh oh. Instead of decreasing, I had been increasing the entire time.

Since I’m in Ireland, it seems appropriate to quote Bram Stoker: “We learn from failure, not from success.”

I frogged everything I’d knitted that day. Then I began again. Just as we always do. With novels and Sophie scarves and, well, life.

What I’m Thinking About…

Ireland!

I’m writing this from the amazing Breac.House outside of Dunfanaghy in Donegal. Michael and I agree that it is one of the best places we have ever stayed. Catherine and Niall are perfect hosts, breakfasts and lunches are scrumptious, cocktails are made from local gins and whiskies, the rooms are so well appointed, the locally woven blankets cozy, and the views…well…

Here’s what is outside my window:

Though right now it’s raining:

However, regular readers here know how much I love the rain. Hot sun and hot temperatures, not so much. Which is one of the many reasons I love Ireland.

These four days in the remote, wild northwest corner with my beloved gives us time to slow down, recharge, connect with each other and with the natural world. And immerse ourselves in this place we love.

We all need the time to pause, whether it’s a walk on the beach or a night under the stars or spending a few days tucked away in a remote corner of the world. Sometimes it helps if you can do it with someone you love.

And Also…

Speaking of being with someone you love…

How about spending time with lots of people you love?

Before Michael and I came to Donegal, Annabelle and I flew to Dublin to celebrate her college graduation and to see our favorite musical theatre actress, Carrie Hope Fletcher, in Waitress.

What Annabelle didn’t know was that four cousins had flown out the day before to position themselves to surprise her!

Three days of used book stores, museums, making rings (!), lots of coffee and laughing and eating and, of course, Carrie Hope Fletcher.

I think that as much as we need time to retreat, we also need time to connect with the people we love. Sometimes it’s so hard to make the effort to do either. We feel too sad or too angry or too defeated.

When I felt any—or all—of those things, Gogo used to tell me: “Take an hour (or a day or a week) and give yourself a pity party. Then take a deep breath and start over.”

Who knows? You might just finish a project. Fly over three thousand miles to see a play. Surprise someone. Listen to sheep. Laugh.

Or walk into your room and, right out the window, see something like this…

As always, thank you for reading. And for subscribing. And for even paying to subscribe! I’m grateful for you all.

If you’re feeling low or defeated, I hope you can find a way to sit outside and recenter, make a plan forward, take a tiny step or a big leap into some place better.

Hey! Did I mention listening to sheep? Let’s!

What I’m Writing…

Creative energy is really buzzing around me these days. My goal is to finish the revisions on my new novel before I leave on Big Trip 2026 at the end of the week.

Someone wiser than I said something to the effect that sometimes in revisions you have to blow the thing up. And friends, that is exactly what I am doing.

Those darlings Faulkner tells writers to kill? Yes, sir!

Which got me to thinking how sometimes the right thing to do is keep the status quo with some minor adjustments. And sometimes the right thing to do is blow things up. Take a chance. On happiness. On love. On life.

I did just that a decade ago. I stepped out of a marriage that brought me no joy and stepped into the unknown. Starting life over at almost sixty was terrifying. And exhilarating. I was broke. And heartbroken. Yet I was ready for whatever lay ahead.

That scary leap led me to a life that is happier than I ever imagined. Every day I take a moment to look around and feel gratitude for that. Living back in my beloved NYC with the love of my life, my kids nearby, and still writing, still getting surprised and finding joy in unexpected ways and places.

Sometimes the thing to do is stay still. And sometimes the thing to do is take a leap. You never know where you will land.

What I’m Knitting…

Some of you might remember that a few years ago Michael and I were invited to Guatemala to celebrate our friend birthday. I decided to knit Joyce some of my favorite things: dish rags. I love knitting dish rags so much that I even wrote about my love for it in “Dish Rags: A Loved Story,” in MDK.

Originally, I thought I’d knit her seventy, one for each year. But Annabelle quickly convinced me that was an impossible goal, so I settled on seven, one for each decade…

Joyce loved them enough to have a character in her new novel knit dish rags! Preorder In Wonderland now and find out more!

The power of knitting knows no bounds!

What I’m Thinking About…

Blowing things up, of course.

What we all know is that there are times when we decide to blow up our lives, leave our jobs or our cities or our marriages. And then there are times when our lives get blown up and knock us down.

I’ve had my share of those times. And I know you have too.

In June of 1982, Skip, my big brother and only sibling, died suddenly when I was twenty five and he was thirty. I was a flight attendant on a layover in LA when I got the call telling me. World officially blown up.

I was supposed to be moving to NYC, but instead I took a leave from work and stayed with my grieving parents in my suffocatingly hot childhood home. (Note: this is how I remember that summer—my mother’s keening, a bottle of Jack Daniels always on the table, and that it was so hot I couldn’t breathe. So I looked up the weather for that summer, because memory is such a strange thing, and indeed it really was one of the hottest up to that point, holding at 98 degrees mid-July).

By summer’s end, my incredible, heartbroken mother told me to go to NYC and live my life. She gave me $1000 and a train ticket. And my life changed yet again.

My father dying of lung cancer in 1997, there was a blow up. Right after he was diagnosed, I gave birth to Grace and had a serious complication a day later at home. Some of the placenta had not been expelled. I spiked 105 degree fever and had to have an emergency D and C. Back at home on heavy antibiotics, I took my two kiddos (Sam aged three and Grace just three days old) into bed with me while my father fed us and changed diapers and talked to us in his smooth Southern accent, comforting us.

Before he left, he said: “I know you’re worried and you’re scared about me. But look at your beautiful babies. Sweetheart, you have everything you need in this bed with you.”

Just five years after he died, blowing up my world again, my Gracie died. How do we survive these explosions?

I don’t really know. I suppose none of us know. But I suspect the times that we get to make those explosions that move us toward joy, and the way life sometimes sprinkles our world with happy things, helps us get through the other ones.

I’m pleased to let you all be the first to know that I’m writing a memoir about this. I’ve lived twenty five years without Grace, and I’m trying to make sense of long grief.

No title or pub date yet, but my fabulous publisher is going to publish it. Stay tuned for more.

And also…

So much is happening around here! The sprinkles of happy things!

After the week of birthdays and anniversaries I wrote about last time, we are now in a new cycle of activity. Truly, the head spins.

Sam and Katherine bought their first home, a loft in Hoboken with stunning views of the Hudson and the Manhattan skyline. If I walk to the end of my block and look west, we can wave to each other!

And in the midst of moving, Sam’s play Beauty Freak opened Off Broadway. It’s produced by WWTNS and was written by the fabulous James Clements.

And! Annabelle graduated from Sarah Lawrence!

And! Katherine is getting her MS from NYU!

So it’s been a dizzying week of parties and toasts and celebrations.

And now for a catch-my-breath week before I leave for Dublin on Saturday.

And also…

You all know I like a minimum amount of clothes, dislike outfits, and pretty much favor a couple workhorse items that I can wear, well, constantly.

I’m here to turn you all on to the Alex Mill Kerry Dress in Navy. It’s linen! It’s loose fitting! It’s lovely! (And it also comes in a light sienna and roasted bean, or yellow and brown to us regular people.)

You can count on it coming with me to Ireland and the Baltic states because it is perfect!

FYI, I did not get it for free because I am not a content creator. I’m just a creator. But if Alex Mills is reading, I do like that Roasted Bean…

PS…

The Big Trip 2026 update: just today I booked our sauna in Helsinki. Most things are in place!

Before we start that trip, we will be in Ireland for two weeks, doing all kinds of fun and yummy things. So stay tuned for those updates soon.

PPS…

Don’t forget to preorder Piggy! By the time we get back, Piggy will be out in the world!

Thank you for all for being here. Readers, subscribers, paid subscribers—I’m grateful.

I hope you stay still when you need to, and that when it’s time, you take leaps and embrace change. And I hope that when changes come and knock you down, the memories of happier times sustain you.

What I’m Writing…

For the past two weeks I’ve been kind of like Hermia (pictured above curled up in a small box): curled up in my own small box…I mean…apartment while my beloved recovers from knee replacement surgery. I know. Big ouch. But he’s adorable even in a hospital Johnny.

I cooked (more on this in a bit) and fretted and watched for signs of complications. Once he seemed in the clear, I relaxed a tiny bit. We went for a picnic in Abingdon Square Park, where this wonderful thing happened nine years ago…

And a few days later hobbled to dinner at a nearby restaurant, Ubered to Brooklyn to celebrate Sam’s birthday, drove to Bronxville to celebrate Annabelle’s (not pictured because she doesn’t like pictures), celebrated our anniversary at Union Square Cafe, and even went to a play.

In other words, life was settling down a bit. Sure, the ice machine still worked its magic on Michael’s knee, he spent a lot of time reclining, and the cheerful PT came in and out. But I needed get back to business. And by that, I mean REVISING MY NOVEL.

I looked around our cozy 411 square feet and had one thought: If I’m going to finish these revisions, I need to get out of here.

When my kids were little, I went once a year to Yaddo, the artists colony in Saratoga Springs, NY, where you are given a room of your own AND a studio. Lunch arrives in a black metal lunchbox (with two sandwiches) and dinner is served in a grand mansion.

But going to Yaddo means applying months in advance and staying for at least two weeks. I didn’t apply and I don’t want to be away from my beloved for that long.

So I thought: go to a pretend Yaddo. And that’s why I’m writing this from Amtrak…

For three days I’m sequestering myself at my loft in Providence. No one will bring me lunch, but there’s Christmas lasagna in the freezer and plenty of room to pace and spread out and just be.

Friends, I want you to go to your own pretend Yaddo, wherever that may be. Clear your mind. Bask in silence. Just be…

Oh! I am so honored and delighted to have The Book That Matters Most recommended by The Perks of Being a Book Lover Pod! Theme: Books about Book Clubs. When this book came out, I visited 150 book clubs!

What I’m Knitting…

Boy, just when I finally kind of understand what influencers do, a whole new thing pops up. Creators. There are people whose job is creator. From what I gather, they create…content? They also get a lot of stuff for free? And then tell you to buy that stuff? What a world this is!

Good for them, I say. Who doesn’t like free stuff? But it did get me thinking…

Aren’t we all creators? Albeit unpaid ones who don’t get stuff for free, unless my friends’ galleys count.

I can’t imagine NOT being a creator, can you?

To all of us creators, by which mean all of us, take a minute to think about all the glorious things you’ve created. A hat. A painting. A story. Friendships. A home. A family. To bastardize Beauty and the Beast: a job as old as time…

And speaking of creating, here is my latest Sophie scarf progress!

What I’m Thinking About..

Risotto!

And you should too!

Risotto gets a bad rap as being too difficult and too time consuming to make. But friends, I’m here to tell you that it’s so easy and so yummy that before Annabelle left for college it was in our weekly dinner rotation (along with spaghetti carbonara, steak and sweet potato fries, pork chops and Rice a Roni, roast chicken, and tortellini en brodo).

We both love simple Risi e Bisi, or rice and peas. But Michael does not. Yet so simple is making risotto that if he was with us, I’d make two different kinds…

Here’s all you have to do: warm a saucepan of chicken (or beef or veggie) broth. Melt a tablespoon of butter and a tablespoon of olive oil in another pan (I use my workhorse Le Creuset) and sauté a diced shallot and/or a leek in it, then add a cup of Arborio rice and toast it in there for about thirty seconds.

Now start adding that warm broth about half a cup at a time, stirring until it’s absorbed, then adding another half cup, and so on until all the broth is used or the risotto is finished. Stirring risotto is one of the most meditative things I know of.

Halfway through, add in half a cup of white wine, if you have it. It’s fine without it. Risotto is so forgiving.

From time to time, taste a few grains of rice. Like pasta, you want it al dente but not hard. When it reaches that point, stir in whatever extras you want: mushrooms in fall, asparagus in spring, peas all year round.

Take it off the heat. Toss in some fresh Parmesan and another tablespoon of butter, parsley if you have it.

Easy, right?

If you make some, let me know! Trust me, friends, it’s the coziest, easiest dinner.

And also…

With my worrying about Michael and worrying about my revisions and general I’m Italian So I Worry worrying, I’ve had to make it a point these days to seek the simple (like risotto!) to make me smile, keep me calm, keep me centered.

Like this:

And this:

And this:

What a wonderful world, yes? I find that more and more I am seeking quiet and calm and, happily, it’s everywhere—even in NYC.

PS…

We’ve got our Baltic itinerary in place!

Now that flights and hotels and ferries and rental cars and some dinner reservations are booked, I’m focusing on the smaller things, like how best to see The Hill of Crosses and when to take food tours and making notes on what not to miss. Today I booked a very interesting place in Lithuania, recommended by the lovely Lithuanian Aiste, who was on our Nile cruise: a fisherman’s cottage right on the Baltic.

PPS…

Feel like stretching your creator muscles? Come and write with me!

I’m teaching all over the place in the upcoming months and would love to have you join me.

If you are up for a last minute adventure, join me in Dingle, Ireland March 27-June 7!

This summer, I’ll be teaching at Maine Media Workshop in Rockland, Maine July 6-10 and Truro Center for the Arts at Castle Hill in Truro, MA, July 13-17.

In September, I’ll be at Rosemary’s House in Greece from September 13-20. Rosemary’s House is located on Halkidiki’s second peninsula, Sithonia. It rests between the villages of Nikiti and Marmaras, perched on a cliff that overlooks the Aegean Sea. The closest airport is Thessaloniki (SKG). (My info isn’t on the website yet but if you email them just let them know you want to study with me).

An online Fiction Workshop October 26-30 through Provincetown Fine Arts Center.

And March 13-20 will be my writing workshop in Tuscany. We fill up fast, so if you are interested, send an email via the link.

Thank you, friends, for reading and subscribing and paying to support my writing. I appreciate all of you.

Go forth and create!

What I’m Writing…

Friends, I am deep, deep into revisions. The tear up pages, toss out ideas, write all sorts of new stuff kind of revisions. And I’ve embraced all of it and feel…well…high. Excited. At times, even exhilarated.

Here is the journey of this book. I was wondering—all my books start with me wondering about something—how I was so lucky to fall in love with my perfect person at my ripe old age. We always say that we feel like we’ve known each other forever. For years, we kept bumping into each other but the time was never right. Until it was.

So what if, I wondered, two people in love were trying to get together time after time? What if one of them is a time traveler? What if she’s bad at time traveling and keeps messing up? What if she needs to get something from him to bring back to the future with her? (By the way, a great way to find your story is to ask What If?)

And my time travel romance was born.

As you know, I don’t write time travel romances.

So this idea was fun and terrifying. I read time travel books and talked for hours with my brilliant daughter Annabelle who happens to know all about time travel (and a zillion other fascinating things).

Then I started to write and it was some of my happiest writing ever. Fanciful and charming and with a twisty plot and a surprise ending. I loved this book.

To my utter surprise, although some early readers loved it too, others had a lot of questions. And opinions. And the more I tried to answer those the more I felt my novel slipping away.

I spent a lot of days like this:

I even wondered if I should let my time travel romance go. I’ve already got an idea for a more classic Ann Hood novel. Should I write that instead? But I just couldn’t abandon my weird little book and I want to send this story into your hands because I know you are going to love it.

One day I was sitting in the library where I always go to write and I was looking out the window and I saw Maggie, my protagonist, walking up Sixth Avenue as if she was coming to the library…

…and my head practically exploded with new ideas! After so much frustration, I was suddenly free.

So what have I been writing? My time travel romance. Happily.

As wrote in newsletter this week:

“What do you care about? What’s the weird thing that you love? It doesn’t matter if anyone else loves it, or knows about it. In fact, it’s sort of better if they don’t. At this stage in my career, this is what I know to be true—writing a book means living with it for a really long time. Thinking, writing, revising, editing, publishing, promoting, touring, interviews, etc, etc. What do you love enough to spend years on? What is happening in the secret corner of your soul? That is where you want to be.”

I love the secret corner of your soul so much. Thank you !

Also! Did you know that when E.L. Doctorow was stuck writing he saw a woman dressed in early twentieth century clothes walking down his street, and Ragtime was born? Note to self: Don’t forget to look out the window.

What I’ve Been Knitting…

Oh, you all know…Sophie scarves!

But what’s exciting is that now that we’re back home, I have knitting time again.

And I’m excited when every afternoon I pull out my knitting, put on Top Chef, and knit.

Hmmm…

It’s kind of like my writing, isn’t it? Pushing through frustration and finding that simple joy again.

Which is kind of like life, friends. When we are in those times of frustration and disappointment, it feels like it will never get better.

We need to stay in bed, preferably with a cat (if you’re like me).

We need to consider giving up, but not give up. We need to maybe cry a little. Or a lot. And we need to be ready and open for that change that will come. I promise you. It will come.

Now, even as I happily knit my Sophie scarf, I’m planning a bigger project for summer. Just like I’m thinking about my next novel.

But until then…

What I’m Thinking About…

The Baltics!

I often get asked how I plan our fabulous trips. A few years ago I shared the crazy logistics for our winter trip to Skye. Trains! Ferries! Drivers! Like writing a book or knitting a scarf, I love figuring out how to make it all work, how the pieces fit.

It’s probably no surprise that I also love doing jigsaw puzzles…

I am about to start planning our trip to the Baltics—Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania—in June and thought I’d share my system for planning a trip with you.

For a few months I’ve been researching the area and making notes on what to see, where to stay, and the best way to get around.

Research means reading travel articles (and finding there are blessedly few; I love going to unexplored places), watching YouTube travel vlogs, and googling like crazy, then cross referencing what I find. I was lucky that another passenger on our Nile cruise was from Lithuania and sent me gobs of tips!

Which brings me to here…

This weekend I’m actually mapping out our route, booking our hotels, finishing the puzzle that’s been in my mind all these months. You know you’ll be coming along on this trip with us!

And also…

It’s kind of spring!

One day I’m wearing a short sleeved frock and sandals, the next I’m in my big coat and knit scarf.

I love how unpredictable, yet predictable spring is. Crazy weather, but those daffodils and crocuses brave it and appear despite that. And rain or shine, Easter arrives, bringing family along with it.

This year, instead of us trekking up to RI to host a crowd, family came here! And Sam and Katherine hosted! Honestly one of the best Easters ever. Although we happily go to Rhode Island and host Thanksgiving (eve and day) and Christmas (eve and day), it’s really nice to just Uber to Sam’s with a ham and three dozen eggs and then to cook and eat with fifteen friends and family.

The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, the Whitney Biennial, dinners and breakfasts and, of course, Easter…

Such love and joy and gratitude! And a reminder that we have to work at keeping family and friends close. We have to make the time to call, remember birthdays, check in when someone is sick or has to have a procedure or is having problems at work or in love. We have to take an afternoon or weekend to be together. Those calls and cards and texts and visits pay off a million fold, friends. They do!

Sigh.

Spring.

PS…

My other brilliant kid, Sam, has a new play opening on April 24 with his theater company What Will the Neighbors Say? Beauty Freak centers on Leni Riefenstahl during the creation and promotion of her magnum opus “Olympia,” a film about the 1936 Berlin Olympics commissioned by the Third Reich.

Like all of WWTNS plays, it’s thought provoking and timely. If you are in or near NYC between April 24 and May 17 and get a chance to see it, say hi to Sam. If you come April 30, you can say hi to me!

https://www.thecelltheatre.org/beautyfreak

PPS…

Urban beauty!

I loved NYC from the moment I moved here way back in the very early 80s. The very first afternoon at my tiny apartment on Sullivan Street, I stepped outside and it was like all my cells shifted into place. I even thought the graffiti on the subway cars was beautiful…

And as I walk around my beloved city, I see something beautiful every day.

Do you know what the secret is? We just have to remember to look for it. Like remembering to look out the window from time to time and to look for those simple joys again. It’s all out there, waiting for us.

Thank you for reading and for subscribing. The other day I got a notification that I’ve reached a milestone in paid subscribers—wow! This tells me that there are a lot of people who want to support writers writing, and I’m grateful.

Happy kind of spring to you all! Remember to look for the beautiful and joyful in our messy world. You never know when you’ll find it. Maybe you’ll be standing on a terrace at a museum and stare out at what’s right in front of you and glimpse something that, for an instant, takes your breath away…

Hello Friends!

As you can see, I’m breaking form today because writing, knitting, and even thinking, have been pretty much impossible since we got home from Egypt at 2:00 Monday morning.

Pretty quickly, I started getting sick. I tossed it off as jet lag and lots of travel hours (made even longer when we missed our connection in Istanbul and had to wait almost four hours for our flight).

I’m not complaining (well, maybe a little!) because we truly had a trip of a lifetime. For all the details and tips, hop over to my beloved’s Substack . He takes the best notes!

I had a plan for my return, which was to just put my head down and catch up.

Here’s my list:

Read workshop papers (about sixty pages)

Teach workshop 7-9:30 Monday night

Read two thesis students’ submissions (over 200 pages)

Read makeup workshop papers (about sixty pages)

Makes lunch for fifteen for makeup workshop

Second revision on new first chapter of novel

Also: one doctor’s appointment and one acupuncture appointment

But! I’ve got this! One thing we have to accept in a week like this is that reading and knitting and long lovely walks have to be put on hold.

We take a deep breath and plunge in. Except…

Tuesday I woke up sicker. Like, really sick. The kind of sick where I couldn’t get out of bed and couldn’t eat dinner. Very little progress on my list.

On Wednesday, sicker still with the added surprise of hives all over my arms. A telehealth call, a couple prescriptions, and I slept until 5:00 in the afternoon. Um. Goodbye list!

Another telehealth call on Thursday and by afternoon I had turned the proverbial corner. Phew! I even made it to the acupuncturist.

But friends, my list was shot. I’d made progress on all the reading, but there was more to do. After I had a zillion needles put in my leg, I was racing from the subway to get home and get another forty-five minutes of work in when I did what we always have to remember to do.

I paused. Right here. I looked at these daffodils.

Scraggly, city daffodils just beginning to come to life. Kind of like me.

It was sunny and in the 70s and I made the executive decision not to rush home (a perk when you work for yourself). Instead, I sat in Abingdon Square Park (which always makes me happy because it’s where we got married) and closed my eyes and turned my face up to the sun. Oh, it felt so good.

And now I feel like I can start on that list again. Don’t get me wrong. I woke up at 4:00 this morning wondering when I’m going to find the time to make lentil soup for fifteen people and squeeze in two Zooms.

But you know what? Somehow I’ll figure it out. You will too, friends. Sometimes we get surprises—like hives or flight delays or worse, much worse—and our plans go out the window.

Think of those scraggly daffodils. Think of the warm sun. Take some time to sit in the park and then start back on that list.

Thank you as always for reading. And thank you to all of you who support writing with paid subscriptions.

Take care of your tender self. I’ll be back in two weeks in the usual format…hopefully!

What I’m Writing…

Friends, it is 4:33 in the morning and I am writing this from Cairo This is what’s outside my window:

Except it looks like this right now:

On Tuesday, Michael and I got on a Turkish Airlines flight to Cairo via Istanbul for this long planned trip.

But before I tell you about that, I have to tell you about my long ago trips here as a TWA flight attendant.

I had a job where I frequently had to pinch myself to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. Paris! Rome! Athens! And, yes, Cairo.

In my memoir Fly Girl I write about my first trip here so I won’t rehash that now.

Instead I will tell you how dazzled I was. Sure, the fancy hotel we stayed in was dazzling. The chaos and traffic and noise of Cairo made my head spin. The different alphabet, the different culture, everything so unique to this girl from West Warwick, Rhode Island.

(As I’m writing this the sounds of the call to prayer are filling the air.)

Then some crew members invited me to go with them to lunch overlooking the Pyramids. How could I resist?

If you’ve been here you know that they suddenly appear out of nowhere, a backdrop to this urban setting.

Yes, I actually gasped when I first saw them. It was all the things: jaw dropping, magnificent, mind blowing. It still is.

These have stood here for 4500 years. 4500! That humbles me. It puts things into perspective, doesn’t it? My brief life. My books. My money worries and daily worries and anxious nights. A blip. Not insignificant. No. But when I look upon something like this, I get a good reminder of…What matters? What doesn’t? Things outside myself? All of that. And more.

I returned to Egypt many times, mostly walking here in high heels on a 747.

But the last time was in March of 1992, almost exactly thirty four years ago, with my fellow flight attendant friend Matt. We did just about the same trip I’m doing this time: Cairo, Luxor, Nile cruise, Aswan. In fact, I’ve been sending Matt pictures of us in the places we visited. And he returned the favor.

When I was planning this trip, I had to decide whether to stay in Cairo or in Giza, by the Pyramids. An easy decision for me. I’ve been to Cairo plenty of times and I live in a big city. But I don’t get to look out my window at ancient history. At something that gives me a much needed pause.

We all need that sometimes, don’t we? And we don’t have to fly 5600 miles to find it. Though in our busy lives, landing somewhere faraway and different helps.

What I’m Knitting…

Please don’t yawn. Yup, Sophie scarves!

I have three to knit as gifts and luckily Egypt and Turkish Air allow knitting needles in carry on bags.

Above, a travel survival kit of sorts. The flight here was about thirteen hours, some of which was spent rolling that yarn into a ball. Lots were spent reading the fabulous novel The House of Doors.

We always travel with our cribbage board and two decks of cards for Spite and Malice. The group going on the upcoming Nile cruise is a big game playing crowd, so suitcases coming here from various cities have more games packed.

Also, for the hours not rolling yarn, reading, or napping, I happily ate and sipped. It made this fly girl’s heart go pit-a-pat to experience first class the way it used to be. (God bless Chase miles!)

What I’m Thinking About…

Risks!

I’m slightly misquoting George Bernard Shaw here but he said something like: “To some I’m brave. To some I’m risky. To others I’m foolhardy.”

Well, here I am in Egypt and I suspect readers are putting me into one of those categories. And you are all correct.

A few weeks before we were scheduled to leave, a war broke out in the Middle East involving fourteen countries. We panicked. Vacillated. Called friends in the know. Called our senators (well, one of us did that). Texts between our group flew back and forth.

In the end, four of us canceled. Eleven of us made a very well thought out decision to come.

The state department has Egypt at level 2, where it has been for ten years. But we know how suddenly things can change. We all know that, don’t we?

When I told Matt—remember Matt from earlier?

—he reminded me that when we did this trip in 1992, it was during the Gulf War. “Remember? Everyone told us not to come,” he said. You know what? I had forgotten. All I remember is our astonishment, our laughter, and how lucky we were, two friends on an adventure.

And Also…

I got the idea for this Nile cruise in 2023, when my beloved was having a birthday that ends in a zero (those are the ones to celebrate!). I rallied friends and family to join us, and in no time we had filled a dahabiya.

However, when I went to book it, I was told that the cruise obviously doesn’t run in July because the temperature is 106. Obviously.

Sigh.

Instead we spent a glorious week at Waimea Plantation Cottages on our favorite island of Kauai with family.

And oh did I love that week. We explored! Got a flat tire! Got a car stuck in the sand! Grilled lunch and dinner and walked on the beach! In other words, we had a lovely adventure.

Last time, I wrote about how comforting routine is. How I love my 2-2-2: Two hours of writing. Two hours of knitting. Two hours of reading. Our 6:00 cocktails and cribbage. Our local pizza joints and movie theaters and small Off and Off-Off Broadway theaters. Or just staying in and cooking something delicious.

But, friends, we need some adventures too, don’t we? To remind us of our place in this big, messy world? To make memories that help sustain us on ordinary or sad days?

PS…

I promised you something about the Nile, didn’t I?

Well, we set sail on it today for six days. What adventures lie ahead?

As always, thank you for reading. And for subscribing. And, bless you, everyone who supports writing by having a paid subscription.

Spring approaches! Whether you are on a grand adventure or cozy in your beloved routine at home, I hope spring brings you all it promises: warmth and blossoms and renewal.

What I’m Writing…

After five weeks away I am happy to be home and on a tight writing schedule. Well, tightish. Which means that some time between 10 and 11 I leave our cozy apartment, buy a NYT, and get breakfast at our local diner, The Bus Stop.

I am a creature of habit, except when I’m zipping all over the place, and I like to read actual books and newspapers. Am I the only person who misses the way the ink on the NYT used to smudge all over your hands?

This also means I always order pretty much the same thing: a ham and cheese omelette or, if it’s closer to lunchtime, a turkey club with extra mayo and well done fries. Thus fed, I walk the half mile to the Jefferson Market Library. After my bed, it is my favorite place to write.

No phones, no sounds of construction from the apartment below. Just me and my novel for two or three blissful hours.

Believe it or not, we are leaving town again in a couple of weeks, so my focus is on revisions, revisions, revisions. The poet William Matthews said that revisions aren’t cleaning up after the party; they are the party. So I’m here partying like crazy!

Remembering things like smudged newspapers, how about when we had to type everything, including entire novels?

My friend Glenn recently sent me this…

The first page of my first novel, Somewhere Off the Coast of Maine, mostly written on a beat up oak table in my apartment on Bleecker Street.

Compare the first line from the original and the published book!

Next year is its fortieth anniversary. It has been re-issued three more times. Above, its original, gorgeous title. Unbelievable!

And look at where the reading was! I’ve been going there for more than forty years!

What I’m Knitting…

When I leave the library every afternoon, I come back home and knit. My 2-2-2 routine is both productive and comforting. Write for two hours, knit for two hours, read for two hours.

And yes, it’s still all about Sophie scarves.

I just bought yarn for three more: Bright Iris, Rosebud Pink, and Deep Pansy.

They make the best gifts and are truly the most soothing knitting (whilst watching Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr & Carolyn Bessette).

Have you read Lucy Caldwell’s novel These Days? If not, please do. It’s about an Irish family during the Belfast Blitz in WW II. My book recommendations are in my darling husband’s newsletter as The Promiscuous Reader, but I bring up Caldwell’s book because I learned a great new word in it: tricoteuse. Historically, they were women who sat and knit while watching executions during the French Revolution! Dutiful logophile that I am, I marked it in my trusty black and white composition notebook. Now I’m trying to figure out how to use it in a sentence three different times, as my seventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Gibney, had us do so we “would never forget our new words.”

Another fun knitting fact: look at these Irish stamps:

No wonder I love Ireland so! And if you do too, or if you’ve always wanted to visit Ireland, join me and Suzanne Strempek Shea, Luis Alberto Urrea, Madeleine Blaise, and more, plus Irish writers Mia Gallagher and Sara Baume in Dingle, May 29-June 7.

What I’m Thinking About…

Plays!

We are blessed to have so many theaters in our Greenwich Village neighborhood, and since we’ve been home we’ve gone to a play every couple of days. Another routine, of sorts. Plays and movies, then sharing a meal at one of our favorite Greenwich Village restaurants.

Friends, imagine how wonderful it is to step out your door and in twenty minutes or less be eating at a charming restaurant, or be seated in a theater waiting for that magical moment when the lights go down. Below are the five we’ve went to since we’ve been home.

We are definitely people who don’t like going above 14th Street and, happily, so much is right outside our door.

When I was a kid growing up in my little town in Rhode Island, I dreamed of a life filled with theater and art and books. I dreamed of living in a big city. Now I think just about every day, Michael and I look at each other and say: “We love living here!”

Speaking of books, we also went to celebrate our friend Christopher Castellani and his new book, Last Seen, at Books Are Magic in Brooklyn. Books are magic, aren’t they?

And also…

My hair!

I am delighted to have my essay “Hair: The Long and Short of It” in and I’m delighted to share it with you.

PS…

Piggy!

In June, my first picture book will be published. (available for preorder now!) How exciting is that? Piggy is based on my daughter Annabelle’s beloved Piggy, pictured below, age twenty. Kirkus gave the book a rave—yay!—saying it’s “an ode to early childhood bonds and the beauty of a well-loved toy.”

Welcome to our routine back home in snowy NYC. I am treasuring every minute of it. We’ve also had friends and family over for dinner and for cocktails, had popcorn for dinner, hurkle-durkled on snowy mornings. (Hurkle-durkle is another word I’ve learned fairly recently and love using in sentences. Thank you, Mrs. Gibney!)

Friends, we know too well how easily the rhythms and comforts of life can get upended: canceled flights, a blizzard, and oh, so much more.

So let’s appreciate our predictable days when we can. Get lost in our work. Knit a Sophie scarf again. Walk in our neighborhood on a snowy night, holding the hand of someone we love. Celebrating our own Piggy—someone or something loved good and hard and is still beautiful.

Thank you for reading, for subscribing, and my goodness for paying to subscribe! You put a smile on my face.

What I’m Writing…

Yes, friends, Michael and I are still on the road. Deep into week two of a sun and margarita drenched time in one of our favorite countries, Mexico.

The Todos Santos Writer’s Workshop brought us here and boy, are we grateful. We’ve been to Baja before, but never to this dusty little town surrounded by beaches where whales jump out of the ocean to say hello.

Every day I taught a fiction workshop from 9-1. Afternoons were free to hang out at Miguel’s on the corner, drinking margaritas and eating chile rellenos with friends. Or to sit by the pool and read, a cold Topo Chico in hand. Or to wander the few blocks into town for a romantic lunch at Mejibo.

Peaceful, easy living for sure.

Especially while we were getting reports from home on how cold it was. Zero! Below zero!

At 5:00 there were readings or craft talks