Writing is my first love.  It's what gets me up in the morning, and then, pretty quickly causes me to want to go back to bed, because it's so damn hard.  I had the great stroke of luck to have an essay published in the New York Times; check it out!    

I currently have an unpublished memoir, and am writing a novel.  The memoir is about the painful decision to get divorced and raise kids on my own, a choice that glued me to a government job for many years.  It’s about navigating the complicated choice between staying in a marriage and leaving it, and loving children whose belongings and emotional lives are strewn between two houses.  But mostly, it's about trying  to see humor and richness in everything so that the mountain of chores involved in being a single working mother didn't collapse in on us.  Read excerpts below.  

I offer occasional workshops - write if you're interested, and I'll add you to my mailing list.

Excerpt
...A few days later, when my son asked why I was crying, I didn't exactly tell the truth, even though I try to be honest with him in all matters.  Instead of saying, hey, I'm crying because I think we might be doing something that will scar you forever, affect your childhood, your adulthood, your relationships, your children and their children.  That's why I'm crying.  I'm crying because I can't try harder, maybe there's something wrong with me that I can't live this way anymore, and maybe if I were a better person, stronger, I wouldn't be doing this.  I'm crying because I can't, anymore, tell the difference between selfish and selfless.  I don't know if I'm doing something that is right for me but so wrong for you that you'll never get over it.  Or maybe it's right for both of us, or maybe I just need to believe that because it's easier.  I'm crying because more than anything in my life, I care about you and your sister, and I would give up almost anything for you.  But I can't give up my soul.  Maybe I'm being dramatic, but that's what it feels like.  I can't give up on wanting to have a rich life, with you in it.  Maybe I'm too selfish to be your mother.

 I didn’t say any of this.  Instead, I said, "Oh, I'm just all tired out right now."

I laid down.  When he laid down next to me and tried to make me laugh, I laughed.  Hysterically, almost.  We laughed together until I fell asleep, and I woke to hear him creeping away quietly to play.  - To Catch a Fresh Feather, unpublished

Writing samples

Pandemic Times

I can try to forgive, but I can't forget
Celeste Ng reads my Modern Love essay