About

“We read to know that we are not alone.” – C.S. Lewis

As a kid, I devoured Judy Blume books, enamored by the first person storytelling. I found myself in her characters. Reading quietly in my room, I felt less alone. 

After my grandfather died, my family gathered in my grandparents’ living room to tell stories about him as my great aunt Hilary listened on and took notes. At the funeral the next day, Hilary delivered the eulogy. 

As an eight-year-old observer, it was as if everyone had handed her their own ingredient and she weaved them into a comforting meal. It left an indelible impression upon me. I knew I wanted to feed people with words one day too. 

I’ve always written about my mistakes – both massive and trivial –figuring out how I went wrong, what I missed, in hopes of making some sense of it all. I started sharing these literary autopsies in hopes of helping another avoid the same, discover they’re in the midst of one, or feel less alone with their collection. The good and the bad news is that I have to keep making them in order to have something to write about. Here’s hoping I can keep them fresh and new.