Scarlet

I was walking down Hollywood Boulevard with my half-sister, Judy. She’s 81, decades older than me, my father having married the first time just out of his teens, and the last time, to my mother, when he was pushing fifty. Judy led me to the window of a lighting store, and pointed to a dusty […]

It’s been two months since I sent my (possible) agent the book. My manuscript. My novel. (Whatever.) A book I’ve been obsessed with for several years. Lost in the pages. Hurtling myself across the screen, and then across Scandinavia, trying to remember who I was when I was twenty-two, working in the far north on