It’s a cancer memoir, though Goldberg writes in the introduction that she never planned it that way. Friends discouraged it, fearing she’d spark a recurrence. But “the things we avoid have energy. If I ignored my suffering, the life of my writing would die.”
This preoccupation can feel a lot like mental illness to even the healthiest parents, a maddening blend of near-constant anxiety sleep deprivation and stress. So where is the line between normal parental instinct—that natural drive to keep our children safe—and true mental disorder?
While tracing a branch of my family tree back to the 1700s, I discovered that my ninth-great grandfather, a devout pacifist, had been massacred by Indians. And his story contained enough drama to fill several Hollywood blockbusters.
My town has a long and storied past. I grew up surrounded by preserved farmsteads and blue historical markers. Even the Amish horse-drawn buggies that slowed traffic seemed like relics of a long-ago time. But I never considered this history my own until the day my great-aunt Kathleen called.
For many Americans, Dorthea Lange’s “Migrant Mother” photo is the defining image of the Great Depression. But it’s just one of over 170,000 commissioned by the U.S. Farm Security Administration and Office of War Information during the 1930s and early 1940s.
Every copywriter has an unfinished manuscript tucked in a desk drawer, goes an old advertising cliche. ... I, too, am a copywriter with a manuscript. And until a few months ago, I too had an identity crisis. But mine wasn’t a struggle between art and commerce. I just couldn’t find my voice.