A few weeks ago, my friend and former jogging partner Ellen Sweet sent me this snapshot that she had just discovered while scanning old photographs into her computer. I remembered the picture, and I may even have a copy of it somewhere, but it was something of a shock to see it illuminated on my computer screen. The shot probably dates from the early 1980s when I had first started running along with half of Manhattan. From the beginning Ellen and I challenged ourselves by entering races in…

At this year's AWP conference in Chicago, Ellen Cassedy and Nancy K. Miller were part of a panel organized by the University of Nebraska Press on Family Stories.  Kamy Wicoff was in attendance, and loved what they had to say on the subject so much (memoir writers, don't miss these wonderful posts)…

In some ways, this house in Kishinev obsessed me as much as the famous pogrom House Number 13, not least because I had no address for my grandparents. It was--educated guess--the location of the photography studio where my grandparents had their portrait taken. On the back of the cabinet card was the address....I went there twice, on both trips, and tried to imagine my grandparents going there for...…

The pub date of September 1 came and went minus fanfare. Understatement: absolutely nothing happened. I wasn’t devastated because I hadn’t expected anything. At least I hadn’t admitted to myself that I had the slightest anticipation of—I don’t even know what, something. Still, faced with the nothing of the day, I did feel a bit downcast, since I had not succeeded in fooling myself. (Yes, I confess that I was hoping for a miracle, even though I don’t believe in them.) But a few short weeks…