After college, I got a job cold-calling for an anti-hunger organization. I logged the calls on a legal pad that I filled with comments like, “Talked about his brother. Had an accent.” and “Works at a medical clinic. Could hear children in the background.” No one asked me to keep track of these details. On the contrary, I was discouraged from doing so. But I couldn’t stop. The strangers were telling me such interesting things.
I started onewomanparty when I moved from San Francisco to Perth in 2015. It started off, as most personal blogs do, as, “Hey I’m going through this thing and if I don’t write about it I’ll burst.” I wrote about the grandeur and peculiarities of Western Australia, the challenges of moving children across the world, and my meltdown at Cottesloe Beach. Writing became the way I made sense of things, and the difference between a good day and a lost one.
As I became more at home in Australia, and bumped up against the restrictions of chronicling real life, I turned to fiction. By the time I returned to San Francisco in 2018, I was hooked.
I have written a novel about a young woman who makes a problematic decision. It is a story of aftermath, memory, and secrets. Editing my manuscript, I see that practically every page contains a detail or dialogue from a conversation I had with someone fifteen years ago, or just last week.
If you are reading this, you probably like stories too. Thank you.
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