"A spare, sharp memoir about the speed with which a comfortable existence can be blighted by grief.” —Bee Wilson, The Sunday Times (London)
“I keep looking for that final update, confirmation that he is gone.”
“I can convince myself that the website’s tasteful design is at odds with child labor and unlivable wages.”
“No matter what else happens, I play my turn, and she plays hers.”
“I can’t zoom in far enough to see if we were happy, or sad, or changing, or lying to ourselves.”
What kind of story would you like to write?
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