It’s 1:16 p.m. I’ve just gotten both the kids to nap. It’s taken me four days to re-synch them after their schedules were all off during an intense weekend of non-stop book proposal hysteria.
I want to start out by saying that reading an almost-77,000–word manuscript (the length of the first draft of my book) takes a while. Doing even the laziest of edits is still, at the very […]
I once said aloud that I wished I had been born in the Middle Ages because then, if of course I didn’t die in childhood from the Bubonic Plague, I would actually have had a […]
Today at the dentist, post-cleaning and clutching my new, green toothbrush, I found myself in the midst of a conversation about how “lucky” some people are.
As a writer of narrative nonfiction, journalism, memoir, travel narrative, humor, etc., I’m fine pitching work under my name.
I grew up in the village of Manomet, Massachusetts in a neighborhood near Churchill Landing. Also known as “Plymouth” for people in other parts of Mass. Also known as “Y’know the Pilgrims? Plymouth? No?”
My name is Sarah Wolfgang. In 2010, I was this person. I was cool.