Yesterday I was working in Starbucks rather longer than I intended. My client had cancelled and I was already there so I ended up eavesdropping on a group of sophomore students from St. Ignatius, a prestigious Chicago Catholic private school. Their faces betrayed recent childhood, one boy's cheeks still had the roundness of a child but as he said "fuck" every other word and referred to various classmates as "skanky whores" it was hard to accept that face with that vocabulary.
Read MoreSo, my wonderful friend who is a connector of people invited me to meet her friend Ava, an 84 year old survivor of the Holocaust, a poet, painter, writer and beauty. She was full of life and a sort of serenity that must come from a world she has watched turn itself inside out over and over again. She lost her family except for her mother in the camps. She was hidden with a family for four years who had little education so she had to pretend to be mute to not be detected as an outsider.
Read MoreSo – what happens after you write two novels, move to London, Dallas, and then Chicago with a newborn, toddler and then get separated? You don't write much. You go out and get work as a creative writing teacher, you try and make some friends, you smile hard for your adoring son, you try not to doubt your decision to have married the man who no longer seems like your friend. You return to the gym, make friends with a whole new group of gym ladies who love your kid. You try to make friends and realize you're tired of doing that.
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