Writing Samples
Finding the right writer for your project is crucial. It’s three parts skill, two parts personality, and one part magic. Check out my published writing samples below to get a sense of my style.
Sparking joy?
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Sinner’s List
The day that our handyman committed suicide, he cleaned out my parents’ garage. They hadn’t asked him to purge the junk from those overstuffed car bays, the ones that hadn’t sheltered a vehicle since…
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Other people’s children and global parenthood
The week after Jackson was born I read a story about a newborn who’d been bitten by rats over 75 times while his parents were high on drugs. The baby was almost the exact…
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Flea market finds
In the tiny town of Monteagle, TN, there’s a flea market that Taylor and I peruse like shell scavengers on a beach. The vendors sell toys with missing parts and corroded batteries. They sell…
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The grace in need
The month after I had a baby, I couldn’t figure out how to go to the drug store. My parents had finally left after staying to help with Jackson for the first week, and…
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The things we carry
Lately I’ve been complaining that I can’t write. My previously complex sentences fragment or drift off into vague wishes for an iced coffee or fantasies about a new granite countertops. The brilliant idea that…
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The Gift of Exhaustion
I work from home, which happens to also be the place I live and care for my 11-month-old baby. When I first had him, people told me that newborns slept for 18 hours a…
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To writing more in 2018! Plus a round-up of my work from 2017.
I’m alive. So mumming took more of my time than I expected (yes, I can hear you experienced parents laughing now), but we’re sleeping through the night now (trying not to jinx anything here)…
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Flyover state of mind
The morning before the eclipse, all I think about is not blinding my 5-month-old baby. I drape his carrier in a blue swaddle and hustle him into my friend’s house like a body builder…
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Vessel: thoughts on motherhood and the body
People kept telling me I didn’t look pregnant. At 5 months, my sister-in-law studied the slack of my shirt over my flat tummy. “Can I touch it?” I hesitate. “Sure.” There’s nothing there but…
caroline siegrist editorial 