Marion Agnew

As part of an event sponsored by my publisher, Signature Editions , in June, I appeared on a panel. It was fun! (Links for all things REVERBERATIONS-related are here and here .) We talked about the rewards and pitfalls about writing intensely personal stories related to health and illness. Books. Lots. In preparation for the panel, I had occasion to read the titles by the other panelists: * Micro-Miracle: A True Story , by Amy Boyes, about her experience when daughter Madeline comes sixteen weeks early. It's a harrowing and ultimately satisfying story about a world entirely new to me, that of a micro-preemie baby. Well, babies are pretty foreign to me in general, and I think that (lack of) experience intensified my concern when things start to go wrong for Amy and her baby. * Rain on a Distant Roof , by Vanessa Farnsworth, about her experience with Lyme disease in Canada and making sense of her body when her body no longer makes sense to her. Sections that provide a window into her

I'm trying to make progress on more than one front at a time, and I don't feel especially successful. Perhaps it's typical for summer. Perhaps life is always like this, and I become aware periodically.  Regardless.  Recently, I wrote on a scrap piece of paper: How is a leaking roof like a manuscript in progress? Well, maybe a better question is how are they NOT alike, amirite? Neither works well, as is. But it's easy enough to ignore how poorly they're working until it rains and you're forced to notice.  Both are tricky to fix. You think you know where the problems are, but when you finally get a roofer to stop by, he says it's the siding and the chimneys. Siding people say they don't do chimneys (though chimney supporting structures have siding and flashing). Chimney people say that they fix only chimneys they have put in.  When you venture up in the attic to slather the underneath of the roof with caulking, which is a patch job at best, you discover ot

Years ago (1996: geez, almost 25 years), Jon Krakauer published Into Thin Air , a book about an expedition up Mount Everest in which a lot of people died. I happened to catch the first article in Outside magazine, which was a teaser for the book. I found the reading and reporting to be interesting. An IMAX movie (remember those?) called Everest was released in 1998. I lived in Colorado at the time and went with a group of people to see it in a theatre.  As the lights came up at the end, I said, "What an absorbing experience. And now I know I don't want ever to climb Mount Everest." (In contrast, the people I was with were all gung-ho for an Everest climb. I don't live in the same community of people or even in the same country. Those two facts are not unrelated.) My point is that sometimes I read a book and think, "Whoa, I'm glad to have read that, and I have zero desire to go and do likewise." Basically: they did this thing, and now I don't have to

It's summer, so everything and nothing is different. The main thing that's different is what "thing" in the previous sentence refers to. I'm juggling different things than I was a while back. New things like roofs and paint and sanders, and do we need a battery charger. That said, some of the context from the past four months is the same: if we do need said battery charger (or paint/stain, or sandpaper), how physically do we get it when we're not going into stores. Also: is it time for another grocery pickup. That said, many lovely people are saying nice things about my book, Reverberations: A Daughter's Meditations on Alzheimer's . And they all seem to have been talking about it in the past two or three weeks.   A few weeks back, I participated in a panel discussion, hosted by my publisher, Signature Editions.   Last week, my book was featured (along with a blog post) at AlzAuthors.com. This week, an extended interview with Suzannah Windsor appears at

Today, REVERBERATIONS: A DAUGHTER'S MEDITATIONS ON ALZHEIMER'S is the featured post at AlzAuthors, a website that has assembled a huge array of resources for people with dementia and those who love them. At this site, I share the process of writing about Mom's dementia and the role stigma played in my family's reluctance to confront and address her illness.  I hope readers see that people with dementia and their care partners remain people—unique individuals, with lives that include joys both big and small. I hope readers understand that while a family’s emotions can include guilt, anger, and embarrassment, they can also include love. I hope that somewhere, a reader gives my book to a friend, and they start a conversation. Because talking about Alzheimer’s and dementia is how we create a more understanding community for all of us.   Go to AlzAuthors to read the full blog post and to check out the many wonderful books (for all ages), podcasts, and blogs.