A writer is someone who writes. That's me. Whatever happens, I have to try to get it down. A look, a conversation, a bird, a smell. Save it, save it. What starts me on a project is usually so changed in the final result that even I -- or maybe especially I -- could not tell you what it was. The books for children were probably efforts to recapture my own childhood. Then there were novels that seemed far from my own life, but perhaps explored paths not taken. There were articles for Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, Allure, Real Simple, and The New York Times Magazine, all of which tried to capture the music of what was happening. Now I am writing plays with my long-time friend, the acclaimed actress, Maria Tucci. We draw on her life, my life, and the life we've had together.
And meanwhile life goes on -- with Michael Tannen, my husband since 1965, in New York City. Our daughter Catherine is married to David Schink. They live in Chicago with their children Madeline and Emmett. Our son Noah is married to Shannon Orton and they live with their son Jonah in Seattle.
From the Blog
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The Bird Bar
February 27, 2014
Drink recipes from the Bird Bar -- that little known, famous, discreet and raucous watering hole of birders. Where every bird has its drink and every drink is named after a bird. Read more -
Owl Notes
March 13, 2013
I saw the saw-whet. It was sitting in a yew tree at the corner of the Shakespeare Garden in Central Park. The tree itself is small, hardly more than a bush, but I had to walk around it several times before I caught sight of a puffed-up, rufous-on-white streaked breast. The little owl was on a high branch close to the main trunk. My friend M. came along and we both stood under the eight - inch bird. As we watched, it gave a little hiccup and spit out a pellet that fell to the ground with a metallic clink. It was a leadgray, still wet, with tiny hairs embedded in it and a glint of mica. I put it on the stone wall and M. and I went off to the Metropolitan Museum. When I came back a few hours later, the owl was still there. A well-dressed woman passed by and asked what I was looking at. I showed her the owl, and the pellet. "You should take it," she said. Her name was Regina. After she left, I picked up the pellet and took it home and put it on the windowsill by my desk. Read more