When you're confined to a hospital bed, there aren't many appointments you can make. You await visits from friends and family members. You enjoy the coconut ice cream they smuggle in. You tolerate the erratic and invasive visits of doctors and nurses, hoping that one of them will bring you closer to going home.

Even under the best circumstances, speaking at your own wedding ceremony is a high pressure endeavor. What even constitutes a vow? I always picture them as exclamations you bellow at the sky.

Big romantic gestures are only as strong as the relationships they happen in.

Although my grandmother was a strict parent and abided my grandfather's kosher diet, as a Nana, she had grown away from religion and was almost unbelievably permissive.

Why is it okay to write a work of literary fiction where horrible, explicit things happen, where you can't write a book of humor where silly, explicit things are happening?