The year I turned 12, I just knew I was going to be famous. I pictured myself onstage, with a gleaming trophy in my arms and exultant fans at my feet. I’d be hailed in the headlines, interviewed on TV, pursued for my autograph. I was going to win the…

It was the kind of restaurant where the tables are draped in damask and the leather-bound wine list goes on for pages. A rosy-cheeked waiter leaned over my husband and me, all solicitude and old-school courtesy. …

Old clothes are like old friends: they let me feel like myself. No other navy blue hat frames my face as this one does, so I’ll stick with it despite the stray threads. My scarf has pilled, but the colors make music with the most beloved pieces in my closet…

I hung onto midlife for all I was worth. On the brink of 70, I thought of myself as middle-aged. Not that I planned to live till 140. I just didn’t want to lose the sense of a groove that was mine, in which I would glide on hard-won self-assurance…

Back in the prime of my flesh and bones, I was always dying of something. Cancer, more often than not. Doctors learned to humor me. One asked, while inspecting my knee for a suspicious bump, “Have you noticed the identical bump on your other knee?” It was the era of…

“Look at that front row,” said my mother. I’d been trying not to stare at the three queens of fiction. Both Margarets, Atwood and Laurence, sharing a private joke. Alice Munro on the edge of her folding chair — elbows on knees, face alight. A hush fell on the room…

When my mother was 40 or so and hitting her stride as a magazine writer, she discovered the short stories of Hilma Wolitzer. My mother had nailed the slickly neutral voice of Good Housekeeping and Woman’s Day, but she longed to write as herself, an educated wife and mother both…

I look for memoirs that take me on a walk beside a captivating, observant person (maybe not entirely likeable) whose perspective on her life helps me understand myself and others. A few favorites, in no particular order: Townie by Andre Dubus III, Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett, Let's Take the Long Way Home by Gail Caldwell, Just Kids by Patti Smith, Save Me the Plums by Ruth Reichl, A Childhood by Harry Crews.

WHEN THE MOTHER/DAUGHTER KNOT COMES UNDONE “Writers are always selling someone out,” said Joan Didion. …