Linda Henry

Deep faith, abiding doubt

A long time ago, I thought I was going to be a novelist. At first I tried to translate certain life events into fiction, mostly short stories. Thus the story of the girl who was assaulted and another about a woman who lost a child. But it was so unsatisfactory, such crap. I couldn't pretend to be those women. I couldn't imagine how another person would respond to experiences similar but different from my own.

Most of my writing life has been devoted to writing creative nonfiction. I don't even like that term "creative nonfiction," describing something based on what it isn't. But I don't know what else to call what I write. I try to find humor in the truth of my experience. I lean on my faith, while honoring the doubt that comes with being human. And I often turn to a three-legged turtle for insight and inspiration. It's a living.

Selected Works

Essays
My daughter likes depressing books. “Someone dies in the first chapter,” Grace says gleefully of a novel she can’t put down. Maybe this inclination comes naturally, growing up with the ghost of a sister she never knew. 
In which my Aspy son prevails against middle-school bullies. Adapted from "A Voice Not My Own"