If our Marion Winik had a personal subtitle, readers, what would it be?
For the past couple years, I’ve been looking for a publisher for a memoir of my adventures since my second marriage went bust in 2008. Readers of this column will remember some of these stories — what they lack in romance, they make up in ridiculousness. While most people in my age group date with dignity, judiciousness, and a certain reserve, my approach was more…haphazard, shall we say, and culminated not with a honeymoon but with a two-week stay in Johns Hopkins Hospital. But even my hepatitis C is kind of a funny story.