HeyJaredCaroline Grant
Writer, editor, reader, and baker of large quantities of bread; cofounder of the sunsetting Sustainable Arts Foundation, which supported writers and artists with kids for over a dozen years; former editor-in-chief of Literary Mama.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 13
- Latest publication
- Sep 29, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 7, 2026
Latest issues
Hitting Submit (opens the original)
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Just a quick one this week to note a milestone on the way to publishing my memoir: I submitted the manuscript! And the next morning, inevitably, I woke up thinking of two words (two words! in two different essays!) that I want to change. The last week, I looked hard at a few specific passages and trimmed them back. I searched certain words (elegant; nudge; practical) and revised to avoid repetition. I rewrote the final paragraph of my Chicken Jell-O essay about four times and have finally, I thi
One Year of Yoga (opens the original)
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First, I think, I did prenatal yoga and then, inevitably, Mom & Baby yoga, but baby Ben was not a fan so it didn’t stick. During my pregnancy with Eli, I went back to prenatal yoga, regularly enough that I asked the teacher to be my doula for Eli’s birth. I hadn’t had a doula for Ben’s surprisingly precipitous birth, and because Eli took his sweet time being born, I was glad for someone to run interference with the hospital staff; she sprized the room with lavender water, slipped arnica under my
Leftovers (opens the original)
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My manuscript is due to my publisher in just over two weeks, so before I read it through one last time (I wish I had counted up all the many times I have read it through “one last time”), I am going through my files of cut lines and scenes. Every writer has one, and I love the various names they use. My friend Susan Ito calls them outtakes. Another friend, Janine Kovac, quoting Roxane Gay, calls hers, affectionately, “I still love you.” My friend <a href="https://subst
364 Days (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="394" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!dsvR!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F76bd0dd5-dfff-47f6-a483-ea749edba2ee_588x394.png" w
The Sunday Letter (opens the original)
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My Dad sends a Sunday letter to friends and family ever week. He got the idea from a friend who had five kids and traveled for business a lot; he figured if Rick could write his five kids every week, he could surely write the four of us. So he has, every single week since the mid-1970s. Unlike his friend, Dad was mostly home and we were the ones away—at summer camp or at school—and when we were, we all got a letter he wrote on his clipboard; when he traveled with Mom, he sent a postcard. He neve
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