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Mary Hogan

Though an Okie by birth, I grew up in Southern California in the era of baby oil tans. Except mine. My youth was filled with sunburns and other red-faced events. Now, I live in the blessed shade of skyscrapers. New York City. Where I was meant to be all along.

At the risk of sounding bigheaded, I love GOOD books. I like to read writers who inspire me to read their sentences over and over just for the joy of it. You know that feeling? Like, wow, how did she think of that phrasing?

On a personal note, I am married to the man of my dreams. We share our home with the lovely Lucy, a Catahoula rescue dog who, frankly, isn't that into us. In another life, she was Greta Garbo. When I smother her with kisses she literally rolls her doggy eyes.

Both LEFT and TWO SISTERS are personal novels for me. TWO SISTERS was inspired by my own sister, Diane, who passed away in 2010. The fictional story emerged as I struggled to understand why my sister died the way she did. It's a story about secrets and how they can disintegrate a family.

LEFT is a love story with a twist. It tells the tale of a woman who develops a fantasy life to cope with her husband's descent into dementia. Alzheimer's and other dementias run in my family. This novel is for the current--and future--caretakers who inspire me every day.

For another VERY personal story, I wrote an article about my mom's last days for Woman's Day magazine. If you've gone through your mom's passing, or soon will, you may relate. (If you feel like reading it, I posted the link on my website maryhogan.com)

I swear it's all true.


“If you could live anywhere in the world where would you live ” “Right here ” Enzo replies. “In your arms.”
Mary Hogan
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“The spirit of Italy has taken over my soul. I'm relaxed, happy, warm. It's as if i'm part of the earth, not just standing out it.”
Mary Hogan
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“Red", I write "is the color of life. It's blood, passion, rage. It's menstrual flow and after birth. Beginnings and violent end. Red is the color of love. Beating hearts and hungry lips. Roses, Valentines, cherries. Red is the color of shame. Crimson cheeks and spilled blood. Broken hearts, opened veins. A burning desire to return to white.”
Mary Hogan
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