Sarah
Hepola
Sarah Hepola
Author of
The Only Thing There Is To Want
and Blackout
Photo By Jason Janik
Sarah
Hepola
Sarah Hepola
Author of The Only Thing There Is To Want and Blackout
Author of The Only Thing There Is to Want and Blackout
Sarah
Hepola
Sarah Hepola
Author of The Only Thing There Is to Want and Blackout
Author of The Only Thing There Is to Want and Blackout
AVAILABLE NOW
“A brilliant autopsy of loves lost.”
- Kirkus Reviews
New York Times bestselling author of Blackout excavates the three romantic entanglements that defined her adulthood—an electrifying examination of the blurry line between affection and obsession that reveals the restless wanting that hums in us all.
Latest Posts
Meet your new Dallas Morning News Staff Writer
Growing up, I never wrote about Dallas. In the bedroom where I felt closest to happy, I scribbled stories on college-ruled notebook paper about a precocious girl in Maine (like Stephen King) or a troubled teen in Los Angeles (like the actresses I hoped to resemble) or a sophisticated woman in New York who probably did drugs (like everyone interesting). I understood
The Impossible Year
I had a hard year. A lot of people had it harder, a fact I reminded myself of constantly. I never got Covid. Nobody in my family got Covid. I had a solid roof, a warm bed, a loyal and outrageously handsome cat, and a series of microwaveable Amy’s frozen dinners that people in other parts of the world might find very
Things Fall Apart: Thoughts on Joan Didion
My college boyfriend introduced me to Joan Didion. He gave me his dog-eared paperback of Slouching Toward Bethlehem. I remember turning to the picture of Joan on the back, young and pretty and serious. I remember the poetic allusion of the title that was lost on me, because I never read poetry. “I really think you’ll like her,” he said, and I
Cheerleaders, cheerleaders everywhere
I hope you get a chance to listen to my “America’s Girls” podcast, or at least rate it five stars, or at least tell a friend, or at least don’t confuse it with the American Girl doll, which would be disheartening. Over on the Texas Monthly site, I’ve been writing “behind the pod” essays about the women I’ve gotten to know. Apparently
Why I’m Doing a Podcast on the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders
I grew up watching women’s bodies. I think it started on movie screens, but it moved to television and locker rooms and swimming pools. I watched their suntanned shoulders in halter tops, I studied the parting waves of their tumbling hair, and I wondered if my body would ever have that kind of magic. There was this poster I was obsessed with
How Deep Is Your Love
The first night we spent in each other’s company, I slid into the passenger seat of his car and flipped through the songs on his stereo. He had one of those screens that was probably standard, but I’d never seen it before, having spent the past six years in the backseat of yellow cabs during the era when cars went digital. Ordinary
