JODI PICOULT

The acclaimed writer on the women who ignited her love of words

BESS FRIEND

Yes, that really was my grandmother’s name. She was a teacher, and every day we would drive to the nursery school she ran and where I was a student. We’d read the names of street signs – Bagel Lane, Woodland Court – and make up stories about the inhabitants. When I was five, she had a mastectomy. I remember being shocked that the woman who was always in motion had been felled; I remember her arm crawling up the wall as she stretched the skin and muscles during recovery. I remember her taking me into the shower with her, to show me that even without a breast, she was the same grandmother I loved. Years later, when I raced to her hospital bed after being told she was on the verge of death, I found her sitting up, full makeup on, chatting with a surgeon. Her biggest concern, at the time, was whether I had eaten dinner. But then, that was my grandmother: you could not leave a conversation with her without feeling like you were the most important part of it. She died at 102. From her I learnt the twin values of compassion and fierceness – and that they are not mutually exclusive.

MARY MORRIS

Mary was my professor in Princeton’s Creative Writing program. The day my first story was workshopped, she asked me to sit down in the middle of a circle of students, and she handed me scissors, construction paper, and a glue stick. She told me to do what others suggested and then asked the class, “Where does Jodi’s story really start?” Some brave soul said, “Page three?” Mary ripped off the first two pages and threw them over her shoulder. For the rest of the hour, I proceeded to cut and paste as directed, and I left there in tears. The next day, I went to Mary’s office and asked why she had done that to me. “Because you needed it,” she said, “and because you can take it.” I was determined to show her up, so I edited that piece and edited it again. Finally, she said I should do something with it. She suggested I submit it to Seventeen magazine. Three months later, they called me to say that they wanted to accept it. It was the first time I was published. Now, years later, Mary and I are still colleagues and friends. She taught me everything I know, and I would not be a writer without her guidance and judgement.

ALICE HOFFMAN

Alice Hoffman’s books were my go-tos after I graduated from college. I no longer had to read, but needed to become a reader for pleasure again. I fell in love with Turtle Moon and worked my way backwards, and then continued to inhale her new novels the moment I could buy them. She was my literary crush. A master of magical realism, she made writing about love look easy, and I knew it was never easy. A few years later, I was a baby author when I got invited to speak at a luncheon on Cape Cod where she was also speaking. Frankly, I would have flown to the moon for the opportunity to share a stage with her. I am sure I came across as a crazy stalker fan when I babbled my Hello-I-love-you to her, but Alice could not have been kinder. She was honest and funny and exactly what you want your heroes to be in real life. Over time, she became like a big sister to me in the publishing world. I still cannot believe I can text Alice Hoffman whenever I want, and that sometimes we hang out.

The Book of Two Ways by Jodi Picoult (Allen & Unwin, $32.99) is out now.

“ALICE HOFFMAN WAS MY LITERARY CRUSH, AND SHE BECAME LIKE A BIG SISTER TO ME” – Jodi Picoult