Leah Reich

Every Wednesday, I write: https://medium.com/a-year-of-wednesdays and https://medium.com/the-book-of-home/

The Beach

The dress was tight and short. It had three-quarter length sleeves and a wide boatneck. It was an inexpensive ‘80s-meets-‘60s party pattern, all wild swirls and blocks of color. When I…

Chapter 19: The Moon and The Mortal

Some ways north of San Francisco, over a winding mountain pass, sits one of the oldest lakes in all of North America. For thousands and thousands of…

Chapter 18: The Birth of Uncool

All my life I wanted to be cool. Of course, the wanting to be cool is where it all goes wrong. It is the wanting.

Chapter 17: The Tin Woodman

Some nights, many miles away from California, I would awaken after only a few hours. Around 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, tired of lying in bed trying to will…

Publications edited by Leah Reich

One essay a week, every Wednesday, for a year.

Latest Story

With Grace

One chapter a week, every Wednesday. The first series: https://medium.com/a-year-of-wednesdays

A Recipe, A Cake

Chapter 16: The Cruelest Month

One night in a cabin perched above a river, tucked away in a forest thick with redwoods and ferns, I let go.

Chapter 15: The Princess Who Learned To Lock Her Heart Away

Once upon a time a princess was in love with a man who felt most at home inside his own sadness. It was a quiet cave, his…

Chapter 14: Will You Know It When You Get There?

My first night in London, we came home after dinner and lay on the warm floor. The cats orbited, sniffing and curious, pleased to have…

Chapter 13: You’d Be So Nice

When he asked me to move in with him, we had only been dating a few months. It was a romantic proposition, but a practical one too.

Chapter 12: Crushing

If you split my sternum and opened my chest, this is what I imagine you would find:

a heart

Chapter 11: Burning Bright

In the high desert at night, the wind blew hard and strong. We built a fire in the small pit at the top of our hill and placed a dome over it, but the flames…

Chapter 10: Buried Treasure

When I was a very little girl, my parents nicknamed me Hector the Collector, after the Shel Silverstein poem from his book of children’s poetry published the year…