Nora Ephron has been on my mind. It has to do with the book she wrote about her neck, I Feel Bad About My Neck, and I how completely poo-pooed it when I read it at around age 40. Oh, the arrogance of “youth”! What made me believe I would be exempt from the old-lady-neck phenomenon? The answer might be nothing more than stubbornness mixed with a bit of sass; the problem is I was convinced. When my neck started “going” around ten years ago I was a mess of indignation and shock. I tried desperately to tell myself my previous confidenence and insistence “my neck will be fine in my old age” wasn’t that obnoxious, but it is.

The “problem” is, Nora Ephron is gone. I need a muse. I need a woman with wit and grit, attitude and experience to crack the whip. I want to write like her. I need “copy” as her mother would say. I need inspiring.

Nora Ephron didn’t just write stories; she shaped the way we think about relationships, food, and what it means to live a life full of humor, heartbreak, and the occasional slice of pie. Ephron would tap into the human experience with a sharp wit and a warm heart. Her voice was unique—blending sharp observations, dry humor, and a deep understanding of the nuances of life—and her stories have become a touchstone for many who seek to understand the beauty and absurdity of human relationships.

I need her.

At the heart of Ephron’s storytelling is her distinctive voice. It’s the voice of a woman who is not afraid to laugh at herself, or to reveal her vulnerabilities while also showing me just how capable she is. I can’t help but feel that Ephron is writing with me, not at you, as if she’s inviting me into a conversation over coffee or, better yet, over a cup of really good, thick soup. Make that pie. Skip the soup. She had this remarkable ability to blend humor with sharp insight, making her both a critic of the world and a gentle guide through it.

Take her screenplay for When Harry Met Sally…, one of the most iconic romantic comedies of all time. It’s famous not just for the unforgettable moments (I mean, “I’ll have what she’s having” is practically a cultural institution at this point) but for the conversations that define the film. Ephron’s dialogue is so real, so raw, that it’s easy to imagine you’ve heard these conversations in your own life. Her characters are awkward, charming, neurotic, and lovable all at once. There’s a tender honesty in their back-and-forth that rings true for anyone who’s tried to navigate the maze of love, friendship, and self-discovery.

What truly set Ephron apart was her ability to combine humor with depth. There are few writers who can make me laugh until my stomach hurts and then, in the next breath, hit you with a moment of unexpected tenderness. Ephron’s stories were never one-note; they were layered with wit, sarcasm, and affection. She had the uncanny ability to poke fun at the absurdity of life, yet never at the expense of the people in her stories.

Her novel Heartburn, a semi-autobiographical account of her own tumultuous marriage and the heartbreak that followed, is a great example of this balance. I watched the movie before reading the book. The novel’s humor is biting—Ephron’s sharp observations about her ex-husband and the collapse of her marriage could make you laugh and cringe at the same time—but the story also deals with the raw, real pain of betrayal. Through it all, there’s this unmistakable warmth in Ephron’s voice, this sense that she’s not mocking the messiness of life, but embracing it. And that’s part of what makes her so relatable. She never pretended that life was easy or that people were perfect. Instead, she showed us that even in the midst of disappointment, there’s room for laughter, joy, and, ultimately, healing.

I miss her. Of course I didn’t know her. (You flatter me.) She was the kind of woman I wanted as a close friend. My close friends are just fine, thanks (no complaints, honestly) but staring at various pies with her at a deli in New York, debating which slices to get (we would obviously share) is a scene I see in my mind so clearly. You are gone; far too young, dear woman.

Nora Ephron is a storyteller for the ages, not because she invented new ways to tell stories, but because she knew the importance of telling the old ones with fresh eyes and a full heart. In a world that can sometimes feel overwhelming, her voice remains a beacon—one that reminds us that it’s okay to be imperfect, to laugh at our failures, and to keep looking for the next chapter, even when we’re not sure what it will bring.

I’m working on it.