Nancy Rampson is a writer, late-blooming romantic, and recovering overthinker. She writes about love, loss, and the kind of humor that shows up uninvited. Her work has appeared in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Bridge, and Lyceum, and her screenplay “Surrogate” was a Slamdance finalist.
She’s currently finishing a memoir about love, grief, and holding on (and letting go). She lives in Chicago with Laika, her American Eskimo Dog and part-time therapist.
She’s currently putting the finishing touches on a memoir about losing her fiancé and love of her life two weeks before their wedding. When she’s not writing, she’s at the beach with Laika, or off chasing stories and snacks in Europe or around the block, having already conquered all 50 states.
She believes grief isn’t a straight line — but wishes it would at least use turn signals.
When your fiancé dies unexpectedly 26 hours after a stomachache, there’s no guidebook for what comes next — especially when you're not legally a widow, the dog still needs walking, and you don’t get the life insurance.
This memoir is a funny, sharp, devastating story of love, loss, and all the logistical hell that follows sudden death. With biting honesty and deadpan warmth, the author writes through the multiverse of what-ifs — the wedding that didn’t happen, the mattress commercials, the dolphins, the grief groups in suburban strip malls.
For anyone who’s lost someone too soon — or lived through love that changed everything — this is a memoir that doesn’t blink. And doesn’t forget to laugh.
