How to Embrace the Full Catastrophe
On writing about grief, breaking the rules, and how to find belonging through words on a page
The first time I read Casey Mulligan Walsh’s “Still,” it left me breathless. It’s only 511 words. Only two senteneces. The second? A single word: Still. I was so immersed in the rhythm and language, I didn’t even notice the missing periods.
That one piece led me to Casey’s memoir, The Full Catastrophe—All I Ever Wanted, Everything I Feared. She writes with such raw honesty, even about her own flaws. Curious about how she made the leap from essays to memoir—and what she learned along the way? Here are the highlights of my conversation with Casey, edited for space and clarity.
AP: You wrote “Still” in one long sentence, with just one word for the second. Was that a deliberate decision or did the words just pour out of you that way?
CMW: A bit of both. I have always loved “micro flash,” so I took a workshop called Compression: The Single Paragraph Essay with Krys Malcolm Belc, author of The Natural Mother of the Child. We studied Diane Seuss's work, specifically her essay with the running title I hoisted them, two drug dealers, I guess that’s what they were that flows directly into the piece. It’s seamless.
Inspired, I gave myself a set amount of time to mimic the form, to try to write a story in one long sentence. In that way, the guardrails felt oddly liberating, and “Still” poured out.
My takeaway: Sometimes creating rules that break the rules is liberating.
AP: What draws you to flash?
CMW: I love flash so much, I co-created In a Flash—a literary magazine that publishes one flash piece each month, 500 words or less. We want readers to slow down and really sit with the work. Be still with it. There are five editors, and each of us takes turns as lead editor. I kicked things off with the theme “Still.” It felt like the right tone to set.
What makes In a Flash different is the deep dive. Each issue includes a Q&A with the author and reflections from all five editors. We read submissions blind, and we’ve been blown away by the voices we’ve discovered, both established and emerging.
My takeaway: Write a short piece for In a Flash, then pitch it!
AP: The Full Catastrophe covers profound personal loss. How did you approach writing about such painful experiences?
CMW: When my son Eric died, our family was already unraveling from a difficult divorce—it was a period of intense trauma. By the time I started writing, about 12 years later, I had enough distance to look back with some clarity.
In my Brevity essay, The Space Between the Light, I wrote about trying to capture Eric’s gregarious, charming nature, about trying to bring the reader into that world. But I discovered that the best way for me to write about trauma was to write about not being able to write about it. The more I wrote about not being able to write about the trauma, the more I realized I was already writing about it.
My takeaway: Sometimes circling around the story is the only way into it.
AP: How did you tap into all of your memories for this memoir?
CMW: I’ve never kept a journal, so at first, it was tough to pin down the timeline. Everything from those years felt like a blur. Then one day, while looking for something in the basement, I stumbled upon a stack of old handwritten calendars from the late ’90s. I saw a random day packed with appointments: orthodontist, therapist, family court. And just like that, I was back in it.
My takeaway: Objects can act as an emotional time machine. They don’t just remind you what happened—they help you feel it.
AP: What surprised you most about writing The Full Catastrophe?
CMW: Writing this memoir helped me bring Eric to life for people who never met him—like my husband, who I didn’t marry until years after Eric died. I read it aloud to him as I was writing, which not only helped me see the big picture, but it also provided emotional support. My story is about finding belonging. Writing this memoir, and reading it to my husband, helped me realize I finally found that belonging, but maybe not in the way I anticipated.
My takeaway: Sharing your writing in an intimate way, by reading it aloud to someone who loves you, can act as a healing balm for old wounds—and set you free.
AP: I understand you have a fantastic writers group—four members, all memoirists, all publishing in the same year. What a great way to find belonging! How did y’all come together and why do you think the group has been so successful?
CMW: It’s true! We’re four women writers over 60 who met during COVID in a Facebook group for memoirists. We all had completed manuscripts and committed to reading 6,000 words at a time. We’ve been together ever since—through edits, deals, and book launches.
I can’t explain exactly why it worked. But we were all committed to the work and we organically landed in this place where a win for one of us was a win for all of us. There’s a little bit of magic in that.
My takeaway: A writing group can be both anchor and sail—accountability and belonging.
Student Clip
Nikki Campo is a former student, yes, but she has also become one of my closest friends. If you’ve taken my classes, you’ve seen her work featured as examples. Recently, The Washington Post published Nikki’s “Inspired Life” essay about hosting a Celebration of Life for her family’s beloved dog, Turtle. The story is so touching, it even landed her a family a segment on CBS’s “On the Road” with Steve Hartman. A little advice: Grab a tissue before you hit play!
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You already know the basics, but if you’re still struggling to distill your big ideas into a tight, engaging narrative—or just get the words onto the page—this class is for you.
During our four weeks together, we’ll transform your stacks of notes and graphs into a cohesive and compelling story with a clear beginning, middle, and end.
This four-week course takes place in one-hour Zoom sessions (Fridays at noon PT) as well through a buzzing online platform hosted by Wet.Ink. Topics include:
Truth and memory (and the fallout of both)
How to create a compelling structure for your story
Where to find markets and how to pitch and sell your work
When to set a story aside and dabble in something new
To register or learn more about my classes and one-on-one mentoring, visit www.amypaturel.com/classes
For more than two decades, I’ve helped writers bring their personal stories to life. My own essays appear in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Good Housekeeping, Wired, Los Angeles Times, and more. I’ve also had two pieces featured in Newsweek’s “My Turn” column and earned two Honorable Mentions in ASJA’s personal essay category.
Whether you’re just starting or ready to level up, I’d love to help you tell your story.
I loved this so much and was especially happy to see two personal friends profiled here: Casey and Nikki. I, too, was BLOWN AWAY by Casey's piece, Still, and absolutely loved her memoir. And those by the rest of her writing group. I can attest to the power of artifacts to pull you back into memories. I kept the notebooks from more than 25 years ago, when my daughter was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness that held all my notes from her hospital admissions and appointments and as I'm writing my memoir, those plunged me back so fully into that time period, with all of the emotions that went with it. Self-care is so important when taking those deep dives.
Casey's stunning flash piece, "Still," has touched so many. I've probably read it twenty times and it still gets me right in the sinuses. Every time.