Nora Ephron made me want to write: to write better, wittier, to be more honest, and tell a better story. She made it look effortless and challenged me to give writing everything I have. She also made me laugh. She also made me feel less alone. Over the past year, I’ve been thinking about myself as a comedy writer. A lot of that thought is, “you can’t do this because you’re not interesting and not good enough,” but on rare occasions I can allow myself to think, “what would Nora do?” Would she just give up and spiral into self doubt? No way in hell. I was even thinking of reaching out to her - to tell her how much I adored her - and seeing if I couldn’t get an audience with such a genius. But now I can’t. I thought over and over, “who do I know, who knows someone else, who knows someone’s cousin, to get a letter to Nora.” And now I can’t. And now I won’t get to read any more of her endlessly funny books, or listen to her perfectly crafted dialogue. So what would Nora do?