Two-Hour Tuesdays

Every Tuesday night for three and a half years, Laura Joy Palma sat on a white wicker loveseat on the front porch of a rented house in Virginia and wrote.

She had no plan. She had a laptop, a glass of red wine, and a garden she was learning to keep alive.

What began as a divorced woman's attempt to write herself back to life became something she didn't expect: a record of patterns she couldn't yet see, breadcrumbs leading to a diagnosis she didn't know was coming, and a faith that grew back s...