Welcome to Hopefully Yours.

For the last twenty years, a quote from the late poet Lucille Clifton has hung over my desktop:

What they call you is one thing.

What you answer to is something else.

This is my attempt to figure out that “something else,” and merge all those worlds that make me who I am. It is an act of hope, too, that you’ll want to hitch a ride.

We’re told it’s helpful to give you an idea here of who we are. So, here I go.

Like each of you, I am not just one thing. Here’s the simpler bio, the one my agent likes me to mention: I’m a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist and a New York Times bestselling novelist. I’ve written op-eds and book reviews for the Washington Post and the New York Times, essays for the Atlantic, Time and Glamour, and a whole lot of other publications. I’m not going to bore you with more of that list. This has already become, in my late mother’s words, “too braggy.” But I do want you to know about this: Next February, my children’s book is coming out. It’s about a little girl named Lola who learns how to stand up to a troll. (Now, how could a woman in America come up with that idea?)

I’m a wife and mother, a sister and grandmother, and I spend a ridiculous amount of time fussing over our two rescue pups, Franklin and Walter. My roots are working class and union strong on the shore of Ohio’s Lake Erie. I grew up in Ashtabula, which will never sound like Honolulu no matter how many times Dylan sings it, and I live in Cleveland, in the largest development built in the city since World War II. After seven years of teaching in the journalism school at my beloved alma mater, Kent State, I’m joining Denison University’s journalism school as a professor of practice. I am a loyal friend and a liberal woman of faith. I grew up with the Beatles and Motown and came of age with Springsteen, who taught me that our people are poets, too.

The more complicated bio: For four decades as a journalist, I’ve been ethically bound to compartmentalize my life. During my decade as a single mother, I was a news reporter and then feature writer for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland. With rare exceptions, I had to keep my opinions out of those stories. In 2002, I wrote a series about the ordeal of Michael Green, a Black man who had gone to prison for 13 years for a rape he didn’t commit. A week after the series ran, the real rapist confessed to the crime.

I had reached my limit in reining in my opinions about such injustices. After years of “no,” an editor finally gave me the chance to become a columnist. Best job ever.

For 21 years, I’ve written about life and politics and everything in between. As the wife of U.S. Sen. Sherrod Brown, though, I’ve had to avoid even the appearance of promoting his career or his agenda. Quite the tiptoe of a dance at times, as our marriage is a good one steeped in shared values. Why else would someone get remarried in middle age? Anyone reasonably sane, I mean. Also, quick question: How many straight male columnists are held accountable for their wives’ political views? Never mind.

For a few years, writing for Parade gave me flexibility to write personal essays, and my syndicated column often appeared in those same Sunday papers. Some readers found this dual existence confounding. My favorite letter during that time came from a reader in Huntsville, Alabama: “I do not understand,” he wrote, “how a woman who can be so sweet to her puppy can be so mean to Rick Santorum.” I assured him that we women are complicated creatures and can hold more than one thought at a time in our heads. His response: “Well, now you’re just sounding like my wife.”

What a glorious career this has been. I am the daughter of a utility worker and a nurse’s aide who gets to write for a living. Pinch me, still.

I’m not finished. I’m just done heeding other people’s boundaries for what I’m allowed to say. Recently, I stopped writing a regular column for USA Today. I loved that job, but Sherrod is running for reelection. Time to pivot, again. I look forward to finding out who I am as a writer when nothing is off limits. We’ll talk about politics — the good, the bad and the holy-cow-you’ve-got-to-be-kidding — but we’ll also talk about family and friendship, favorite recipes and books we’re reading, and how to manage big dreams in a 24-hour-day world. Occasionally, I might have something to say about Sherrod’s senate race. Mostly behind the scenes stuff, unless some fool thinks it’s a good idea to go after me for sport. I’m in no mood for that nonsense.

We’ll talk about writing, yours and mine, as I work on this next novel. One of the unexpected gifts of teaching writing is how it forces you to think about why you do what you do. Also, no one warned me about how much you end up caring about your students. They improve me.

Things will be unpredictable here. I can easily imagine an entire conversation about how to get the stink of skunk out of your dog or why everyone should know how to dance, if only in the kitchen. Life is unpredictable and always messy, I’m happy to report.

Through it all, we’ll talk about hope — and love, too. All kinds of love. Turns out, I have a lot to say about this. I suspect you do, too. One of the best parts of being a columnist is the relationship you build with readers. I look forward to hearing what’s on your minds.

P.S. That headshot of me is by Lylah Rose Wolff. I’ve known her since she was a paint-splattered little girl.

Okay, Connie, but why should I subscribe?

Great question. Let me start by making this clear: You don’t have to pay to read what’s on my mind. If my quest starts to feel like your adventure, too, I hope you’ll support my writing with a paid subscription because I’d like to keep doing this. But if you can’t afford it, you’re still welcome here. I remember those years when $5 a month was five dollars too far. I remember how it felt, too.

So, please consider subscribing. You’ll get an email every time I post something new, and you’ll have full access to the newsletter and website.

I look forward to hearing from you. The conversation is everything.

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