Good Morning, Mr. Moslow
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Beneath my heartbreak and all those hard-earned truths is a messy story tangled up with swirling rumors—whispers about my drug-fueled binges, orgiastic escapades, and a relentless parade of men who blurred the lines between distraction and destruction. Some people even swear I flirted with darker impulses—maybe even murder.
What's the real story? It's buried somewhere in this no-holds-barred confessional, a place where my secrets and half-truths collide in a frenzy of scandal and self-reckoning.
With ruthless candor and razor-sharp wit, A Novel Divorce drags every last skeleton from my closet. My story careens through blackout nights, messy entanglements, and the generational ghosts that stubbornly refuse to stay dead. At every turn, you'll find yourself questioning what's real and what's rumor, breathless with each "did that really happen?" revelation.
Bold, brazen, and undeniably addictive, this book doesn't just fling open the doors to my chaotic world—it hands you a flashlight and dares you to dig through the mess yourself. Spoiler alert: somewhere in the wreckage, hope survives.
MATHEW MOSLOW
ID: A-7219
STUDENT: NURSING
Let's keep this simple: I write things. I research things. I take care of people (sometimes while having imaginary heart attacks—see below). I grew up in Jamaica, which means I know how to read a room by the way your eyebrow twitches. That's not a metaphor—it's a survival skill.
I'm a nursing student, which is code for: "I cry in my car between exams, but also know how to restart your heart."
Writing, for me, isn't some lofty act of transcendence. It's damage control. Emotional triage. I started A Novel Divorce somewhere between clinical rotations, 2 a.m. existential spirals, and whatever version of healing is possible in a campus Starbucks—over-caffeinated, under-slept, and probably wearing a hoodie with last week's trauma baked in.
I'm not perfect. I'm selfish. I judge. I ghost people and apologize in lowercase. But I try. And sometimes I write love letters on stupidly expensive stationery I can't afford because I have too many feelings and not enough restraint. The printer, embossing, and custom paper alone could finance a small wedding. But hey—words matter, and so does presentation.
A photo gallery of the making of "A Novel Divorce"
Status: Revision requested by publisher
Deadline: May 15, 2025
CONFIDENTIAL RESEARCH PROTOCOLS
PROJECT: Institutional Values & Student Experience Study
I am currently developing and conducting a research study at a faith-based university known for its emphasis on science and health professions. My study investigates how the university's unique organizational identity and explicitly communicated institutional values influence student experiences, perceptions of campus support, and overall well-being.
I'm particularly interested in understanding whether clearly articulated spiritual and educational values positively impact students' sense of belonging, resilience against academic stress, and mental health outcomes. Through a comprehensive, mixed-method approach, I'm working to measure and better understand how effectively these institutional principles are embedded in campus life and their real-world influence on student success.
Principal Investigator: Mathew Moslow
Subject Categories: Undergraduate Health Profession Students
Next data collection phase: May 7, 2025
This one's a personal horror story: a series of text messages from a friend telling me I need to open the editor notes. I didn't. I couldn't. I was scared. What followed was a slow-motion, eye-squinted scroll through the critique I had avoided like a bill collector.
Should I fake a scrolling video for dramatic effect? Probably. It deserves a soundtrack.
SENDER: Meridian Publishing
ATTN: Editorial Department
1200 Broadway, Suite 305
New York, NY 10013
RECIPIENT: Mathew Moslow
PRIORITY: URGENT
CONTENTS: EDITORIAL FEEDBACK
Imagine juggling clinicals, research, writing two books, studying for exams, working on a website that mocks your emotional state, applying to doctoral programs, and remembering to defrost chicken for dinner. That's my life.
My to-do list is now a living organism. It feeds on shame and grows with every breath I take. Send caffeine and maybe a whiteboard.
I write old-fashioned love letters to my boyfriend on handcrafted, personalized, embossed stationery. Which is adorable until you realize the printing, embossing, and custom paper costs are starting to rival my tuition payments.
Turns out, having too many feelings is expensive. Hallmark wishes it could.
My dearest,
In between patients and panic attacks, I found myself thinking of you. It's strange how you appear in my thoughts during the most chaotic moments—like a lighthouse cutting through a storm.
Today I helped an elderly woman remember how to breathe. Literally. Her oxygen levels were dropping, and she was terrified. I held her hand and we breathed together until the monitors stopped screaming.
And somehow, in that moment, I thought of how you taught me to breathe again too. Not literally, of course. But in all the ways that matter.
Until tonight,
Letter 17 of 43
Don't you keep your scissors in a glass of water? No? Weird. There's a story here. It might involve legal counsel. For now, let's just call it "book research" and move on.
Don't get old. Or do—just be prepared to carry a pharmacy in your backpack. I take so many pills I have backup bottles stashed in my car, my jacket pockets, the bathroom drawer, and somewhere inside a tote I haven't unpacked since last semester.
They say routine helps. I say: hide and seek, but make it medical.
As a nursing student, I've had every illness known to man. Last week I had a DVT and a pulmonary embolism. Next week, probably a heart attack or some weird autoimmune flare. It's fine. We call it clinical imagination.
It's never lupus though. Obviously.
Self-diagnosis of the day: Probably fine, but what if it's not?
Actual diagnosis: Nursing student syndrome with a side of caffeine jitters
No, I don't smoke. I set things on fire. I just like the sound they make. The click? Incredibly satisfying. Fire? Meditative. This is my version of a fidget spinner—just slightly more ominous.
Sometimes I light candles during study sessions. Sometimes I just flick the lighter on and off while thinking about plot points. It's either deeply poetic or mildly concerning. I haven't decided yet.
Fluid level: Low
At the time of writing this, it's Easter. Which means Cadbury eggs. Actual Cadbury eggs. British. With the royal warrant stamped on the side.
This year, someone handed me a Hershey's "Cadbury" egg and I've never felt such betrayal. It was an affront to chocolate and I don't care who hears me. Imported or get out.
No imposters allowed in this chocolate sanctuary.
"There are two places where justice cannot follow: beyond the grave and beyond the horizon. I found a third: the space between law and morality."
In the lush coastal beauty of Jamaica, where colonial history casts long shadows over modern lives, nurse Jonathan Blake harbors a wound that refuses to heal. When his mother Martha dies from an overdose following a bitter divorce, Jonathan blames his wealthy father Richard for destroying her. His resentment festers into something far darker when Richard not only flaunts his new relationship with the young, ambitious Anna, but systematically cuts Jonathan out of his inheritance and family legacy.
Desperate and grief-stricken, Jonathan scours his family's ancestral archives, searching for any legal means to reclaim what he believes is rightfully his. Instead, he uncovers something unexpected: two obscure legal loopholes buried in Jamaica's colonial-era laws. The "Year-and-a-Day Rule" states that no murder charges can be pursued if a victim dies more than a year and a day after their initial injury. The second loophole: crimes committed beyond Jamaica's territorial waters fall into a jurisdictional void.
For most, these would be mere legal curiosities. For Jonathan—a skilled medical professional with access to sedatives, monitoring equipment, and a knowledge of how to keep patients stable—they become the framework for a meticulous plan of revenge. He abducts his father and Anna, carefully documenting their initial injuries, and begins a macabre countdown of exactly one year and one day.
I have adipsia so I don't get thirsty. This means I leave a trail of water bottles around because I forget to drink unless I see them. Watch my water intake get recorded each day.
Current level: 40% remaining
Today's intake: 38oz of 64oz goal
Half-empty water bottles found: Kitchen (2), Bedroom (3), Car (4), Backpack (1)
Mathew,
The revisions are heading in the right direction, but we need to discuss the legal implications of chapters 14-17. Our counsel has flagged several passages that may create liability issues, particularly the allegations regarding the pharmaceutical conference in Prague.
Can we schedule a call to discuss these sections? The raw emotional honesty is exactly what makes this manuscript special, but we need to balance that against potential legal exposure.
Also, the timeline inconsistencies I mentioned previously are still present. Please refer to my notes on the manuscript itself.
Deadline remains firm - we need final changes by May 15th to make our publication window.
Controls for office ambience and recording equipment.
Voice recording status: ACTIVE
Memory card: 62% remaining
Dr. Levine's recommended breakfast blend