It’s been three years since I sold my house in Amagansett, but in 2015 my head was totally turned around by another summer resort town: Provincetown.

I was a short, skinny teenager, and my father was concerned that bigger boys might pick on me, but he knew Lou Stillman, the owner of Stillman’s Gym, and signed me up for 10 lessons.

Since the first thing a teacher experiences at the start of the school year is a faculty meeting, some pointers.

I suspect the Montauk sandbag seawall provided some protection to properties before it was damaged during Hermine, but as a long-term fix for beaches, seawalls of any type are problematic.

What first comes to mind about that absolutely gorgeous late-summer day is the disconcerting quiet inside and even outside the courthouse after the attack was known.

As another social season in the Hamptons comes to an end, one is reminded of the importance of friends. If you don’t have ’em you’re dead in the waters of Shinnecock Bay.

I sat confused, distraught, and angry, staring at TV channels that rarely advertise a restaurant, hotel, nightclub, store, or activity east of Riverhead.

We returned to the tangle of place called home in 1994 — me, my husband, and our young daughters. I was afraid of it, terrified of myself in it, loved it the way you love food you think you’re not supposed to eat and fear will make you sick.

I am nauseatingly self-deprecating by nature. It is a crutch if not a character flaw, but let me take a moment to be serious and brag a little: Despite big setbacks, all three of my self-published books have made money, and continue to.