Joy Wilson





Joy Wilson


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Joy Wilson isn't a Goodreads Author (yet), but they do have a blog, so here are some recent posts imported from their feed.
Grapefruit Curd in Grapefruit Cake

We had an avocado tree in our backyard growing up, in one of the more concrete-y neighborhoods of central Los Angeles. It was the humble avocado tree behind the kinda-rusted, maybe a little dangerous, still totally playable swing set in our patchygrass, mangy dog wandering, backyard.


I think of the relentless to-do list my parents upheld while my sister and I were kids… things like: go to work...

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Published on February 05, 2016 00:50 • 1 view
Average rating: 4.18 · 1,806 ratings · 136 reviews · 7 distinct works · Similar authors
Joy the Baker Cookbook: 100...

4.16 avg rating — 1,543 ratings — published 2012 — 6 editions
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Joy the Baker Homemade Deca...

4.36 avg rating — 239 ratings — published 2014 — 3 editions
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Uncensored Prayer: The Spir...

4.40 avg rating — 5 ratings — published 2011 — 4 editions
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Tristan and Iseult

really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 1999
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Bob Wilson: From Pit to Pulpit

it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2009
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Jesus Removed My Grave Clothes

liked it 3.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2012
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Not Alone: Stories of Livin...

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3.33 avg rating — 15 ratings — published 2011 — 2 editions
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More books by Joy Wilson…

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“You’re with a girl. She’s brown-haired and side-swept. I imagine that she’s the kind of girl who can easily shop for jean shorts, and speaks kindly more often than not. She seems like the kind of girl who hates New York City because it wreaks havoc on her shoes (really she just thinks it’s a big and scary place), but once had the time of her life in Spain on a backpacking trip when she was 23. Her gaze is focused on the embracing couple as near strangers capable of judgement. She stands bolted next to you like you’re her anchor in the social storm.

You two seem finely matched… but what do I know? (Nothing at all.)

I accidentally saw a picture of you and it reminded me that I was dating a man rightfully shaking his fist at God, while trying to hold my hand with the other. I was reminded of how fiercely we tried to hold our relationship together, and how devastated and relieved we were in its destruction. There’s water under that bridge.

I accidentally saw a picture of you. No big deal. I wrote about it.”
Joy Wilson



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