Laura Laing’s work has appeared in Parade, USA Today, Parents, The Advocate, and Baltimore’s City Paper, and she has wirtten for brands including Kellogg's, Wells Fargo, Ernst & Young, and Southwest Airlines. She is the president of ASJA (American Society of Journalists and Authors). In 2008, her long-form narrative piece, “Raising a Glass,” received an honorable mention in the A.D. Emmart Awards for Maryland journalists.
The author of three books about math—Math for Grownups (2011), Math for Writers (2014), and Your Daily Math (2016)—Laura has also developed math curriculum for a variety of companies around the country.
With an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from Goucher College, her essays have appeared in The Rumpus, Full Grown People, Consequence, and Creative Nonfiction. In 2019, her essay, “Your Leaving,” won the Best Essay Award presented by ASJA. She is currently writing a memoir that blends story with explorations in abstract mathematics.
Math for Grownups (Adams Media, 2011) started it all. A sometimes funny, always accessible book about the math grownups need to be, well, grown up, each chapter focuses on a particular area of life when math is helpful. From gardening to vacationing to shopping, the problems are crafted in a narrative that keeps readers interested and even learning.
Laura wrote Math for Writers: Tell a Better Story, Get Published and Make More Money (Limitless Press, 2014) when she realized that her colleagues were having difficulty with statistical analysis and finding percent change. The three sections are devoted to math in reporting, the math of getting published and the math of managing a freelance writing career.
Her latest math book is Your Daily Math: 366 Number Puzzles and Problems to Keep You Sharp (Barnes and Nobel, 2016), a year’s worth of daily exercises designed to get readers thinking about math in different ways.
A.D. Emmart Awards for Maryland journalists, honorable mention, "Raising a Glass," Baltimore City Paper, 2008.
ASJA, Best Essay Award, "Your Leaving," Consequence, 2019.
As author, unless indicated otherwise.
<!DOCTYPE html> <html> <head> </head> <body> <p><em>Wythe County, VA, 1985</em></p> <p>The rifle is heavy and hard in my arms, the butt jammed up into my right shoulder, just like Lee showed me. Peering down the nose of the gun, I can see the line of targets—coffee cans, plastic milk jugs, and Coke cans—lined up like birds on a fence. The air is cool and wild, and a breeze comes across the hollow carrying the sweet smell of hay and manure. Except for the herd of grazing Holstein cattle, little black-and-white smudges against the browning pastures, Lee and I are the only living creatures visible. Me and him and the gun with real bullets.</p> </body> </html>Read