#amwriting
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Juliet left school, through the 8th grade double doors, on Tuesday at 3:52, according to the big, round clock in the hallway. Her last class, English, had ended early, at 2:55, when Mrs. Wimmer had grabbed Catherine, caught passing a vulgar note, and marched wordlessly to the principal’s office. They had sat at their desks…
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Perhaps the real purpose of keeping a journal is for the assurance, at some later date, that one is still oneself – voice, hand, and eye as distinct as fingerprints. The years spanned are a blur, but each minute is frozen in crystalline precision. Only in time do the entries divulge what they always were:…
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Although the notion might meet with disagreement from my friend who birthed a real live human this week (Mazel and welcome, little peach!), producing a piece of writing is, for me (and a few thousand others), a little like having a baby. Or at least like laying eggs. It always starts with a fertile idea.…