Tag Archives: Memories

Childish Things

I’ve read great writers describe writing as a chore, a mechanical job that one does, either well or poorly. And I’ve heard as many other writers say that writing is a kind of bleeding onto the page, and just as the ancients believed that a man’s life was contained in his blood, so these writers seem to be saying that the act of writing is like pouring your life out—and maybe even sacrificing it—for your writing. Continue reading

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A Halloween Memory

During a lull in trick-or-treating activity, one of the boys slipped out into the front yard and stood posed, perfectly still. The other grabbed the bowl of treats and waited for the doorbell to ring. Continue reading

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