The fall of 2012 is, today, only a vague blur of cerulean beaches, tropical drinks, and heady baselines, streaming infectiously from the open windows of passing VW Beatles. I honestly don’t remember more than snippets.
My father remembers even less. Merely a week prior to our long awaited dream trip to the sparking island of Puerto Rico, my father had been diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. “Stay home,” said the doctor. “Get some rest, and some blood work, and some vehemently painful bone marrow testing.” “Uh-uh,” said my father. And with that, we were off.
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Written as a college English assignment, this piece describes the forces that led her to writing, and how it has saved her since.
In this piece, the author shares her perspective as a writer on idea generation, and organizing the mad flurry of thoughts that ensues into a story.
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