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ONE STORY ENDS, ANOTHER BEGINS

At a certain age you know how the story ends. Things change, someone moves, you drift away. But you still have memories, sweet memories, and that’s enough? Noooooo. A good, long, “Noooooooo.”

WRITING THE BOOK I WAS DESTINED TO WRITE

    An English major joke goes like this: I like to write poetry, but I suck at writing poetry. So I wrote a short story that was worse than my poem. To fix the problem I wrote a novel and it’s the worst yet, and this explains the deluge of bad writing.