WHY DO I WRITE? I was five years old, sitting cross-legged on the beige and green shag carpeting in our living room, scribbling in my Cinderella coloring book. It was a stormy day in January and the cast iron radiators were spitting and hissing. Icicles jutted down from the eaves of the roof, solidified in midair. A hush had fallen over the city and all I could hear was the mechanical roar of a snowplow.
grateful for all of your writing classes we have done together. your essays inspire everyone of us. this essay about "why do I write" answers my question it is "a safe haven" in the midst of chaos........thank you
grateful for all of your writing classes we have done together. your essays inspire everyone of us. this essay about "why do I write" answers my question it is "a safe haven" in the midst of chaos........thank you
You inspire me. So glad to know you and care about you.