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Ticket stubs. Letters. Cards. Calendars. Programs. Coupons. Clippings. Receipts. Postcards. Documents. Photographs. Scraps of paper inscribed with handwritten notes or lists—some hopelessly illegible. Everything else relegated to be out of sight, out of mind until the mythical far-off day “when I have time.” Why have I felt compelled to save so much stuff over the…
“There are a million stories out there.”
December 29, 2021
I always knew I was a writer. That I would spend my life writing. I started with the nonsensical curlicues that precede writing (and reading)–filling line after line in the kind of small bound notebook the could easily be had for a few pennies at “the Five and Ten.” By the time I was in…