SUSAN
I liked that it was my dining room where our writing group would meet. On that first Thursday morning, I focused more on the others’ arrival than on what I would read. I scanned the living room they would walk through, straightened the magazines on the coffee table, and hung up the jacket my husband had thrown over the back of a chair. I made a pot of tea and set out mugs, sugar, and spoons. I was excited.
I'd spent six years in Joan's memoir class, and for most of that time the stories seemed to pour from me. I loved writing memoir; I was pleased with my pieces, and a few that I completed in the workshop were published.
Then I stopped signing up for the class.
From The Writers, an introduction
Read Chapter Seven, Dinner at Five
I'd spent six years in Joan's memoir class, and for most of that time the stories seemed to pour from me. I loved writing memoir; I was pleased with my pieces, and a few that I completed in the workshop were published.
Then I stopped signing up for the class.
From The Writers, an introduction
Read Chapter Seven, Dinner at Five