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I have a confession to make: For a long time, I subscribed to the idea thatreal writers (whatever the hell that means) write every. single. day. And that if I did not write every day, then I was somehow not a real writer. So when a day, two days, a whole week would go by without words, I would despair that I was a fraud. This would make it easier to keep onnot writing. Because, I mean, I wasn’t a real writer anyway, so what was the point.
Then one day, I set out to give my kitchen a lig...
Published on July 29, 2013 16:40