I have had occasion to write a bit of this and that in my working life, but my employers have all been consistent in finding no use at all for what writing ability I may possess. I am not sure when chips were first broken from that large mass but I do recall actually having some fun as a high school sophomore, in otherwise weak report on Midsummer Night’s Dream, describing the play as “Shakespearean Slapstick.“ Writing did get easier, but was never less than challenging. Writing papers for school was not merely a chore but a horror. My writer’s block, if that is what it was, and not merely the tardy development of some creative muscles, occupied a large portion of my youth. One writer I know tells me that he sits down every morning and says to himself nicely, “It’s not like you don’t have a choice, because you do-you can either type or kill yourself.” - Anne LamottI have not always felt much like writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. And always, from the life of the artist she turns to the art of life. From faith, love, and grace to pain, jealousy, and fear, Lamott insists that you keep your eyes open, and then shows you how to survive. If you have ever wondered what it takes to be a writer, what it means to be a writer, what the contents of your school lunches said about what your parents were really like, this book is for you. She discusses 'Writers Block,' 'Writing Groups,' and 'Publication.' Bracingly honest, she is also one of the funniest people alive. From 'Getting Started,' with 'Short Assignments,' through 'Shitty First Drafts,' 'Character,' 'Plot,' 'Dialogue.' all the way from 'False Starts' to 'How Do You Know When You're Done?' Lamott encourages, instructs, and inspires. With this basic instruction always in mind, Anne Lamott returns to offer us a new gift: a step-by-step guide on how to write and on how to manage the writer's life. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. 'Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. A newer edition of this title can be found here.

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