A few weekends ago I took a writing workshop at Grub Street in Boston called “The First Five Pages.” There were 12 of us crammed into a tiny conference room with an overcompensating table, literally putting our backs against the wall. We were an eclectic bunch, from courtroom thrillers to YA to feminist literature toContinue reading “You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You’re Drunk”
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In the Chair 