Brad Ewell is a wonderful writer and photographer. He and I are playing a game: for a week he will send me one of his photographs every day, and I will write a corresponding blog post.

The mother woodchuck started lumbering around the yard when the dandelions bloomed. She methodically ate the flowers like a happy furry vacuum cleaner with whiskers.

I had an idea about how to show people just how easy it is for them to be wonderful writers, so I decided to play a game in my classes.

I'm trying to figure something out. Why are so many adopted people so deeply unhappy?

Imagine if we could only say what we really meant?

That is all for now.

I was thinking about all the writers I work with, and I was thinking about how each person holds a narrative inside of their body that is sacred to them.

It would be easy for me to feel about AI the way my grandparents first felt about Elvis Presley: please turn the channel before I get corrupted.

Title: Anne Heffron: Embracing Vulnerability and Finding Strength in Personal Storytelling

In the realm of personal storytelling, Anne Heffron stands out as a beacon of authenticity and vulnerability.

Aside from the one where I ask people to, in six minutes, write the message they'd like to have left on the walls of their mother's body before birth, my favorite writing prompt is one I used last week.

I had a dream last night that I was standing close to a horse. I could feel the warm weight of him and I wanted to lean in closer, closer, until I was inside of him …

I had a dream last night that I was standing close to a horse. I could feel the warm weight of him and I wanted to lean in closer, closer, until I was inside of him …

Someone in class today asked about how to write their story when they fear possible rejection by friends and family if they tell the truth.