In the summer of the last year that the date read the same upside down as right side up, my English teacher told me that I could be a writer. I had other plans. I wanted to be a mathematician. Perhaps a practical one. An accountant or an actuary. But, not enough gray cells and white fibers to make the grade, so I wound up as a physician, scribbling indecipherable notes and hackneyed prescriptions. If a writer writes in the forest and no one reads it, is it really writing? I guess I will find out.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.05 seconds at 11:56am on Nov 23, 2024 via server WEBX1.