The other day, as I was unpacking my mother's room, I stumbled across a old piece of writing. It was dated November, 1993 and titled "An Addition to My Family." In it, 3rd grade me detailed about how I had recently been a flower girl at my cousins' weddings (which would have been May 30,1993 and September 5, 1993) and how I was so excited that I
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I feel like working with kids who have difficulties provides writing fodder, but it's things you know you can't write, too. Do you ever find that? I'd love to write a story countering all the misconceptions society has, but at the same time it's awkward without bringing people into it.
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