I could still hear the movie voices circling at the bottom of the staircase like lost and scared children in a forest.
First-person journalism is my antidote to much of what goes on in creative nonfiction classes.
At a time when female critics from Caitlin Moran to Mary Beard are being harassed all over the Internet, the lack of editorial attitude is troubling.
Some people might criticize me for expecting a literary author to hold my hand and make it easy.
My paperback copy, first purchased in 2004, is tattered and coffee-stained with faded Post-it Notes.
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