46. Why Do We Write Memoir?
These grey February days are “the dead of winter” as we used to say. “The ugliest month of the year” I said in my memoir, in the story Mama told me about how I was born blue and not breathing. My thoughts wander now in another patch of time-space. I think people write memoir for […]
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These grey February days are “the dead of winter” as we used to say. “The ugliest month of the year” I said in my memoir, in the story Mama told me about how I was born blue and not breathing. My thoughts wander now in another patch of time-space. I think people write memoir for […]
