Listening to him tell his stories, I remembered why I loved his classes. He made me want to write. He made me want to be a great writer. And he told me the only way I could write well was to write with utter honesty about what I believed, what I loved.
Generally I was too afraid to write that honestly, so I never became a star writer in school. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed writing for the newspaper and yearbook and there were times I felt sparks of inspiration. But too often I would squelch it and write about something more, well, safe.
I’d do much better in school now. I’m too old to care about safe.
As they were leaving he noticed our school room and our

Considering said professor may be reading this, I would very much like to find a creative way to say what a grand time I had tonight. Perhaps if I were writing on a Mac it would be coming more easily…
you're doing fine, without a Mac. and writing more in your blog than I am :)
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