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Work, work, work
Writing is hard work (in an emotional and metaphysical sense). Even as I type that line, though, I feel ashamed. I come from a working-class background, and to this day, my mother still works long hours using her body as a tool. Me? I sit on my ass and write or stand in front of a class full of college students and teach. Still hard work, yes, but not the kind of hard work my 61-year-old mother endures. She is a federal meat inspector, and she stands on her feet in cold coolers all day long. I have no room... »




