Life
My Tonsils Were Removed When I Was Five Years Old
Anne Bernays and Pamela Painter — What if? Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers prompts — The Exercise: In no more than two pages, use the incident of "An Early Memory, Part One" and tell it from the vantage point of who you are today, that is, inject it with adult vocabulary, insight; subtlety, and comprehension. For instance, "My father was obviously confused" replaces funny look." You should change the way the incident is told without altering its structure or meaning. Use the past tense but keep it a first-person narrative. As in the first part of this exercise, try to let the material speak for itself. The Objective: As in a good many of these exercises, the idea is to empower the writer with the knowledge that he controls the material and not the other way around. There are countless ways to tell the same story, and each way says something a little different, not only about what happened, but also about how the teller feels about it. You're the first and last authority: your power - at least in this realm - is unlimited.
By Denise E Lindquist4 months ago in Writers
The Quiet Power of Routine: How Small Daily Habits Shape Big Change
Introduction We often wait for “someday” to change our lives, “I’ll start tomorrow,” “When conditions are right,” “Once I have more time.” But big transformations rarely arrive by chance. They form through the accumulation of small, consistent actions repeated over months and years.
By Artista Pirata4 months ago in Writers
Having My Tonsils Removed
Anne Bernays and Pamela Painter — What if? Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers prompts — The Exercise: Using the present tense, write an early memory in the first person. This should be something that happened before you were seven. Use only those words and perceptions appropriate to a young child. "My father looks confused" won't do because a five-year-old is incapable of this articulation. "My father has a funny look on his face" is fine. The memory should be encapsulated in a short period of time -no more than an hour or so - and should happen in one place. Don't interpret or analyze; simply report it as you would a dream. When you can't remember details, make them up; you may heighten the narrative so long as you remain faithful to the meaning of the memory - the reason you recalled it in the first place. Limit: 550 words. The Objective: A fiction writer should be able to present a narrative without nudging the reader or in any way explaining what she has written. The narrative should speak for itself. In using a child's voice you are forced not to analyze but merely to tell the story, unembellished.
By Denise E Lindquist4 months ago in Writers
My Journey from Feeling Like a Loser to Finding Happiness
t started in middle school. I was the “fat kid,” the easy target. Every insult stung, but it was the words that stuck with me most — "You're a loser, Ken!" They weren’t just teasing me. They were defining me. And I believed them.
By Israr khan4 months ago in Writers
The Immune System's Guardians: Trio Wins 2025 Nobel Prize in Medicine
The Nobel Assembly at the Karolinska Institute in Sweden has awarded the 2025 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine to three scientists for their groundbreaking work in understanding the immune system. Mary E. Brunkow, Fred Ramsdell, and Shimon Sakaguchi were honored for "their discoveries concerning peripheral immune tolerance" .
By Ashley Scott4 months ago in Writers
Columbus Day: A American Holiday's Complicated Legacy
Every second Monday of October, a holiday arrives on the US calendar that prompts parades in some cities, closures of federal offices, and deep reflection on the nation's history. Columbus Day is a unique American institution, one that has evolved from a patriotic celebration into a subject of intense national conversation .
By Ashley Scott4 months ago in Writers
Maybe I still see rockets in the sky. Top Story - October 2025.
I remember looking to the sky in my youth and thinking every plane a rocket, every bird a dragon, every wind a whistle, light and high. The trees would sway in the breeze and I would sway with them, the connection between us something I could feel in my bones, but never say aloud. I never said very much then, but I felt it all: the immensity of this world as a child within it. I remember pulling back coarse branches and parting prickly bushes; I remember how my hands felt in the mud, grass tickling against my palms, my fingers caked with dirt. I remember the feel of the smooth, cool rocks, the wriggling of worms, the smell of rain in the air. I remember my early winters, bundled in jackets and scarves, lying face first in the snow, wishing never to leave.
By angela hepworth4 months ago in Writers
The Last Letter from the Sky. AI-Generated.
1. The Town That Waited for Rain In a small desert town where clouds were rare visitors, people had learned to live without hope of rain. The ground was cracked like broken glass, and the air shimmered with heat. The wells were nearly dry, and so were the hearts of those who lived there.
By Charlotte Cooper4 months ago in Writers
