Several years ago, we took the family to see comedian Tim Hawkins perform. The auditorium was packed. We were high in the balcony, surrounded by people who—like us—were all laughing so hard they were crying.
It was a fun, memorable night.
Several years ago, we took the family to see comedian Tim Hawkins perform. The auditorium was packed. We were high in the balcony, surrounded by people who—like us—were all laughing so hard they were crying.
It was a fun, memorable night.
I wrote something last February about what it means to be a real writer. That piece— “The Road to Real is Paved with Brokenness”—garnered quite a discussion in these parts, and also uncorked something in me that has been bubbling just under the surface ever since.
I had every intention of using those words as a springboard to sharing more of my writing story in the coming months. I even stated as much in the post.