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<td width="706" bgcolor="white"><p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"> </p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;"><b>Why Write?</b>
</span></font></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:10pt;"> </span></font></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:10pt;">The origin of the gesture of writing is linked to the experience of a disappearance, to the feeling of having lost the key to the world, to have been thrown outside. To have acquired all of a sudden the feeling of something precious, rare, mortal. To have to find again, urgently, an entrance, breath, to keep the trace. We have to make the apprenticeship of Mortality.
--
H�l�ne Cixous
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<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;"> </span></font></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;">It was Tuesday morning. I moved through rote motions, Cheerio�s in the bowl, bagel in the toaster, coffee in the grinder, in the coffee maker, milk on the Cheerio�s. I went to the living room, turned on the computer and then the radio. Amy Goodman was on the air. It was too early. Had I slept that late? She was saying something about the building peeling away. Something was weird. I spent the rest of the day drop jawed, staring at the television, the radio on, turning to the computer to search for information again and again. </span></font></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;"> </span></font></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;">As the year moves on it becomes a moment in history, a demarcation point on which public policy pivots.
</span></font></p>
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<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;">
I was in the first semester of my MFA in writing program. Why write indeed. Sentences formed and reformed and none seemed good enough. In a time of horror, what is worthy of a thinking feeling person? What isn�t rhetoric when everything is bifurcated and positioned? But, really, when hasn�t it been a time of horror?
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<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;"> </span></font></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;">I love good writing. Sometimes I love bad writing. I love the human attempt to put life on a page. And I was comforted, informed, frustrated, and shocked by the writing I read in the aftermath of September 11th. </span></font></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;"> </span></font></p>
<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;">It seems almost puerile to call upon this moment in a consideration of why to write. No one in my family died. I did not lose a job. In some ways it is not mine. </span></font></p>
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<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;">
I�ve struggled with depression for most of my life. I have a plethora of psychological processes to call upon. I know how to navigate the terrain of my own rage, sorrow, and fear. But I am too often silenced by it all. </span></font></p>
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<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;">
I wake up in the morning. I move though the day beginning rituals. And I try to engage the page. I must not allow myself to disappear.
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<p align="justify" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;"> </span></font><a href="http://rateyourmusic.com/yaccs/comments?b=90000008560&e=178">comment</a></noscript><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size:12pt;"> </span></font></p>
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