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An Open Letter To My Son

You. Sometimes I wonder about you. I wonder, for instance, where you came from. I understand the dry facts, of course, the complex mechanics of ovulation and ejaculation.

Read This If You’ve Ever Wanted To Be A Writer (But Didn’t Know If You Were Good Enough)

Don’t listen to people who want to peddle some kind of elite ideal of what it means to write; don’t buy into the idea that you can only refer to yourself as a writer if you’ve been published in the New Yorker or you have a stack of rejection letters a foot deep or you frequently stay up all night weeping softly into a glass of scotch because you can’t arrange exactly the right words in exactly the right order to say exactly whatever it is you want to stay.

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