One of the happiest days of my life was a sunny, May day in 1985 after I'd taken my last final exam at Duke University. I can still remember the freedom I felt as I walked off the campus for the last time, knowing I'd never return to those halls as a student, but also experiencing the delight of, at long last, being able to write again (no more of those dry, boring thirty page theological papers).
I rode my bicycle back to the apartment, grabbed a handful of yellow, second-sheet paper, a few ink pens, a blanket, some water, and spent the next six hours sitting outside beneath a blazing sun writing a novel that I never finished.
I'd been married ten months.
I was writing what I wanted to write.
No kids.
No money.
No job.
Who could ask for anything more?
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Becky
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