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\r\n \"\"<\/a> <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t \r\n\t\t
\r\n Natalie Meg Evans<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I have written all my life. When she died, my mother had my first \u2018novel\u2019 tucked in her purse \u2014 three pages about a robin who left home to find food for his family and never came back. I was four when I wrote it and I can only imagine that a diet of traditional, […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Maria Duffy<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I\u2019ve always loved to write. From the time I could hold a pen, I was scribbling words, which were largely illegible but they were stories in my head. As I grew older, I loved to people-watch and listen in on conversations whenever I could. Something as simple as a woman in front of me in […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Jonathan Escoffery<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I first fell in love with story\u2019s ability to transport, to expand the borders of my reality. I recall crouching beneath my parents’ kitchen counter as a child, losing Sunday afternoons reading. That words printed between book covers could take me to far off worlds, on journeys that left me forever changed, was, to me, […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Lynne M. Spreen<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I was always a writer; always kept a journal. I\u2019m sixty-three and I have journals going way back. The oldest was written in the hospital when my son was born. He\u2019s forty now. After my first divorce I wrote about the house I bought on my own, a chicken coop on a busy highway in […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Meg Mitchell Moore<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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In seventh grade my English class was assigned to write a short story of some sort. I don\u2019t remember what the specific parameters were. I\u2019m not sure if they were all supposed to be horror stories, but I do remember that I penned something pretty gruesome about a hit-and-run accident on a lonely road one […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Renee Macalino Rutledge<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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One of my favorite quotes is: \u201cThe creative adult is the child who has survived,\u201d by Ursula K. Le Guin. When you are a child, everything is new, and you respond to it without artifice. It can be more difficult to maintain that sense of wonder and curiosity as you get older, so people push […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Ann Y.K. Choi<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I grew up listening to jokes about corner variety stores being run by Korean immigrant families. But that\u2019s what my family did for 30 years in Canada. Now that many of us have grown up and left our family-run businesses to do other things, I felt compelled to share stories from behind the store counter. […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Panio Gianopoulos<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I don\u2019t often ask myself this question. The question I usually find myself asking is Why don\u2019t I write? Or even more commonly, why didn\u2019t I write? Why didn\u2019t I write this morning when our puppy woke me up at dawn, scratching and whining at its crate door, and after putting him outside with his […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Ayelet Tsabari<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I began writing before I knew how to write. As a child, I used to draw comic strips and narrate the story to my siblings and cousins. As soon as I learned the alphabet I began writing stories, poems, plays and scripts. I did not choose writing; it had chosen me, presented itself to me […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Georgia Hunter<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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Looking back, I suppose you could say that writing has always been a part of my ethos. One of my earliest memories is falling asleep to the sound of my father tapping away on his Olivetti typewriter as he composed his first novel from his office in our small Massachusetts home in the woods. I […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Mark Wisniewski<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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When I was a kid, the best stories came through my ears, usually during meals\u2014often\u00a0on “happy”\u00a0holidays\u00a0like the Fourth of July. There were certain old relatives who excelled at holding court as it were. I was curious and shy, so I’d listen demurely. Then came school, where reading and writing happened\u00a0and it\u00a0struck me to try to […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Sonia Taitz<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I have always been in love with the power of language. As the daughter of refugees, I spoke two: Yiddish and English. It amazed me that different sounds and syllables could mean the same thing, yet carry flavors, nuances, of their origins. I also marveled at the power of the written word. I\u2019d read the […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Leah DeCesare<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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Since the time I was very young I wanted to be a writer. I would write poems and stories and even sent off the first five chapters of a novel to a Big Five New York City publishing house when I was ten years old. That was my first badge as a writer – a […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Chris Holm<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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Before I became a writer, I was on another path entirely, working toward a PhD in infectious disease research. It was interesting enough, I guess, but I was unfulfilled. Science wasn\u2019t so much my passion as it was something I fell into. Early aptitude led to advanced placement, which in turn led me to an […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Tess Gerritsen<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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Why do I write? I think I owe it all to my mother, an immigrant from China. Although her command of English was shaky, she did enjoy American horror films, and I spent many happy hours as a child, screaming my head off in movie theaters. I thought the height of entertainment was to scare […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Marcus Sedgwick<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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When I was a young man I had a desire to do something creative, but I didn’t know what that thing was. I tried various outlets to express myself: I painted, I made wood cuts and wood engravings, I taught myself to carve stone. I sold a few pieces but something was missing, and that […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Pia de Jong<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I\u00a0began writing in the middle of a single sweltering midsummer night in the year 2004 and have not stopped writing since. I had spent the previous years in fear for our newborn daughter Charlotte, who had been diagnosed with a severe leukemia. But to our amazement and delight Charlotte went into spontaneous remission. It felt […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Estelle Laure<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I began writing because I got too full to hold everything in. I tried. Went for years without any outlet except some occasional extravagant baking. I can\u2019t cut straight, can\u2019t so much as draw a stick figure. My hands are useless for fine art. Writing sometimes isn\u2019t much better. When asked what his favorite part […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Lawrence Block<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I was 15 when I first considered becoming a writer, and from that moment on I never seriously considered anything else. It seemed to me that this would be something I could do reasonably well, and that I would find it satisfying and fulfilling. I was conveniently unaware of the odds against succeeding in the […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Deb Caletti<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I\u2019ve always felt that being a writer is more about who you are than what you do. I\u2019ve been a writer since the age of six or so, shortly after I fell in love with reading. Way back from the first grade, I\u2019d write stories which would win school-wide contests, and I\u2019d run to my […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Leslie Shimotakahara<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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During my childhood and early teens, I used to write stories in little notebooks that I would share with no one. When I began university, my attention got sucked away from creative writing and redirected toward the academic study of literature. After doing a Ph.D. at Brown in American Literary Modernism, I taught for a […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Ben Greenman<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I started writing because the world sometimes made no sense, and I wanted it to make sense. I didn’t understand why people said one thing and did another, or how history consistently injured those who were trapped inside it. I wanted to unravel that. I wasn’t sure at the time whether I wanted to write […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Debra Spark<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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Apparently an interviewer once asked Flannery O’Connor why she wrote, and she said, “Because I am good at it.” Embarrassingly enough, I first started writing, or started to think of myself as someone who wanted to write, simply because I was praised by my teachers for writing. And I really liked to read. And writing […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Rufi Thorpe<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I began writing out of a deep, almost mystical bafflement. I\u00a0did not understand what story was. I swooned over the implicit confidence\u00a0of\u00a0directly narrated causation. The idea that an author had figured out that a\u00a0character did x because of y which occurred because of z\u00a0was entirely beyond\u00a0me. I lived in a buzzing hive of multiple possible […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Elizabeth Brundage<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I started writing as a young child. I remember reading the Box Car Children and later The Outsiders and those stories got me writing. As a kid, I was always making up stories, wanting to fix the bad things I saw, the problems. I think you can be born with a voice for words like […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Phaedra Patrick<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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As a child I read everything I could, from books at the breakfast table to the labels on shampoo bottles. So, as a present for my eighth birthday, my parents joined a book club for me. My heart leaped when the quarterly magazine dropped on the doormat and I could choose and order a book. […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>

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\r\n Olivia Kate Cerrone<\/a>\r\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n\t\t
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I began writing stories as a very young child because I loved the places that books took me in my mind. The possibilities of fiction filled me with wonder and hope. As I matured, I began to realize the great social value that stories hold, and how essential the presence of socially-conscious art is in […]<\/p>\n <\/div>\r\n \r\n <\/div>\r\n<\/div>