well, thanks.
when I was a kid, I'd write a lot, on paper. . . . decide it wasn't good enough, wad it up and toss it.
my mom took out the trash, went to the wood-burning furnace, and used the trash to start the fires.
she'd unwad what I'd wadded. . . .. tape together what I'd shredded. . . . and keep it hidden in her files. . . .
when she died, my sister stole the whole stash, and I found out she had it only when she was going to use the stuff in court to prove what a nut I am. . . . .
no kidding.
The LDS sent her and her hubby on a mission recently, and she was trying to make amends, and returned something to me. . . .
It was from an eighth grade writing assignment. . .. I got an A from Mrs. Syphus. . . . it was a letter to God telling him to go to hell, and why.
because it seemed I'd been falsely accused of something, and everybody believed it, and so far as I could tell even God. . . . so I said I just didn't care what anyone thought, even Him, and just go somewhere where lies are in fashion.
anyways. . . . I'd write to expel my demons, whatever they were. . . .