I receive some fairly flaky catalogues in the mail, and the New Age-y ones give me particular entertainment. The glossy one that showed up in my mailbox today was for a week-long writer's retreat geared toward people who always wanted to "be a writer" but didn't think they had the time or the ability. Save yourself $300 plus hotel, meals, airfare, and opportunity costs, and take my advice: Set yourself a deadline. You'll become a real writer, real fast.
My column is due first thing Monday morning, and every Friday I start pestering family, friends, neighbors, gym colleagues and random people in the post office for "Tilda items." Maybe it's my imagination, but I swear some people pretend not to see me. Family members included.
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