How I became a Nhà Viết Văn

When I was a little girl, about 8 or 9, I stumbled across a yellowed, pocketbook version of L.M. Montgomery’s “Anne of Green Gables,” a story about a spirited, redheaded orphan. I fell in love with Anne Shirley, whose good intentions and misadventures charmed me. Her romantic and poetic voice
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Don’t pity this column

Michelle's mish-mosh

Following a routine screening last summer, my dad learned that he had cancer. In the months that followed, amid doctors’ appointments and surgery and hushed phone calls and microwavable dinners, I diligently avoided partying — that is, pity partying.
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