We're stalking that weelusive wee small vowice.
Shhhh. We're hunting wemberence wabbits.
You know, those fleeting memories that rush by us like Alice's White Rabbit muttering "I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date!"
And before we can capture them on paper, *whoosh*...down the rabbit hole they disappear.
Why is this so difficult? We're oft told as writers to "write about what we know." Sounds as simple as a bread and butter sammich, eh?
So why is writing about one's self so vewy hard?
What's up Doc?
It's just writing which drawn from our own life. This should be the one thing we know all about, right? So why isn't it just that simple?
As today is a historic date in "wabbit hunting" and "remembrance" we should never forget that writing from our own history is going "down the rabbit hole."