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‘Story’ is the air we breathe

I went to a memoir writing workshop once. It was in an arts festival in a rural village on the west coast of Ireland. It was a long time ago now; long enough to have forgotten most of it. Long enough for nuggets that remain to be of significant value. One of which I will be eternally grateful for. The leaflet advertising the workshop showed a picture of the host lady. She had dreadlocks on one side of her head. The other side was shaved. I thought that she looked very bohemian and therefore was probably some kind of memoir-writing-guru. The David Beckham of memoir writing. Not because she was highly-attractive...

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