Began a new class last night. A writing workshop. I have a strong inkling that I'm going to love it as much as I did the last one. Driving to Cambridge can be a drag, but being there is exhilirating. I've been working on my first writing assignment most of the day. I'm unsure that I'm beginnning it well. I think I'll post the opening pararaph and see if my readers might share their thoughts;
I hate to say I was naïve. I hate to say I was uninformed. But maybe I was. Still, when you come out on the other side of any traumatizing life event, you can be either proud or ashamed of the way you rode it out. I tell this story with pride. Not the natural pride of a mother for her baby, or a bride for her gallant groom, or even for me - an individual woman with an individual story to tell. I tell it with the pride of millions of mothers who have given birth, alone and frightened, without comforts, kindnesses, or competent assistance, and have done so willingly, to be a part, a small simple part, of the primal surge forward that is procreation.