creative writing
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Last fall, I took a children’s book writing class. The first assignment was to write a letter to yourself at a younger age. I just came across my letter to my 12-year old self: Dear Vincent, You don’t have to read the whole thing if you don’t want to. You don’t have to read this
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It used to pour out of me. It used to be a state of mind. I used to be able to take in a situation and churn it out as “poetry.” I was so passionate about it then. I actually enjoyed the challenge of putting sounds and rhythms together. I used to have something to
Vincent Young 