My office is filled with piles of information.
Plaques and family photos fill the walls along with a framed front cover of The Woman’s Journal. The newspaper existed briefly in 1985. It died for lack of an audience.
It was a time when I believed there were people who would support local writers concentrating on the small details of family life in the suburbs of Boston. My friends told me it was an idea floating in a sea of confusion.
It seems the time has come to declutter the space.