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I also wrote my book, like all writers, to unload—with a hope, ultimately, to live more fully in the present:  I wrote to rid myself of encumbrance. To get those bulging, over-stuffed cartons of experience out of my head. To muck out the stables.  Memoir-writing is the great unloading, the great garbage dump.  Or perhaps a better image is the used clothing shop.  The memoir, like the therapist’s office, is the repository of the out-worn self.  The hope is to write oneself clean.

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