My writing class started today. I am one of nine students, all female. The room where the class takes place is in a large loft space with skylights, and the seats are arranged in a circle around some small coffee tables. No desks. My initial impression was of the kind of space usually devoted to group therapy sessions.

We did a few writing exercises, and read aloud. I was nervous about that, it will take getting used to. After the class I asked my instructor to read ch. 1 of my novel, and felt incredibly embarrassed. She said she would, even though I let her know that I knew she would probably be way too busy.

The sky was very pretty today, filled with scattered gray clouds left over from last night’s rain. The air in Berkeley smelled fresh and cold. Whenever I go back there I am reminded of how much has changed since I lived there. It feels like almost every storefront has changed hands.