"Here, Caleb," said Anna. She handed me some books.
"What is this?" I asked.
"My journals," said Anna. "And new ones. It is your job now."
"Mine?! I‘m not a writer like you, Anna," I said.
"You‘ll figure it out, Caleb. One page at a time."
"I can‘t!"
"Everyone‘s not a writer, Caleb," said Anna.
"But everyone can write." - P8