Tuesday, August 10, 2010

I had high hopes for that last post, but I fell asleep while I was typing it, so I doubt it's all that, after all.
While Karen sleeps, when I'm not trying to see how far behind I can leave my diet, (pretty far, based on the size of my behind) I've been reading a book Sarah sent. It's by Joyce Carol Oates about the last days of famous authors. Unless Edgar Allen Poe really did spend his last days crouched under a lighthouse fathering monsters, it might be fiction. Fiction in the style of each author she chronicled. Appropriately, Henry James's entry is precious and oh so very boring.

Sent from my iPhone

No comments:

Post a Comment