Today both my father and I bought copies of Les Fleurs de Mal by Baudelaire at the same bookstore at the same time, without realizing that the other one was. It was actually quite funny.
And I thought up the idea for my next novel, which I think will truly be a novella. It will take place on a jetty because of how it is a metaphor with the journey out and the journey back (the novella can be split into two halves) and the way it is a breakwater and it seems shorter than it actually is, and it is made by a bunch of interlocking, slightly geometrical pieces. And how there were three sets of pairs walking along (Mom and George, then Melissa and me, then Roger and Dad) and the greyness, and what a wonderful spot it was. I must think further about this idea as I quite like it.
But now to bed! To sleep, perchance to dream, as I have yet to shake this mortal coil.
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