Just finished up a meeting with my writer’s group, and it was delightful as always. I am consistently impressed with the talent of my two friends. The deathly illness continues to cloud my overall cheery outlook. If I could only stop coughing, life could finally return to normal. I miss normal. I miss the everyday. I miss September. I miss my mother.
But I was talking about inspiration, so here’s a particularly lovely quote from the beginning of Francine Prose’s Goldengrove:
My father used to say that he and I always wanted to know what everything meant, but that my mother and Margaret only cared about how it sounded.
Delicious, right? One short sentence that sets up an entire family dynamic. Reminds me of the time I stood beside my RRHB at a Tricky Woo show and told him that I loved music that went up and down and not back and forth, and he just understood what I meant.