Wednesday, July 02, 2008


I am trying to find an agent. How does one accomplish such an insane task if prior to the novel, there have been only poems? I assume it is unlikely. My eyes hurt. Yet, I am not prepared to buckle Sleight into a suitcase to fester under my bed. To much festering is ungood for the spleen. I should never have coffee so late. Today my 5 year old whipped this little nugget out during dinner: "People die by themselves." And when we asked him to clarify, he said: "They die in their own way." Nah, he's not my son.

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sexy said...
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