(a statement proven by this very picture -- snapped this morning)
If I sleep with enough literature books under my bed, will the knowledge seep into my brain as I toss and turn OR do I have to open up the pages and actually read?
I jest (you know). But it was a good way to preface another trip to the used bookstore (maybe).
This time around I specifically did NOT pick up any F. Scott Fitzgerald (although a couple of his short stories are in the anthologies). I tried to be a little gender-biased and pay homage to my fellow female writers:
Margaret Atwood -- The Blind Assassin* (She is currently being read by a friend as a major project, so when I saw her name, I figured I could dive in as well)
Eudora Welty -- Delta Wedding* (Which I may have a copy of in storage--or I was supposed to have a copy of for Southern Literature, or I've heard it mentioned a few times and decided it was time...)
Sylvia Plath -- The Colossus* (Her first collection of poems, which were not hailed by critics...so why not have more Plath to carry around?)
And then I saw a 1st Edition John Updike collection (Museums & Women) and I had to buy that one as well. He is a master of the short story and who doesn't want to own a 1st Edition Updike?
So I broke code. Ah well.
Brief Yoga Update: We did enough leg work last night -- I have been making not-so-attractive noises as I go up and down the stairs.
Brief MFA Update: There was no e-mail at 3am, 5am, 7am, or the three times I've checked while tying this entry.
Ounces of coffee consumed? +/- 32
& I plan to see Alice in Wonderland before the clock strikes midnight.
p.s. The Mail Truck put me out of my misery with a rejection letter. That's all the news I need for today -- Thanks, universe.