I've been helping someone nurse at a deathbed. I'm not good enough to not distance and intellectualize, and of course it's books I use. Passage comes frequently to mind, for the increasing confusion and fragmentation of narrative, and the repeated SOS. SOS. Disaster.
It's my grandfather; he's ninety-three and got a lot done in his life. He was remarkably hale until a month ago, and was fairly pleased about his achievements. The very last thing he took up, when he admitted that power tools and the backhoe were getting beyond him, was braided rug making, and he came up with what might be a new technique. He wrote down instructions: I'll scan and post them in a bit.
So wrote clew in Fiction (21st c.). | TrackBack