Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Memories

D is for:

Discovery; My grandma showed me a book today. It was written by her mum. She told me it was published in America by a relative some time after she had died. Obviously I got all excited about the prospect of MY great grandmother being some undiscovered, unpublished literary genius. I started reading it, hoping it would be some wonderfully poignant memoir, something I could show off to everyone and use as motivation to write a few pages about my own life.

Disappointment? Admittedly it wasn't exactly like what I expected it to be. But why does every novel have to have a high ratio of latinate words, and one hundred Oxbridge scholars sitting around debating its various fallacies? 

Delightful :)

No comments:

Post a Comment