It's 3 a.m. and I'm on line starring at a picture of my favourite author, Elizabeth Berg. I'm hoping that if I expose myself to her writing, interviews and advice to wannabes like me, I'll somehow through osmosis maybe? be able to write like her. Or at least be able to write something I don't hate.
Elizabeth's smiling blue eyes seem to evince empathy; I'm convinced she's the warm and fuzzy composite of all the characters she writes so well about. At least I hope she is, I don't want to believe otherwise anyway.
Her once blue-black hair now grey, is pulled away from her face by rhinestone studded sunglasses that sit on top of her head. I bet she was a looker in her time. I've read all her novels, of course (some twice) and prefer her older stuff.
Tomorrow I'll write something worth reading, or not. Probably not, but for now I can go back to bed and dream bout the writer I want to be.