Shelley Speaks

8 06 2008

 

I had a moment of cognitive dissonance, or heightened awareness, in Barnes and Noble. Reading a Granta short story collection, considering the idea of doing valuable work as a writer, I looked up far across the room to see a corporate prefab mural of writers. A painted woman with black and wise eyes was staring straight at me. We had a distilled communion of a few seconds, flashes of another dimension. “Join us,” she said. It was Mary Shelley.

 

 

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