Sad to hear of the death of Norman Mailer this morning. He was 84.
On my shelf, not read yet, two of his novels. In pursuing the classics, these writers seem to be falling faster than I can read them.
Flash Fiction Fridays
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
The expiration of a life is always sad, but Norman Mailer ran contradictory to everything I hold dear and believe.
He was an astonishing jerk. Bygones be bygones.