25 April 2012
2 i see london, i see france
i'm reading this book about t.s. eliot, who apparently loved paris so much that he contemplated writing poetry exclusively in french.
i'm a writer. i love paris. i am taking french.
our homework this week was to write a story. here is mine:
"the little girl eats her cake with coffee. she loves cake, but prefers strawberry and raspberry to chocolate. the little girl prefers her coffee black, though she loves cold milk in tall glasses.
i prefer champagne in tall glasses with my cake. i am studying french to discuss cake.
the tall man arrives at the patisserie. he orders a lemon cake and coffee with cream.
we read magazines and gossip while the coffee brews."
OH.MY.GOD. is the suspense killing you? are you on the edge of your seat? do i need to write a sequel? do you need to know what's going to happen to our protagonists after the coffee brews?
suffice it to say, i am no t.s. eliot. neither my novels nor my biographies will be written in french.
filed under: mwwahhhhhh the french