My favorite author died today, well actually yesterday. Madeleine L'Engle was 88 years old and inspired generations, myself included. She has helped me through a few existential crises. According to the New Yorker she drove her family a bit crazy because she was a little confused between what is fiction and what is truth, or rather for her there wasn't any difference. And although I'm sure that would be quite frustrating I totally identify with her. I feel that I am often more interested in making a story interesting than fussing too much about what is truthful. Surely this blog is a testament to that aspect of my personality? Of course one can get carried away to the point where embellishments become lies, but strangely although I am an ACCOMPLISHED embellisher I've never been a very good liar. I would like to attribute this to good ethics, but the truth is I'm chicken about being caught.
I am sad that the world won't get to read any more Madeleine L'engle books but I like to think in heaven one doesn't have to worry any longer about silly details like what is real and what is fiction.
God bless you Madeleine, thank you for everything you left behind!