Dear Ernest Hemingway:

Last night I dreamt that I rescued a tiny kitten– it was adorable. It was probably the combination of Beverly’s kitten adventure along with your short story “Cat in the Rain” that brought it on.

I’ve been reading from a collection of your short stories. I started with “Up In Michigan.” That first story left me… how do I describe it? There was confusion. There was ambiguity. It was difficult to handle.

Your stories are filled with a melancholy, the quiet kind that creeps up and casts a heaviness over me, and incites more than just a visceral reaction, but a questioning and wondering and exploring of the emotion and its cause. It’s tough.

Roald Dahl’s short stories do something similar to me, though they also delight me with their incredible creativity.

I just realized that much of what I’ve been reading has been very, very heavy– that probably explains why my mood has been somewhat somber lately.

Hm. You are what you eat, so it’s logical that you feel what you read.