Beatrice Gormley

Every once in a while I get an impulse to read a classic novel. Last summer it was Huckleberry Finn; last month it was The Great Gatsby. It’s always rewarding. It’s always inspiring for my own writing. Not that I’m going to write about life on the Mississippi or the Jazz Age, but I need reminders that fiction can be that good. That’s the standard I want to try for.