Whatever happened to Halle Berry

Last evening I heard Don Quixote talking to himself as he rode over the hills at sunset.

I couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, but the sound of it went on for 842 pages.

I was writing myself, but was taking a break and had stepped out onto the little porch in front of the studio.

Soon it was dark so I wrapped up my notebooks, closed the studio door and headed up to the cabin to see what I could find for dinner.

Flour tortillas, some cheese, ground bison meat, lettuce and avocado. A glass of Sauvignon blanc and some Pellegrino water to make it seem I was in San Francisco.

I ate my meal alone, accompanied by the night music of the soft winds outside the cabin and the two tabletop lamps powered by 40 watt bulbs within.

I'd carried the manuscript of the novel I am currently writing up to the cabin with me, and read it with some despair as I ate my dinner. Nothing was going as planned.

Once again, as in my prior book, a strong woman threatens to take over the plot, seeing that there isn't one.

It seems her beauty, intelligence, and grace overwhelm the men around her, so that the men begin talking about her as if she isn't there.