I cried last week reading the obit for Maurice Sendak, realizing there would be no more wild things, no more wild rumpus. No more books from this grumpy, brilliant, wonderful writer. If you haven’t read Where the Wild Things Are for awhile, get it out and reread it. It’s poetry and psychology rolled into one glorious tale. And I love the fact that it took him two years to write it. (350 words!)  Originally it was going to be Where the Wild Horses Are but he said he didn’t know how to draw horses. So he drew his relatives instead.

Here’s a quote from Sendak that was in the New York Times last week. When asked about e-books, he said: “I hate them. It’s like making believe there’s another kind of sex. There isn’t another kind of sex. There isn’t another kind of book. A book is a book is a book.”