(no subject)

[-quoththeraven.insanejournal.com]

Who: Edgar Allan Poe, Lewis Carroll, and Jacob Grimm
What: Dead Writer's club
When: Monday
Where: The Diogenes Club
Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism, TBD


Despite all the grumbling he did, Edgar was oddly fond of the Raven that kept following him around. And as very few clubs besides the Diogenes allowed such birds, it was often he went there when he was in the mood to be a social drinker. At least he had the excuse of not drinking alone then. That and the soft buzz of conversation helped push back the loneliness he tended to feel. It wasn't as bad here, New York didn't hold as many memories, but it still happened.

Some of it was because people remembered him as a lonely soul, surrounded by little more then his stories and the memory of what he'd lost. The other part was that he often felt old, and the world around him tended to confuse him.

So he'd found refuge in being surrounded by others like him and paused in his writing every so often to feed the Raven some of the meat. He'd had it better then before. He was able to keep a roof over his head with his editing job, and could continue his own writing. He still wished to run his own newspaper, but he knew that the printed news wasn't as popular anymore. So he was throwing the idea of a blog around in his head, but it seemed an idea that was perhaps a bit too popular.

He knew he'd figure it out in the end. He had plenty of time at the moment.