(no subject)

Am reading Enchanted Glass by Diana Wynne Jones right now as spring rain and hail pelt the windows. The book is DWJ delightful, and yet I'm sad because it's hit me that someday soon her books are going to stop. (I believe she has one more coming out posthumously?) It makes you want to be sure to live a good life so that when you die, you can go to the place where all the great children's writers go.