My dad has gotten worse again, so I spent the morning in the doctor's office with him and my mother. We fully expected that he would be admitted to the hospital again, but instead the doctor prescribed a couple of new medications and let us take him home. Things are at the point where they can't do a whole lot for him other than try to find things that will make him more comfortable. I had plenty of time to study all the posters on the walls of the exam room and learned more about the brain than I ever wanted to know.
I had planned to start writing again today, but by the time I got home I didn't feel much like that, so I read parts of a couple of research books. I'm always amazed by how contradictory these books can be. These two were about the same subject but told considerably different stories. I've about decided that since I'm writing historical fiction, if I find something in a research book, it's fair game. I always chuckle about how historians feud and claim that their version is the only right one, and if you believe anything else, you're not only wrong but probably an idiot to boot.
I'm reading "The Strange Ride of Perry Woodstock" by Max Brand, in the collection THE FUGITIVE'S MISSION. So far this is a really good novella, one of the best Max Brand stories I've read.