I'm wondering - does the increasing taste for women's literature, biographies on women (middle-aged or older), chick flicks and Jane Austen mean I have entered the pre-menopause stage of life?
Have any studies been completed on this? I'd really like to know.
Twenty years ago it was all fantasy all the time... well, most of the time. Now, it's like (yawn) read one read them all. Give me a story about a writer from the 40s corresponding with some literary society on some island off the coast of England somewhere, and I'm there!
I've gone from there to Kerouac's "Open Road" and so far, I've got to say, I'm a little bored. I've only read the first few pages though so I'll stick with it and allow time to become involved...
There's a key word - involved - perhaps that's what I'm looking for. Involvement in someone else's life while putting mine on hold for an hour or so. After all, I know all about my life and it's not that exciting. I want to live in Tuscany, France, some island off the coast of England and have exotic people and stories in my life. I want to drink wine and food without getting chubby or diabetic (or drunk), and go for long long walks in the sunrise/sunset through simple country settings.
I'm tired of the suburbs and work and raising teenagers and listening to the washing machine agitate while I write.
I do have some excitement in my life - I'm off to the Melbourne Writers Festival in a few days - booked a nice room in a nice hotel - planning a nice meal with a nice bottle of wine - and at least a day of listening to writers talk and share. I may even take a notebook and pen. I'm going to pretend to be Diane Lane for a day sitting in a Tuscan Square writing about the taste of purple.
Oops, the washing cycle has just finished. I'll just go grab those clothes and throw them in the dryer then I can get another load on before dinner....