I've said it before and more than likely I'll say it again:
I love me a bookstore!
While the wee girls were off a visitin' the Bio-Mom, I was left with two hours to kill before their reinvasion...I mean before I had to pick them up. Beloved was too tired, too sore, too whatever, to go to dinner, as we have gotten into the habit of doing on Wednesday nights. All of which left me flying solo WITH MONEY! Huzzah for me!
It’s been literally ages since I trekked over to Powell’s, not the one downtown because I’m afraid to drive downtown, but the one on my side of the world. Delicious Powell’s. Lovely, eclectic Powell’s. It lacks some of the creature comforts of, say, Borders, but than again it also doesn’t have that mega big business feel either. The staff is…different…from the shiny folks who work at the mammoth book mall. They are more bookish. I mean to say, they look like they LOVE them some books and they don’t accost you for “looking” even if you’re there for hours and hours and hours and hours…
Powell’s has old books and new books, rare books, and bulk books, everything a girl who loves books enjoys. So, I toured the history section, voyaged through fiction, took passage through the young adults, and cruised through children’s. I was astounded by the amount of dribble, really, dribble that I found. Then it occurred to me, it’s not them, it’s me.
I’ve become a book snob.
Then another realization struck me (hard in the head): the reason that I am having trouble writing my story is that I keep trying to make my character something she isn’t. She isn’t a classical, Victorian girl and neither is her mother. Their conflict is deep and painful and herbal tea and a good cry isn’t going to solve their problem. Alas, I’ve become trapped by my own prejudice and nearly murdered my tale with my own two hands.
Which led to yet another startling revelation: I may not be a writer for this era. Perhaps I was born too late and missed the opportunity to be Austen or Alcott. Surely, there is no audience for me, for I travel between two worlds. Neither of which wants to be married to the other.
Sarcasm and idiot girl attitude mixed with a love of timeless literature is an uncommon mix.
What’s a wanna be writer girl to do?
Lay down the pen sister, just lay it down.