Did I say uninterupted writing time? I must have meant uninterupted blogging time. Because the only thing worse than a young woman excited about staying in on a Friday night is a young woman who stays in to blog. Did I mention I live in New York? Night-life is a full time occupation in this city. And a demanding one at that. But the things that seemed so impossibly cool to me at 20-- getting past the doorman, having the dj comp your drinks-- now just seem like too much effort. (And yet methinks the lady dost protest too much).
So here's a query to Kate D. to get us started on this joint project of ours. What draws an intelligent woman to romance novels? It's a question I've asked myself countless times, usually when I'm in one of my shameful moods-- not quite the mean reds, more like the timid pinks. I'm a feminist, yes. I'm smart, yes (or at least my college degree tells me I am). And by every rule of conventional wisdom, I should despise these books as inferior fluff that are not worth their weight in paper.
But I'm so drawn to them, I not only read them at a gluttonous rate, I'm working nearly every night toward adding another one to the vast store already in existance. On top of having a fulltime job, and that's not an easy balance.
For the most part I've reconciled myself to the fact that if people want to judge me for liking Laura Kinsale or Julia Quinn or Eloisa James, they're more close-minded than I care to be. And it's perfectly alright to enjoy both War & Peace and Nicole Byrd's Gilding the Lady (the current reads...always more than one). And yet it's War & Peace I bring with me everyday on the subway. I shouldn't care what total strangers think of my choice in reading matter. But I do.