I usually don't post in here, but I was intrigued by talk of Steph's new piece in whichever thread it was.
I'm not poetry gal. I don't have the sensibility for it most of the time (or haven't applied myself to it enough to develop one, is more like it). But, I delurk here to say that I thought this was lovely and evocative. Oh, well, that's what Astarte just said, isn't it? Well, then, I concur. And I wanted Steph to know that, in response to
I was afraid maybe it would resonate with only me,
it resonated with me, and I'm pretty much a stranger. So, there you go. You do good work with the words and stuff (see? no poetry from me).
They used the phrase "chick lit?"
The term is widespread in the industry. A.k.a "We want another Bridget Jones, only the same."
Sounds like it won't be clit lit.
I am not. even. touching. that concept.
better not. Your palms will get hairy.
You all do know that the "southern" genre is referred to, by southerners, at least, as "grit lit," right?
What sort of irresistible force is bearing us ever more inexorably back to the Eisenhower-era 50s? I can't seem to find a firm toehold in the present or a fingerhold in the future to resist the nastiness.
Ew, gross. White gloves, those torpedo bras, and cheery heroines who sing. If nothing else, we have to stop it just to keep that stuff from coming back into vogue.(there are tons of other reasons, of course)
Hey, Dana sings, meara sings, I think sophia sings. Back off the singers.
And I'm sure SOME Bitch owns a torpedo bra.