THIS IS NOT CHICK LIT

This is not Chick Lit

Ben didn’t give really me a Valentine’s Day present. But that’s okay. I didn’t want one. Personally I hate Valentines Day — this one particular day that when you are supposed to buy things for the person you love. The first part I detest is the buying part. The second part I detest is the social acceptance this one prescribed day is more special than any other. Not to worry, I feel the same way about Christmas.

Ben did get me a present though, but two days before, which to me was way more delightful; especially because we agreed no presents. He got it because I needed it at that moment. The moment when I was struggling to get my story right, to say what I needed to say about a certain type of woman. He bought me a book called “THIS IS NOT CHICK LIT.”

I love this book. I am walking around with this book in my hand like it is a political statement. I’m only on the fourth story; they are good, not as good as other stories I’ve read, but good. It’s what this book stands for that I care more about. Women writers who are writing about something more than:

White girl in the big city searches for Prince Charming, all the while shopping, alternately cheating on or adhering to her diet, dodging her boss, and enjoying the occasional teary-eyed lunch with her token Sassy Gay Friend.” – p 1

Chick Lit has it’s place alongside trash tv and romcoms. Fun, playful and light. I liked Sex & The City as much as the next girl. But is that it? Is that all that women are these days? Is that all they can read about? The numbers say yes… I want to believe no. There is nothing healthy about chick lit – it’s just sugar. It tastes great, but then you come down from the high and are left with nothing meaningful and feeling a bit robbed (and as a side note: too much sugar creates a perfect acidic environment for cancer cells to grow.) Literature is meant to expand us, take us to places we haven’t been, connect with deep, scary, beautiful emotions — that has always been it’s job.

I think maybe Ben bought this book for me secretly for Valentine’s Day. But this is slowly starting to look like Ben is really getting to know real me  – surreptitiously getting me an anti-chick lit book as a non-Valentine’s present. Okay Bubba, you’re getting it. xo

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