feminist prose

Revising a paper on Nineteenth Century Women Writers for English class. While the paper focused on Charlotte Gilman, a woman who left her husband and fled to California only to marry again, I appreciated the opportunity to revisit old favorite fiction writers. Greats such as Abigail Adams (see lived until 1818 the year the Bronte sisiters began appearing on earth), Harriet Beecher Stowe, Louisa Mae Alcott, Ellizabeth Browning, and Emily Dickerson. Personal favorites like L.M. Montgomery, The Brontes': Emily, Anne, and Charlotte; and especially Jean Webster's Daddy-Long-Legs. No not my mother, she's not that old. =0)

With the ten pages written including works cited, I can now move onto other areas left untended. God works in curious ways. Especially His timing. Homework stretches to fill empty hours, so I look busy without having to resort to mindless television. My brother's sixteenth birthday celebration brought an unexpected "job offer" from the editor of delmarvayouthmagazine. Ms. Maria. WOW. Brain cannot hold how in awe I am of the lady. Anyway as time progresses, I meet with her this afternoon and hope to fit in five hours a week aiding her in meeting the printing deadline.

Keeping her from editing until six am a huge motivator. My ten minutes of freewriting are over. I continue.
Rob Anderson from church approaches me out of the blue on Sunday looking for a sitter. The next evening Ms. Annie calls about another job. So, extremes. Plush with things to occupy oneself or desperately inventive. Quite interesting phenomenon. Still, classwork priority numero uno.

Over and out.