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You can be as romantic as you please about love. On May 15, the English novelist Virginia Woolf picked up her pen to write what started out as a thank you note but ended up being a passionate declaration. She wanted it to be perfect because she was writing to one of the great loves of her life. You may take what action you like… As for the falling in love, it was not, let me confess, one-sided.
I had only wanted to meet business men and say, racing experts. But in a jiffy you made me re-consider all that and had me at your feet. Indeed the public persona he so carefully constructed over eight decades as scathing curmudgeon, showman, intellectual, critic, pundit, Socialist, playwright and Nobel Laureate seems to have been so carefully constructed as to leave the impression that he hated women. He was also a strange looking man; not a bundle of cuddles.
And why would they? From famous actresses such as Stella Tennant Mrs. Patrick Campbell to, as noted above, feminist authors such as Virginia Woolf, women fell under his spell and delighted in every minute of it. Of course, women love those who love us, believe in us, urge us to strive for our personal best and help us to do so.
Joan— with the extraordinary qualities he found in the women he encountered. In private, he would share his white linen handkerchief without being asked and coax us to please eat one of those delicious scones that we love, to build up our strength. During his life, George Bernard Shaw wrote 50 plays and was the only writer to win both the Oscar in for the film script of Pygmalion , as well as the Nobel Prize for Literature in for his play Saint Joan.
In true cantankerous streak, he accepted the honor but refused the money. How much money does she want? What will she be using it for exactly? He recommends spending it on undergarments which last longer than fashion. Is he a millionaire or a pauper? The theme of women, money and self-respect and self-reliance runs as a deep vein of gold throughout his work. There can be no equality until there is freedom from want. But after the shock of this revelation, mother and daughter are tested to extremes when Vivie discovers that Kitty, now a successful wealthy woman of substance, owns a string of high class brothels from Brussels to Vienna.
Her mother is rich and Vivie recoils in horror at the thought that she runs brothels instead of bakeries and wants nothing more to do with her.
It took Shaw eight years to get it produced and when it was finally performed in New York in , the actors were arrested for indecency. So let this unorthodox economics tutoring begin. Painting by Giulio Aristide Sartorio, One last thought or the beginning of many more! She keeps it at separate banking account at a separate bank. Her solicitor is not my solicitor…I have no more knowledge of her income than I do of yours. Imagine for a moment that you received a letter that declared, "You are my inspiration and my folly.
You are my light across the sea, my million nameless joys, and my day's wage. You are my divinity, my madness, my selfishness, my transfiguration and purification. You are my rapscallionly fellow vagabond, my tempter and star. PS - For those of you charmed by Shaw and his thoroughly modern views on women and money--there are more tales where that came from!
If you want to join me for frank and spiritual conversations on money, you can learn more and sign up on our classes page, or by clicking here. I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be whether we find them attractive company or not.
We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. Recently my daughter surprised me with a box of my old notebooks which had been stored for decades in the attic of her childhood home. But here was the body of proof: In those days I was working as a legal secretary by day and aspiring writer by night, burning the candle at both ends because I was in my twenties and could, which explains why there are so many Latin legal terms jotted in the margins of my memories.
As for all those heartbreaking leaps in the dark, romantic obsessions and daring misalliances, the majority of them have faded in their passionate intensity, leaving only such literary reference notes as a git lower than whale-shite on the bottom of the ocean and His knuckles scraped upon the sidewalk as he tried to walk upright… wisdom gleaned, no doubt, after a few evenings of Margaritas and nachos with sympathetic girlfriends.
Nevertheless, those scribbled passages I did managed to lasso and rope to the page bring me curious wonder. One declaration, in particular, from Saturday, March 29, , could be just fluky coincidence, ornery stubbornness or mysterious clairvoyance, an art I had not yet realized was in my personal bag of tricks:. This year I want to write.
A writer is someone who completes the act of writing: One really bad page. Thank you, Oscar Wilde. What matters is that you do it. Show up on the page and keep a disciplined schedule so the Muse knows where to find you. Then, finish the damn thing, whatever it is. Turn it in and begin another. The dreamer keeping this notebook tells me: Or I think it would, at any rate.
However, she will learn her way, the hard way, the long way, the only way she knows how, on her knees beseeching, Writers Tears on her lips and down her cheeks and falling asleep over the pink typewriter, which explains the black carbon crease on her forehead in the morning.
However, forty years later, I can report the results: The first draft of the Irish novel on yellowing, curled foolscap from the Dark Ages, with its one carbon paper copy is in a file cabinet on the way to me from England. But finally, the most difficult and harrowing lesson of them all: Still, the question that fascinates me today is how did she do it? How did she become a writer? And why did she become a writer? She certainly had no inclination to do so. Her Mother forced her to attend secretarial school to become employable while she took acting lessons.
So she went to London to act. That Swell Dame had charm, she had cheek, she had pluck but she was incredibly shy and the bravado was all show, as her natural inclination was solitary, even reclusive.
I guess I could act after all and so I lived in London, Paris and Ireland for another three years writing about fashion and beginning my play on Sarah Bernhardt.
Eventually she came back home and she taught herself to write by reading and studying the most incredible woman writer of her generation, the incomparable and incandescent Joan Didion. Joan Didion burst on the scene in when her first book of essays written for magazines were collected into an anthology called Slouching Towards Bethlehem.
It combined the research of journalism with literary technique and narrative storytelling. Joan Didion was revelatory. Joan Didion was unlike anyone I had ever read before or since; she was more a composer creating arias or an illusionist performing sleight of hand magic than a mere journalist using words instead of mystical incantations. The emotional tension inherent in her sentences suspends the reader on a tightrope of tenacity, intrigue and innuendo.
Yet what she does reveal is breath gasping in its piercing honesty that stops you in your tracks. And therein lies the magic. You read Joan Didion and somehow you believe you are reading about yourself.
Just the memory of reading her for the first time while sitting at the bar in a Capitol Hill hangout, the Jenkins Hill Saloon and the flush of excitement she triggered all floods back. I really knew how to treat my girl good back then. But that Sunday, at the bookstore where I picked up my papers, I caught a glimpse of a book called Slouching Towards Bethlehem. The cover was rather psychedelic and I was most definitely not a flower child, but any book that borrows lines from W.
Yeats for its title is by a writer I want to know. And then I read:. It invites you to follow it. To peek around the corner of your life or open an old notebook with a stain on its cover or to starting taking notes. Reading her was effortless, which means, of course, that she worked harder than any other writer in the world. Writing is not supposed to show. In the marvelous Netflix documentary " Joan Didion: My favorite part of writing is research, and I heard a whisper on the internet that Didion had written a cover story on Jealousy: As to my original thought for this reflection: I recognized a distinct voice in Joan Didion, which was music to my ears.
I realized that music is the mathematics of the spheres. So I would write down a paragraph and then copy it as if I was learning to write for the first time. Joan Didion confesses that Ernest Hemingway taught her how to write a true sentence. We all learn from someone else. We are never alone as long as we can find beauty and truth in the amazing, astonishing combinations of only 26 letters.
Think of that for a moment: The wonder of it all. The magic and the majesty. We are our own Code-breakers. We are our own ciphers seeking our authentic selves./p>
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In the run, most of us can find someone suitable to at least live with for a couple of years by the time they're forty. The longer past that it takes for them to settle down, the more older perpetual-singles be scrutinized for baggage and issues. In Town and Looking For Company. From the ins and outs of dating a werewolf to the subtleties of seducing a virgin porn star, The Dating Guy takes viewers on a no-holds barred and eclectic. And, Im not gonna lie, but a little dom never hurt.
I am happy for the most part. I don't want to change my life too much. With that said, I want to fall in love. I want to text, email and be on each other's minds constantly. I have a career, a family, friends I'm a successful grown up. You should be too. I'm a curvy girl. Not obese, but not thin.
You should have hair, all your teeth, a career, own your home, car and family. You should be able to hold a conversation with me, but you should also be able to appreciate my sense of humor. I want someone tall dark and handsome, not much over I am caucasion and prefer you to be too. I love rock music. There isn't much that I won't try once. If this interests you at all, please contact me. Put tall, dark and handsome in the subject line so I know you've actually read this posting.
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My roommate started it? Of course the two of you always have a bond. You guys weren't just the first everything, you had a special relationship, you had a marriage. No amount of sneaky behavior, no amount of pain change that can't. I can understand everyone wanting to say well let's just say fuck it and put that crazy time behind us. We HAVE a good thing and we want that to be all that matters. Kicking over the rocks and looking underneath bring up some painful shit, if you really spoke your mind about how bad it fucking hurt, how embarrassed you are that you even thinking about cutting him slack now that would really risk it wouldn't it.
Strip the delusion away and focus on the reality and there you are wondering what the fuck am I doing? He 'liked' her enough to risk his marriage with her.
I was faced with some bullshit like that once, cut me to the core and brought me down. I remember looking out over the porch that day knowing, it's over. This person doesn't want to deal with the shit that hurt me, not willing to face that Oh, take the good stuff sure, I'm a good guy, I people, have a sense of humor, hard worker.
I know she loved that. Just not enough to feel too exposed herself. So we're friends, that level allows for that. She's not a terrible person, if we turned our backs on everyone who's ever hurt someone who loved them we'd be alone.
You want a shot? Call him out, state YOUR terms and let him know you don't trust him as far as you can throw him. Doesn't mean you don't believe he loves you, I'm sure that's true. But he can't this away he needs to EARN respect. That takes facing the fire. Can you imagine having a job where you different butts every day?
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Feedback about Russian women Black List. A couple of years ago, when I was new to looking for a partner via the internet, the Russian Women Blacklist saved . The letters that i received on 23/12/ bear a striking similarity to Olga Tregubova (Archangelsk, Russia) that is in Russian Bride Cyber Guide Black list, with some minor cut and paste. During his life, George Bernard Shaw wrote 50 plays and was the only writer to win both the Oscar (in for the film script of Pygmalion), as well as the Nobel Prize for .