As I’ve gotten more into the scene of blog-writing, -searching, and -creeping, I am left with one very important question. . .
Why doesn’t Marian Keyes have a blog?
Seriously, it breaks my heart because I love her so much. Her words, her stories, her perfect chick-lit voice. The way she organically combines tragedy and comedy. I’d trade my right pinky nail for that kind of talent. (And believe me. . . my right pinky nail is my BEST nail.)
She doesn’t “tweet,” either. So I’m left with nothing.
I just want to hear her voice. Okay? Is that so wrong? Or weird? Reading her stories and books and even listening to them on audio isn’t enough anymore.
For those of you who know me, know that I quote MK practically every day. (See: Feathery Strokers.)
My sister and I were planning a trip to Ireland this summer. Secretly, I was hoping we would somehow run into MK on the street somewhere. Like maybe in her favorite chocolate shop; we’d both reach for the last caramel truffle, and then laugh nervously (wondering which of us would give in first), and then become best friends. She would confide in me all her secrets about writing the perfect novel, and then maybe she’d share with me the contents of her handbag–which is the truest test of friendship.
Until that wonderful day, please, allow me to share. . .
“I never wear flats. My shoes are so high that sometimes when I step out of them, people look around in confusion and ask, “Where’d she go?” and I have to say, ‘I’m down here’.” —Anybody Out There?
“You know what it’s like. Sometimes, you meet a wonderful person, but it’s only for a brief instant. Maybe on vacation or on a train or maybe even in a bus line. And they touch your life for a moment, but in a special way. And instead of mourning because they can’t be with you for longer, or because you don’t get the chance to know them better, isn’t it better to be glad that you met them at all?” —Watermelon
“They say the path of true love never runs smooth. Well, Luke and my true love’s path didn’t run at all, it limped along in new boots that were chafing its heels. Blistered and cut, red and raw, every hopping, lopsided step, a little slice of agony.” —Rachel’s Holiday
“What is life but fleeting moments of happiness strung together on a necklace of despair?” —This Charming Man