Boys are Better in Books.

Preface:

Looking over that title, I'm tempted to change it. If you are a man coming across my blog, let me tell you- no fingers crossed- this is not a femi-nazi diatribe. I have four brothers, screwballs each and every, (but aren't we all?) and I love and respect them to pieces. The heading is more of an eye-catcher, its only intention is to be clever, even though somewhat true. Although, I pronounce here and now that I'm not limiting my evaluations of the male sex with my personal romantic experience, I just think its comical. 

So, I started writing a book awhile back. The first chapter is finished and I'd like to share it with people because I think its rather charming, not to blow my own horn or anything, but here goes. Love it or leave it- but please laugh.

Mind yourself I haven't edited this first chapter much, but without further adieu: 

Boys are Better in Books

The older I get, the more I fall in love with authors and poets of the great American Classics: T. S. Eliot, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Ernest Hemingway- to name a few. While I’m well aware that each of these men were entirely stitched together with the thread of insanity -which seems to be a prerequisite of the talented and ingenious- and patched together with peculiar idiosyncrasies which would encumber their abilities to have meaningful relationships; the romance inspires my misplaced affection. Why? As any sane person might ask. No I do not wrestle with necrophelic intentions, nor do I suppose I shall ever find such a man. Perhaps I am not in love with them per say, for from pictures, physical attraction is out of the question- but I am in love with their minds- the way the perceive and elegantly put it to paper thoughts and feels congruent with my own.

This idea goes out to all those girls. The ones who drink unsweetened tea (because, frankly, its better) and are frightened of their future; the rampant existentialists who choose to be happy everyday.  The ones who would rather fall asleep with a copy of “This Side of Paradise,” pondering the green eyes and ridiculous nature of Armory Blaine (Oh you’ll find out later), than sleep next to someone who doesn’t understand, who doesn’t share the depth of their romantic nature. To the girls who will kiss you, and wish you were a character in their books; the girls who wont make you any promises and will dance around words so they don’t have to commit. Because they are waiting for the impossible- they are waiting for a fairytale. Not like Snow White or Cinderella, they are too smart for that cliche; but a fairytale they build themselves from the ground up. The girls who don’t believe in love at first-sight, but wouldn’t object if a tall, handsome, green eyed man with high-cheek bones and dark hair fell absolutely in love with them and swept them off their feet. The girls who live in an irony, in a contradiction. The ones who want a gentleman, who are from the wrong century.

I was in love with a living breathing man once, believe it or not. You could almost call him a sentient creature. Almost. However, as young love usually plays out, it rose in passion as it debilitated in sense and necessity; inescapably doomed to failure from the first time we said hello. It was the kind of love that you know you shouldn’t have. Not the one the bible describes, but the kind you give part of yourself to, that little part you’ll never get back. He will always win. Despite being high functioning, an intellectual,   and realizing everything I deserve as a woman; he will always win. Frankly, because, even now, when I give my definition of love, he appears first in my mind. Love will always be associated with pale skin, green eyes, dark hair, and a crooked smile. Oh goodness, I’m reeling from the nostalgia- all these attributes I suppose, but hopefully someone not emotionally abusive, that would be nice. Oh I had my share of insanity. Still have a touch of it now if you haven’t noticed; but I wouldn’t take it back for the world. My own J. Gatsby will never leave me. We dated for two years, which for some of my readers might seem like nothing. But if I could communicate how much of my heart I put into loving that boy, it might not seem like such cheap change. To this day I am still terrified of settling for someone. I would have settled for him. Would have married him with all his controlling jealous insecurities, selfish disdain for my feelings, and lack of realistic dreams and goals. But I didn’t, and he didn’t- and here we are. 

Wise words from “The Perks of Being a Wallflower:” We accept the  love we think we deserve. Indisputably true. Toss your extenuating circumstances out the window, I have enough hypotheticals from falling in love with characters from my favorite authors, I don’t need any stories you might have made up. 

So this is why, if you choose such a path you should learn how to be happy with solitude. Single and Fabulous. Beautiful and Alone. I know it seems slight oxymoronic, but that is how society has indoctrinated it into your head. Negative connotations about with the words single and alone- unless you are a man. Now do you see why I fall in love with thoughts and ideas? Characters and people pushing up daisies? It’s not because they can’t hurt me, because they do, at the end of every book; but because in our messed up world, no one knows the value of a virtuous woman, and if they do, no one is willing to pay the price to keep her.

Now if you are wondering how I achieve all this deep thinking without perpetual melancholy; if you’re wondering how to be happy alone: Here’s the game plan. Its called: be happy alone. I know thats a lot to swallow, and you’re probably gonna have to go reread that line. No there is no secret. Go workout, make sure you are always making an attempt to smile (even if its pathetic), laugh at anything you can, look up stupid quotes, and annoy people by giving them didactic relationship advice. Do whatever makes you happy... Unless its killing puppies, then go get yourself some help. But really anything positive that you can do is gonna make you happy. Haven’t you ever read that cliched quote? The man of your dreams isn’t sitting at home dreaming of a way to approach you because he got some telekinetic signal that you were the one- he’s out there enjoying his hobbies. Where to find someone you have something in common with, than by hanging out with people you have something in common with? 

hy do you think I read books? Thats where all the good men are- figments of some other persons imagination no doubt, but its true: Boys are better in books. “Oh what are young men to rocks and mountains?” no Jane Austen the real question is: “Oh what are Justin Bieber and pretentious hipsters to Fitzwilliam Darcy?”