Today I had a thought….
I was reading biographies on my favorite authors, and it occurred to me that so many female authors who wrote about romance and love either never married or did not marry for love. Jane Austen never married. Charlotte Bronte married, not for love, but out of loneliness when her siblings all died. I think it’s just so sad how some of the most romantic lady authors never experienced “love/romance” in their own lives. I wonder why that is. Maybe they had some “ideal man” created in their imaginations that no real man could match. Maybe they were satisfied with their achievements in life and did not want to relinquish their independence. I wish I could ask them, but they’re dead. (It’s also sad how all my favorite authors are dead, so I can never expect a new book to be released from them).
If God told me that He would allow me to become a world-renowned author on the condition that I would never fall in love and never get married, I wonder if I’d take Him up on that offer. It is a dream of mine to get my stories published, but I don’t think I’d be able to live my life alone. I guess I probably wouldn’t take that offer. I’d rather be content and surrounded by people I love than live my life with only fame as my companion. Of course, I’d have God as my companion, but who knows if I’ll let fame go to my head and become some freakish snob. I’d certainly hope not.
This thought was brought to me by my boredom at work, which led me to read commentaries on my favorite novels and biographies of my favorite authors. =D