I love that she understood the need for good food, beyond satiation into overindulgence. At times I believe I overindulge, at times I think eating healthy all or most of the time is deprivation. And I’d rather be curvy, but I digress. Still I’m amazed that she gets it. I would love to have rubbed elbows with her. We share the same philosophy in all the above. Needing a room of one’s own, writing without economic pressure, satiation into overindulgence, and ah yes, the depression. We would’ve made good friends indeed. I doubt we would’ve had to say many words to each other at all.
Let me tell you why I’ve fallen in love with Virginia Woolf.
Everyone says: you can write anywhere. If this is your full-time job, you should do it full-time. Well, it has been officially three months since I have had a desk. Writing on a hotel bed wasn’t happening. She gets it, got it rather, you know what i mean. She understood that a writer needs a room of her own. That a woman needs money of her own, preferably inheritance or landfall as she described it -wouldn’t that be nice – so that one may able to write without economic pressure. I wonder if she had that luxury. I know she was married but wonder about her earlier years. Being single and an aspiring author, while broke, sure is a bitch.
I wish she hadn’t killed herself, but I understand her motivation. I’ve been there, though I never heard voices.
So I’m obsessed with Virginia Woolf. I’ve decided I want to re-read most of her work (time permitting) while writing my book. She’s so clever and I think any modern female writer owes her a great deal whether they know it or not.