I was talking with a friend about teenage romance and expectations of life and commented that we were brought up on the Cinderella story. And we reminisced over the ballroom scene in The Sound of Music.
After a while it became clear that to her it had always been ‘just a story’ quite separate from real life.
I just sat and blinked at her in astonishment. Obviously, over the years I’ve had to learn the difference but at twelve and fourteen the story was life. Romance began at sixteen when you met your Prince Charming and then you lived happily ever after. I knew that ; just as at six I knew that next term I’d have to go across the playground to the Junior school and then at eleven catch a bus to senior school.
Life was mapped out like chapters in a book and I couldn’t wait to get to sixteen and dance round the ballroom.
She laughed at me and said, ‘That’s why you’re a writer.’
Why are you a writer?
Do you live the story?