'A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction'.
These days, I am left pondering the truth of this statement at times.
Writing fiction has always been a distant dream for me. Distant because at no point in my life have I possessed a skill for story telling. Its not as if I have never ever written a story; there must be about a dozen manuscripts amid the chaos I call my stuff. Thing is, they all have extremely boring and clichéd and predictable story lines. If presented in a competition, they tend to fall at a place that may range from n to exp^n.
Story reading, on the other hand, has been my *sole* interest in life, for the greater part of it. Story writing, on the other hand, still eludes me.
There has been an idea for a story in my mind for a couple of days, but I have not yet found the time to weave them in a story due the numerous ghams of rozgar. (Hint: reference to the first requirement, as laid down by Woolf).
Why I should write the story down: Some loyal friends might be amused and entertained.
Why I should not: I was simply not meant to be a story teller. Sigh.
'A room of one's own' does seem like a nice find. I shall read it at first opportunity,as soon as that arrives.
P.S. It seems an unexpectedly awesome find, for I do not count myself a fan of Virginia Woolf or/and To the Lighthouse, her only work I have read so far.