On Jane Austen’s Letters and How I Still Don’t Care About Blogging

I don't understand blogging. I mean, honestly. Maybe I just don't have anything to say to a blog because everything I would like to say would serve me better in a manuscript. Or maybe on a Facebook post? But I don't care about Facebook either, so where am I going to put this funny bit about Jane Austen?

Oh I know!

On my neglected blog! Yeah!

Anyway, I'm currently a college student. I've been trying to graduate for about eight years at this point and I'll finally be finished in December.  So for my last semester one of the classes I'm taking is a concentration in the works of Jane Austen.

And you know what, Internet? I love Jane Austen. I don't even care that it makes me basic or unoriginal or whatever.





Everyone has read P&P and everyone has seen Sense and Sensibility, but what about Persuasion?

I swear to the literature gods that my life probably began and ended with Captain Wentworth's letter to Anne Elliot.

I am half agony, half hope.

And freaking died.

This is why I have such a thing for letters. The best things that have ever been said to me have been written in letters (aka EMAILS, but I'm not here to argue semantics). Every relationship I've ever been in ended with me sending a truly dramatic and flowery-worded letter.

This is probably also at least part of the reason I ended up becoming a romance novelist.

Anyway, yeah LETTERS. And Jane Austen totally gets me, because tonight I was reading Love and Friendship from her Juvenilia, and Letter Five is now officially one of my favorite things.

The letter is basically three pages in which the narrator (Laura in this instance) and her family are sitting in their house and there's a knock at the door. They all go back and forth for several paragraphs about whether or not they heard a knock, and then whether or not they should answer the door, and finally discuss whether or not the servants are at home so they can answer the door.

Finally, Mary answers the door. And this is the big moment, Internet. I waited all of five minutes to get to this point, and Ms. Austen sure knows how to build suspense.

Mary returns to the room with *gasp* the "most beauteous and amiable youth I had ever beheld." And no sooner had the narrator beheld this beauteous young man, did she fall instantaneously in love with him.

Except that she crossed out the part about being in love with him, and replaced it with "on him the happiness or misery of my future life must depend."

And that was it.

Someone knocks on the door, it happens to be the most handsome man she's ever seen, and now she's head over heels in love, and Jane Austen is basically me when I was in fifth grade, scribbling stories in my spiral notebook when I was supposed to be paying attention in Math class.

There you go, Internet. I blogged. Maybe I'll blog again later if these letters continue to be so awesome and relatable to those of us who dabble in love stories for a living.

HEY! While you're here, go check out my sneak peek page and then pre-order my latest novel.

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