my careless contagion

The Love of My Life is a lovely book by British author Rosie Walsh. The Brits do some good writing, I must say, though I'm mostly familiar with classic English literature, the kind that makes you want to go for a walk on the heath or throw yourself off a chalk cliff. I wonder how many people who read romance novels realize the idea of romantic love is a relatively new construct. In fact, romance novels did much to popularize it. There is some argument, of course, but historians generally agree marrying for love is a new concept and not a base instinct. Romantic love, as we call it, lasts no longer than 3 years. No wonder so many marriages fail. True, love is just a choice we make, otherwise the Bible wouldn't tell us to love one another or for husbands to love their wives, etc. It's a choice. But, for most, they need the feeling of falling in love first. That chemical bond is necessary. Hormones. Attraction. A woman knows within seconds if she wants to make love to a man. M...

There are many things I've started in my life. Many things lay unfinished on the floor of my feeble mind, little snippets scattered about as if by a capricious wind. About 20 years ago, I rediscovered one of those unfinished things. My novel. But why am I bringing this up now? Y'all are going to think I'm making this up. The story was that of a man who was trying to put his life back together after the girl of his dreams broke his heart. When I started writing it, I do not know. Obviously, I wrote it after a heartbreak, but which one? I was in the loft of my downtown apartment when I discovered it, got angry with it, and threw it away. It was written on large sheets of yellow legal paper ( I started writing on legal paper when I was in high school) , and I was about 30 pages deep in it. I wish I had kept that truncated story. It would have been a valuable clue to understanding what went wrong in those early years. It could have stood as a time capsule of sorts. Or I...