Maybe My Identity's Been Stolen. Or Maybe

You Can Want And Want And Want, But If He Doesn't Want You Back ... You Might As Well Wish The Sky Were Red.

Maybe My Identity's Been Stolen. Or Maybe I Was Sleep-shopping!

I Feel All Agitated, Like One Of Those Snow Globes You See Resting Peacefully On Shop Counters. I Was Perfectly Happy Being An Ordinary, Dull Little Swiss Village. But Now Jack Harper’s Come And Shaken Me Up, And There Are Snowflakes All Over The Place, Whirling Around Until I Don’t Know What I Think Anymore. And Bits Of Glitter, Too. Tiny Bits Of Shiny, Secret Excitement.

For Years Now I've Kind Of Operated Under An Informal Shopping Cycle. A Bit Like A Farmer's Crop Rotation System. Except, Instead Of Wheat, Maize, Barley, And Fallow, Mine Pretty Much Goes Clothes, Makeup Shoes, And Clothes (i Don't Bother With Fallow). Shopping Is Actually Very Similar To Farming A Field. You Can't Keep Buying The Same Thing, You Have To Have A Bit Of Variety. Otherwise You Get Bored And Stop Enjoying Yourself.

I Always Thought 'chick Lit' Meant Third-person Contemporary Funny Novels, Dealing With Issues Of The Day. I Mean, It's Not The Ideal Term; When I'm Asked To Describe What I Do, I Say I Write Romantic Comedies, Cause That's What I Feel They Are. But I'm Quite Pragmatic.