Some
of my friends have started teasing me, saying I’m becoming a Carrie Bradshaw or
Bridget Jones or something. Others worry that my career as a writer will end
before it really starts because I’m copying that kind of literature and will
never be taken seriously as a writer.
Therefore,
I want to make a statement: Carrie Bradshaw is a fictional character! I am
real, I exist! My life can sometimes be a little too eventful or colourful or
what have you and I can see how that sometimes resembles that of a TV character but
in no way do I ever try to imitate Carrie Bradshaw’s life. At times, my life
has also been a little bit like a pathetic imitation of Bridget Jones’ life,
now that I think about it. But I’m sure the reason for this is that Sex and the
City and the Bridget Jones’ diaries were written by women and we, women, often
have similar stories to tell. We find ourselves in similar circumstances and
wonder about similar things, at least when it comes to men.
I
did enjoy watching Sex and the City though, and often found I could easily put
myself in the shoes of any of the main characters, but there was one thing I
found absolutely unforgiveable. The writers had these four independent,
intelligent, successful women, wind up with a guy; all four of them had a
boyfriend/husband and were all beaming as they walked down a street in the last
scene in the last episode; happy at last.
I
was furious. All through the series the fact that it’s quite all right, fabulous
even, to be a single woman, had been emphasized over and over again. Finally, I
thought, the message to women was changing. But nooo, it’s obviously only OK to
be a single woman till the end of the movie or the TV series, then you better
run and find someone before the curtain falls!
I
promise you, I’m nothing like Carrie Bradshaw; there will be no curtain and no
despair. As I’ve said before; if love comes along, then it will. If it doesn’t,
it doesn’t. I just want to have a fun life!
Also,
I obviously don’t earn as much as Carrie per word because I’m too busy making a
living to keep having lunch with my friends, sitting in cafés, go shopping or
visit galleries in the middle of the day, or attend restaurant and club openings
mid-week. It would also never occur to me to spend 350 pounds on a single pair
of shoes and I don’t think I’ll ever manage to persuade anyone to pay for a
huge poster with my face on it on the city buses.
No,
I’m real. One of the obvious signs of that is my ex-lovers who have suddenly
decided to make contact again, to see how I’m doing, telling me how much they
enjoy my blog and then, with a nervous chuckle, ask: ‘It’s not all true is it?
I mean, you’re making all this stuff up, right? You write fiction, right? It’s
not like you’re gonna mention that thing that happened with me...y’know, that weekend
when we were at the cottage...?’
