More about all that chick-lit anthology "confessional lit" stuff. I guess I like confessional lit, within reason (I think it can go too far, to, say, Chicken Soup for the Soul essays), since I love the NYTimes Modern Love column (confession: and kind of want to write for it, someday, wisely, smartly). I am not particularly interested in the overkill of anthologies, especially these pseudo-Chicken-Soup-for-the-woman-who-wants-it-all-Soul ones, but I think that's because they usually come off as slightly forced to fit the theme (even Modern Love sometimes I'm like... uh, what?), and also because, even if the anthologies are split into 30 short essays, they're still full-on books about God knows what. A little too much for me at a time.
This entry really had no point except for you to read that article and reflect a wee bit, should you feel inclined. I'm bored at work and catching up on my reading and blogging and I can't help but post.
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