In my attempt to organize life, and writing endeavors within that life, I invested in a planner for this year. You know, one of those compilations of paper with printed dates on each sheet and spaces between those dates to write important occurrences in one’s life, bound together in chronological order for the calendar year -- you write in it with a pen or pencil. It’s not electronic and you cannot schedule annoying dinging/vibrating reminders, but you have a physical record of what you are doing, should do, might do, and have done, should you choose to record any of those items.
I bought this planner, because well, I am that kind of ridiculous person who needs more than dates on a page to hold my interest when it comes to planners, and assaulting my eyes with deadlines for writing competitions, fellowships, etc. and helpful prompts and information might actually get my fingers typing something more interesting than a blog entry (not to say blogs don’t have merit, but it’d be nice to scribble out a poem or story one of these days).
Since I purchased the planner a few days into January as it was far cheaper, I didn’t start cataloging my life until last week. The planner includes birthday of what I at first thought were famous writers. I noticed as the planner goes on it becomes more the dates of birth of random famous people that the editors apparently think interesting enough to include (Eliza Dushku, I love you, but why are you in my writing planner?).
Still, last week I noted that two of me ‘hero authors’ had birthdays last week. I do not see this as coincidence, nor do I intend to indoctrinate their births as a time for me to emulate their skills. However, I just wanted to mention, for the record, these amazing authors whom I admire and can only hope to one day emulate: Edgar Allan Poe (1/19) and Anne Brontë (1/17).
Poe is, well, a master to put it simply. Not everything he wrote was great, but this is true of all authors, but what was great was nearly miraculous. To be a master of two (especially now) rather disparate genres and truly be responsible for their rise in popularity is nothing short of genius.
Anne,for me, will always be the most talented and sane of her family. Branwell was a mostly-talentless drunk. Emily and Charlotte were intelligent women with general ideas of strong women... but had a major soft-and-blind spot for Byronic men, who sound great in theory. In reality, Byronic men pretty much equate to the mopey, abusive, narcissistic, drunken lout of a cad named Arthur Huntingdon. Plus, Anne penned my favorite quote by any author regarding gender equality/standards in writing, which is why it’s the subtitle of my blog.