Perhaps an (over-age) Jane Eyre should refer her readers to this: they may draw their own conclusions..(Nice Tanya, though, isn't the first to notice that Charlotte B was much sexier than Mrs Gaskell. Elaine Showalter et al got there first, if without the provocative headline.)
(Eureka, dear helpful friends: GRANNY GOT HER LINK RIGHT! AT LAST.)
This will be brief. Granny is weary after a fairly sleepless and over-excited night dreaming up a new book. Today the turndown: the hangover. Yesterday, at last, she had the OK from her agent about the previous book which will now, after Easter, be submitted to the editor who first chased Granny for it 6 or so years ago, but who, when Granny foolishly prevaricated - she had other things on her mind just then - moved on. Another wait. Long gone the glory days when Granny chucked an idea at an editor and got a commission JUST LIKE THAT. Gone too the glory days of the agent from heaven who had two vast-selling authors to keep her afloat so could afford the less than vast-selling granny. New agent is by no means from hell- she's an old friend - but she has only recently opened up and despite having had an author on a big prize shortlist two years in a row cannot afford to spend too much time on less than profitable prospects. Which Granny is or may be: not only her world but the publishing world too has changed radically since she last wrote fiction. (Didn't we all complain how uncommercial and inefficient publishers were? - and now look what we've got. And they still can't sell books - or not many -outside the much hyped few.) Yet here she is back at it. At least the uncertainty helps her to know that she is a writer still after the long years of blockage. If you don't know what you can sell -or if you can sell anything (too old, too out of fashion, just not good enough? - oh god no) yet still keep on doing it; then you are a writer. Aren't you?
Another day of sun. This is the world now - it chucked it down here like never, at a time when the rest of Europe - Portugal - England - Spain - had the driest winter on record. And now it's chucking it down there while here has turned to summer. Sod's law being what it is, the winter/wind/rain/ something bad will return no doubt in time for arrival of Beloved Daughter etc on Sunday week.... Granny is a pessimist. Sorry, Reader. Sorry.
Meantime the battle between Feline Houdini and the shrikes goes on. This morning both shrike parents were there perched on the railings outside this window, fanning out their tails, bobbing them up and down and shouting at Feline Houdini crouched on the flowerbed below, fluffing up his tail. Though he put his ears back, hissed and snarled, he made no move to get them. Clearly he knows their wings give them the edge. Granny assumes the young shrike too survive; the parents wouldn't bother if they weren't. Good. Granny does not employ Feline Houdini as birdcatcher. Despite the nasty things shrikes do to lizards - like hanging them from thorns - she is ON THEIR SIDE. Honestly.