If we were really okay with Women’s Fiction, would we ever need to justify it? And why do I change so much on the inside every time I get my hair done? This and other truly shocking revelations in this week’s tardy but multi-tasking blog post extravaganza.
I wasn’t well last week, and ended up feeling dreadfully sorry for myself. Now, there’s nothing on earth can feel quite as sorry for itself as an Irish woman, so it can get quite dark. Anyhoo, as I lay prostrate, bemoaning the state of both my health and my immediate prospects, my lamentations eventually began to…
Tara Sparling writes 