Writer on writer.

The first book I am to read for my Modern and Postmodern Literature class is Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. Before this class, I had little knowledge of the life Woolf lived. I often find myself just as interested in the life stories of writers, as the work they produce. They are characters in their own fascinating, tumultuous lives. As an aspiring writer myself, I love to find a story in reality.

After reading an excerpt from a paper about women and Modernism, Woolf seemed to be much like the strong, rebellious women I am so often inspired by. Today I read the preface, the chronology, and most of the introduction proceeding Woolf's writing in my copy of Mrs. Dalloway. Much of it spoke of Woolf and her seemingly sordid life.

I think I may be falling in love with the "character" of Virginia Woolf.

This may be in part due to aspects of her life that remind me of my own. My favorite characters across art forms always disclose my vanity. As a child Virginia faced such frequent tragedy, she could have lived in a soap opera. Death seemed to surround her existence. Her sexual assault, inflicted by her half brothers stirs up my hypocritical, but often fleeting loathing of men (to be fair, this is a gross generalization). Though it could never compare, I had a less than ideal childhood that in turn, produced my independent spirit. Through her youth, she was curious and defied expectation. With the encouragement of her father, she pursued an independent education through books of all kinds--not simply novels. Woolf was fearless and a true rebel, participating in the fight for women's suffrage and the "Dreadnought Hoax", an act that humiliated a nation. Her career as a writer was just beginning through all of it. She was part of a social circle full of intellectuals and creators in Bloomsbury, London that was without a doubt cause for inspiration. Not that I am unsatisfied with my friends, but I crave that kind of creative community. I'm not sure if it is even possible in today's world. Woolf had several episodes of physical illness, possibly brought on by an unsettling emotional and mental state. Seeing a person that in touch with themselves is frightening, but incredibly beautiful in strange way. With her through it all, was her sometimes restricting husband, whom she loved, but was at first, reluctant to marry. I dread a day when I find marriage an acceptable option. I hope it never comes to pass. Another endearing detail of Woolf's life is her affair with the also-married Vita Sackville-West. I applaud all of those who experiment with their sexuality. Such openness is an incredible thing. Her life ended as tragically as it began. She committed suicide, leaving behind notes and her diaries, eloquently saying goodbye. They're couldn't be anything more poetic, unfortunately. I am looking forward to continuing the book and becoming entangled with her restless spirit.

I apologize for the lengthy biography, but I had trouble parting with details from such an enthralling life. Now, I'm off to bed. Sweet dreams.