Today, straight out of the “Undergrad English Major Files,” comes an old love letter I wrote to Virginia Woolf in 2007. Virginia and I had a long and sexy relationship between the sheets (of paper) during my stint at THE Valdosta State University. I wrote a lot of essays about her work, and I still count The Waves as one of my favorite novels of all time (it’s not a big deal…it’s only somewhere near 300 pages of poetry).
I was looking through old files from college and stumbled across this and a few other gems, and since it’s Thursday (and therefore #ThrowbackThursday) I felt a need to expose my younger self as the terrible tongue-in-cheek writer that he was (note the terrible joke near the end about the size of Woolf’s ‘rocks,’ as it was the size of said rocks that contributed to her drowning herself).
Please keep in mind that I wrote this about seven years ago while I was almost definitely studying the great satirists of the Long 18th Century (Swift, Pope, etc.). It’s not great, but it is ridiculous. Maybe it’ll give you a chuckle like it did me.
My Dearest Virginia,
I know you are hesitant to read this letter, but you should definitely trust me. I’ve been reading your novels and I know what you like. You like a brief, to-the-point, and, at times, blunt writing style. And so, that particular style is what I will employ in this, my love letter to you. I will say exactly what I mean.
There are a few things I feel like I need to be honest about. First of all, I think you are a total hottie. Look at this picture from the public domain. Your dark hair is wrapped up around your head in some sort of way that I can’t quite conceive of…but that’s the mystery. And what is it that you’re looking at in every single picture that I see of you. You are always looking off to the left (your right).
And let me clarify. When I say “hot” I don’t mean like a Ludacris “hip-hop music video-whore” hot. I mean…classy hot. That’s right, Virginia. You are classy hot.
Next on the list of “Things that Make You (Virginia Woolf) My Intellectual Bedfellow (or Bed-chick as the case may be) is the fact that you are a smart lady. I mean, you’re smarter than me…and I’m a man. That is a tough handful of pills for me to swallow…I’m just kidding, sweetie. I know you’re all about women’s rights and equality and whatnot. I am too. I think I should spend the same amount of time in the kitchen as you…eating what you spent time to prepare. I love that we agree.
Now let me say, and this is the hardest thing for me to admit…ever. Virginia, you have bigger rocks in your pocket than I could ever dream of having in mine. And that’s what makes me so sad. If you hadn’t put such big rocks in your pockets before you waded into the River Ouse in Britain, then maybe we could have been together. But you didn’t see it that way, I guess. I love you all the same.
So there you have it. I was always a romantic, and I was always WAY into Woolf’s prose (if you know what I mean).
I hope all is well where you are. I’ll be posting more frequently now. I promise. In fact, watch for guest posts and author interviews to start popping up on the blog after the first of the year.
Until next time!