Matter of perspective...
Jul. 15th, 2022 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowkatListening to a song that I listened to as a small child in 1974, entitled Free to be you and me by the New Seekers. It was the theme song of a record put out by Marlo Thomas and Friends in 1972, followed by an ABC Afterschool Special in 1974. What's telling about the record and the special is way back in 1974 - people were trying to get across LGBTA rights, women's rights, trans rights, gender equality and racial equality. The culture wars of today - have been going on for a very long time. Have we made progress?
I think so. But it's all relative really and depends on your perspective.
From mine we have - but that's because I remember what it was like before, and in some respects its gotten better. But again, everything is a matter of perspective.
Thinking about my father...is a matter of perspective, or so it seems. If I don't say or think certain things, it's almost as if he's still here. It all feels rather surreal. But grief always does. I'm still haunted by Maribeth Martell on the internet. I've been going through old posts to see which ones I want or are worth sharing on Ao3, and keep stumbling upon Maribeth's comments. She commented a lot on my posts, often she was the only person who did. We were very close and in my kitchen, I have a ceramic old woman vinegar holder that she made for me one Christmas or was it for a Birthday? I no longer recall.
I asked my mother for a few of my father's clothes - a sweatshirt, and maybe a windbreaker. She has a Maine Sweatshirt he wore a lot, a Penn State one that I gave him recently for Christmas one year, and a Penn State windbreaker. I want something of his. I'm not quite sure why, I just do. My brother is taking his gearjammer wind breaker. They've packed up all his clothes now...and on Saturday they will be delivering them to Good Will. My brother did most of it - for my mother. Last night when she walked into their closet and saw all his clothes gone, she asked my brother for a hug, and then called me, upset by it. It was as if it hit her all at once that he was gone.
I've been fine today. Chipper even. Didn't really cry once - until I wrote that paragraph, and my eyes got briefly wet.
Mother has reached out to my father's family, and reached out to one of his brothers, who is not financially well-off, and can't really afford to fly down. She's offered to pay his way, and even make it possible for him to stay more than one night. (But not to tell the others, since she can't afford to do it for everyone.) My parents have always been this way - generous. My mother's were as well. Not unreasonably so, they are ...whats the right word? Thrifty? Careful? It's not as if they were exceedingly wealthy, but they had enough. And if a family member was in need - they'd help. They helped fund one cousin's environmental studies in Costa Rica - he was becoming an environmental engineer. And when another cousin was on food stamps and about to be evicted - they sent money to help her keep her home, and they also sent money to help with dental costs. From their perspective, it was the right thing to do.
My father had a strong moral code, one in which he instilled in me. I remember years ago, when I was at the HW Wilson Company. This was back in 2001, and I told my father that I suspected my boss was plotting behind my back and trying to get rid of me - by hiring this new associate. What should I do about it?
He told me to ignore it. He said don't ignore it entirely - hunt for a new job. But, don't get upset about it. Don't be vindicative. Be ethical. Be kind. Show integrity. You have no control over what they are doing, you only have control over you. Do the best job that you can possibly do, and leave with your integrity intact.
I did that. I followed my father's advice to the letter. And after I left, people continued to sing my praises. People who took over my job, were happy with what I'd done and praised me to the boss who'd pushed me to resign. The boss who pushed me to resign, was eventually fired and unable to find a job.
My father was a resourceful man. He spent a year in the seminary, until he realized it didn't work, and left to get the GI bill. In the military - this was in the 1950s, my father was born in 1935 - my father was in charge of obtaining supplies, or scavenging for them. He also was briefly in military intelligence - doing coding, because he had a logical and analytical mind. But he was not arrogant, if anything he talked himself down, or was self-deprecating. My mother sees the same traits in me.
Intellectually curious - my father loved to learn - and instilled in me that same avid curiosity, I also see it in my niece and in my brother.
A need to understand how the world works, the why of things. My father felt that the "why" question was incredibly important.
He wasn't handy though. Even though I remember watching him put in a brick sidewalk one summer. And together we built a tiny wooden boat for history fair - it was Sir Francis Drake's boat - which he sailed as a Pirate under England's flag to take on the Spanish Armada. But he couldn't put in shelving, or fix the plumbing. He called the plumber. Electrical work? He called an electrician. He was no gardener, but he did like to rake leaves particularly during football games on Thanksgiving. It was a standard joke in our house. The television would be on, the football game would be on, and mother would ask - "where's your father?" And we'd reply, "outside raking leaves."
In some ways, I owe my current occupation to my father - who not only encouraged me to attend law school, but also volunteered to play an expert witness in a moot trial competition. He also, spent hours on the computer scanning job websites when I was desperately hunting one. He'd help me revise my resume. He was the one who suggested my current occupation. Not only that he found the job that lead me into the job I have today. It wasn't his connections or network (he didn't have that - we weren't in the same field), no, per my mother, he spent hours on the computer hunting job opportunities for me. (He didn't tell me, she did.) And he'd send them to me, and then discuss them on the phone. He had been a compensation and organizational consultant, he knew how to read a job description. He also helped me finesse my interviewing techniques, and taught me how to research each organization first and what questions to ask.
I recall discussing each job I interviewed for with my Dad on the phone. Going through the pros and cons, the benefits package, etc. My Dad when I was growing up would discuss work at the dinner table, regaling us with stories of the various companies he worked with as a compensation consultant. He was a road warrior - taking a flight to Chicago, then Detriot, then some town out in the boondocks then back home again to Kansas City or Pennsylvania, when we lived there. And home for dinner at night. He was gone a lot - traveling, when I was growing up, but home too.
He went to my theater performances in grade school through high school, and he was home on weekends.
Oh I can go on and on and on. And most likely will. To say I was close to my Dad, is an understatement. Even though we did not live close to each other. I saw him once or twice a year, and talked to him almost daily. Our relationship, like all father/daughter relationships, was far from perfect.
But it was uniquely ours.
***
The work week has been insanely busy, but in some respects this is a good thing. It's kept me occupied. Also, well..
Today I had to send out emails to vendors regarding their agendas for next weeks meetings. (I had to schedule the meetings, coordinate them, get them to send me agendas, get the project team to respond, and contact anyone not responding by phone, also I get to facilitate and monitor the meetings next week. )
Me: Please provide your agenda no later than 3pm today, January 15.
Me to other vendor: Please provide your agenda no later than 1 pm today, January 15.
Me: Oops, recall resend.
Discovering did the same with the first one.
Me: Please note that it should be July 15, not January 15, sorry for the confusion.
Me to Project team: I told them all to provide by 1 pm.
Breaking Bad: Eh, you told one of them to provide it by 3pm.
Me: You're right. I did. Damn it. Will fix it.
Me to vendor: Sorry, it should be 1 pm. Apologies for the confusion.
Vendor: Can we compromise and make it due by 2 pm?
Me: Unfortunately, we can't do that - since everyone else has to send theirs in by 1pm, and it would not be fair. Again, sorry for the confusion.
I tell Chidi about this.
Chidi: Well, we aren't robots. And you are under stress.
I should start calling myself Eleanor or Daphne? I'm thinking Daphne. I look more like Daphne. (The Good Place references - in case you are confused.)
But I feel the tension of it in my back and shoulders tonight, and the restless legs and the indigestion.
Started listening to The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi, as performed by Will Wheaton. It's funny in places.
It's kind of a sci-fi satire in line with Scalzi's Red Shirts, with an absurdist sense of humor. Basically during the COVID pandemic, a laid off food start-up employee turned delivery guy - gets a job offer he can't refuse, and well...it's biological alternative earth sci-fi.
I'm enjoying it. Actually I'm enjoying it more than The Bride Test which is starting to get on my nerves. My difficulty with contemporary romance novels are the women. I don't know why women are written in this manner. Maybe the writers are like this? The female lead is whiny, and kind of dumb. She has a kid but refuses to tell anyone she has the kid. I get that she's desperate - but honey, you really should have let them know about the kid up front. She also wants a guy to save her - ladies, men don't save you. They want you to save them. They aren't life rafts.
Yes, she works hard, and yes, she's hit hard times, but she's.. ugh. Too girly.
People don't write romance novels about strong tough independent minded women who wouldn't be caught dead in heels, won't wear shoes that hurt their feet, hate makeup, and don't like jewelry. Hence I'm writing my own.
Also the women are always tiny in these books. We had a brief discussion about this at work recently...
Chidi: Do you shop at the Banana Republic?
Me: No, they don't have my size. It's made for short and tiny people. (my tiny and short female and male co-workers weren't appreciative of this comment and looked offended. It was admittedly an unfair crack.)
Gabe: I am not short, I'm average. (She's five' four)
AM: Actually you are short - isn't average five six or five seven?
Me: Well -
Gabe: I'll look it up on my phone, but you have to consider the world as well -
ME: Actually it is 5'4-5'6 - my father used to write books and all his women were -
Chidi: How tall are you? (he stands on his tippy toes to get to my height - he's 5'9 - the same height as my mother)
Me: Six foot.
Chidi: You are not -
Me: Average height is -
Chidi: Definitely not -
Me: five foot eleven and 44 inches - or six foot, whichever you want -
Chidi: I love teasing her -
Gabe: I'm right it's 5'4-5'5 average height.
My brother is right, we're surrounded by midgets. Most of the people I see on the train are the size of small children. I feel like a giant among Lilliputians. But I guess if you are five foot five or six, you'd see the opposite? There's a lot of tall Africans and Northern Europeans in this city as well. I'm by no means the only tall and big person on the trains or at work for that matter.
I prefer historicals, mainly because the women are stronger in them and weirdly enough, more independent minded.
Also as an aside? Scalzi doesn't physically describe any of his characters. While Huang does. Women tend to in their novels, men less so. I've stopped doing it a lot. The reader doesn't care. They'll fill in the blanks themselves. They do notice if you go overboard. Also you can frigging offend the reader if you do it. It's better to not describe anyone at all and let the reader fill in the blanks. When it comes to description - my father taught me that less is always more. He told me to cut the words that don't matter and often accused me of being too verbose. "You speak in paragraphs," he'd state or "We've talked for more than fifteen minutes now...", it got to be a joke.
I think so. But it's all relative really and depends on your perspective.
From mine we have - but that's because I remember what it was like before, and in some respects its gotten better. But again, everything is a matter of perspective.
Thinking about my father...is a matter of perspective, or so it seems. If I don't say or think certain things, it's almost as if he's still here. It all feels rather surreal. But grief always does. I'm still haunted by Maribeth Martell on the internet. I've been going through old posts to see which ones I want or are worth sharing on Ao3, and keep stumbling upon Maribeth's comments. She commented a lot on my posts, often she was the only person who did. We were very close and in my kitchen, I have a ceramic old woman vinegar holder that she made for me one Christmas or was it for a Birthday? I no longer recall.
I asked my mother for a few of my father's clothes - a sweatshirt, and maybe a windbreaker. She has a Maine Sweatshirt he wore a lot, a Penn State one that I gave him recently for Christmas one year, and a Penn State windbreaker. I want something of his. I'm not quite sure why, I just do. My brother is taking his gearjammer wind breaker. They've packed up all his clothes now...and on Saturday they will be delivering them to Good Will. My brother did most of it - for my mother. Last night when she walked into their closet and saw all his clothes gone, she asked my brother for a hug, and then called me, upset by it. It was as if it hit her all at once that he was gone.
I've been fine today. Chipper even. Didn't really cry once - until I wrote that paragraph, and my eyes got briefly wet.
Mother has reached out to my father's family, and reached out to one of his brothers, who is not financially well-off, and can't really afford to fly down. She's offered to pay his way, and even make it possible for him to stay more than one night. (But not to tell the others, since she can't afford to do it for everyone.) My parents have always been this way - generous. My mother's were as well. Not unreasonably so, they are ...whats the right word? Thrifty? Careful? It's not as if they were exceedingly wealthy, but they had enough. And if a family member was in need - they'd help. They helped fund one cousin's environmental studies in Costa Rica - he was becoming an environmental engineer. And when another cousin was on food stamps and about to be evicted - they sent money to help her keep her home, and they also sent money to help with dental costs. From their perspective, it was the right thing to do.
My father had a strong moral code, one in which he instilled in me. I remember years ago, when I was at the HW Wilson Company. This was back in 2001, and I told my father that I suspected my boss was plotting behind my back and trying to get rid of me - by hiring this new associate. What should I do about it?
He told me to ignore it. He said don't ignore it entirely - hunt for a new job. But, don't get upset about it. Don't be vindicative. Be ethical. Be kind. Show integrity. You have no control over what they are doing, you only have control over you. Do the best job that you can possibly do, and leave with your integrity intact.
I did that. I followed my father's advice to the letter. And after I left, people continued to sing my praises. People who took over my job, were happy with what I'd done and praised me to the boss who'd pushed me to resign. The boss who pushed me to resign, was eventually fired and unable to find a job.
My father was a resourceful man. He spent a year in the seminary, until he realized it didn't work, and left to get the GI bill. In the military - this was in the 1950s, my father was born in 1935 - my father was in charge of obtaining supplies, or scavenging for them. He also was briefly in military intelligence - doing coding, because he had a logical and analytical mind. But he was not arrogant, if anything he talked himself down, or was self-deprecating. My mother sees the same traits in me.
Intellectually curious - my father loved to learn - and instilled in me that same avid curiosity, I also see it in my niece and in my brother.
A need to understand how the world works, the why of things. My father felt that the "why" question was incredibly important.
He wasn't handy though. Even though I remember watching him put in a brick sidewalk one summer. And together we built a tiny wooden boat for history fair - it was Sir Francis Drake's boat - which he sailed as a Pirate under England's flag to take on the Spanish Armada. But he couldn't put in shelving, or fix the plumbing. He called the plumber. Electrical work? He called an electrician. He was no gardener, but he did like to rake leaves particularly during football games on Thanksgiving. It was a standard joke in our house. The television would be on, the football game would be on, and mother would ask - "where's your father?" And we'd reply, "outside raking leaves."
In some ways, I owe my current occupation to my father - who not only encouraged me to attend law school, but also volunteered to play an expert witness in a moot trial competition. He also, spent hours on the computer scanning job websites when I was desperately hunting one. He'd help me revise my resume. He was the one who suggested my current occupation. Not only that he found the job that lead me into the job I have today. It wasn't his connections or network (he didn't have that - we weren't in the same field), no, per my mother, he spent hours on the computer hunting job opportunities for me. (He didn't tell me, she did.) And he'd send them to me, and then discuss them on the phone. He had been a compensation and organizational consultant, he knew how to read a job description. He also helped me finesse my interviewing techniques, and taught me how to research each organization first and what questions to ask.
I recall discussing each job I interviewed for with my Dad on the phone. Going through the pros and cons, the benefits package, etc. My Dad when I was growing up would discuss work at the dinner table, regaling us with stories of the various companies he worked with as a compensation consultant. He was a road warrior - taking a flight to Chicago, then Detriot, then some town out in the boondocks then back home again to Kansas City or Pennsylvania, when we lived there. And home for dinner at night. He was gone a lot - traveling, when I was growing up, but home too.
He went to my theater performances in grade school through high school, and he was home on weekends.
Oh I can go on and on and on. And most likely will. To say I was close to my Dad, is an understatement. Even though we did not live close to each other. I saw him once or twice a year, and talked to him almost daily. Our relationship, like all father/daughter relationships, was far from perfect.
But it was uniquely ours.
***
The work week has been insanely busy, but in some respects this is a good thing. It's kept me occupied. Also, well..
Today I had to send out emails to vendors regarding their agendas for next weeks meetings. (I had to schedule the meetings, coordinate them, get them to send me agendas, get the project team to respond, and contact anyone not responding by phone, also I get to facilitate and monitor the meetings next week. )
Me: Please provide your agenda no later than 3pm today, January 15.
Me to other vendor: Please provide your agenda no later than 1 pm today, January 15.
Me: Oops, recall resend.
Discovering did the same with the first one.
Me: Please note that it should be July 15, not January 15, sorry for the confusion.
Me to Project team: I told them all to provide by 1 pm.
Breaking Bad: Eh, you told one of them to provide it by 3pm.
Me: You're right. I did. Damn it. Will fix it.
Me to vendor: Sorry, it should be 1 pm. Apologies for the confusion.
Vendor: Can we compromise and make it due by 2 pm?
Me: Unfortunately, we can't do that - since everyone else has to send theirs in by 1pm, and it would not be fair. Again, sorry for the confusion.
I tell Chidi about this.
Chidi: Well, we aren't robots. And you are under stress.
I should start calling myself Eleanor or Daphne? I'm thinking Daphne. I look more like Daphne. (The Good Place references - in case you are confused.)
But I feel the tension of it in my back and shoulders tonight, and the restless legs and the indigestion.
Started listening to The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi, as performed by Will Wheaton. It's funny in places.
It's kind of a sci-fi satire in line with Scalzi's Red Shirts, with an absurdist sense of humor. Basically during the COVID pandemic, a laid off food start-up employee turned delivery guy - gets a job offer he can't refuse, and well...it's biological alternative earth sci-fi.
I'm enjoying it. Actually I'm enjoying it more than The Bride Test which is starting to get on my nerves. My difficulty with contemporary romance novels are the women. I don't know why women are written in this manner. Maybe the writers are like this? The female lead is whiny, and kind of dumb. She has a kid but refuses to tell anyone she has the kid. I get that she's desperate - but honey, you really should have let them know about the kid up front. She also wants a guy to save her - ladies, men don't save you. They want you to save them. They aren't life rafts.
Yes, she works hard, and yes, she's hit hard times, but she's.. ugh. Too girly.
People don't write romance novels about strong tough independent minded women who wouldn't be caught dead in heels, won't wear shoes that hurt their feet, hate makeup, and don't like jewelry. Hence I'm writing my own.
Also the women are always tiny in these books. We had a brief discussion about this at work recently...
Chidi: Do you shop at the Banana Republic?
Me: No, they don't have my size. It's made for short and tiny people. (my tiny and short female and male co-workers weren't appreciative of this comment and looked offended. It was admittedly an unfair crack.)
Gabe: I am not short, I'm average. (She's five' four)
AM: Actually you are short - isn't average five six or five seven?
Me: Well -
Gabe: I'll look it up on my phone, but you have to consider the world as well -
ME: Actually it is 5'4-5'6 - my father used to write books and all his women were -
Chidi: How tall are you? (he stands on his tippy toes to get to my height - he's 5'9 - the same height as my mother)
Me: Six foot.
Chidi: You are not -
Me: Average height is -
Chidi: Definitely not -
Me: five foot eleven and 44 inches - or six foot, whichever you want -
Chidi: I love teasing her -
Gabe: I'm right it's 5'4-5'5 average height.
My brother is right, we're surrounded by midgets. Most of the people I see on the train are the size of small children. I feel like a giant among Lilliputians. But I guess if you are five foot five or six, you'd see the opposite? There's a lot of tall Africans and Northern Europeans in this city as well. I'm by no means the only tall and big person on the trains or at work for that matter.
I prefer historicals, mainly because the women are stronger in them and weirdly enough, more independent minded.
Also as an aside? Scalzi doesn't physically describe any of his characters. While Huang does. Women tend to in their novels, men less so. I've stopped doing it a lot. The reader doesn't care. They'll fill in the blanks themselves. They do notice if you go overboard. Also you can frigging offend the reader if you do it. It's better to not describe anyone at all and let the reader fill in the blanks. When it comes to description - my father taught me that less is always more. He told me to cut the words that don't matter and often accused me of being too verbose. "You speak in paragraphs," he'd state or "We've talked for more than fifteen minutes now...", it got to be a joke.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-16 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-16 02:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-16 07:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-16 01:44 pm (UTC)In this novel, the female protagonist - Esme (that's the name she's chosen for herself) is hunting her father - she doesn't have one currently in her life. He got her Mom pregnant and left. So major league father issues.
I've read ones here and there that aren't - but usually they are either independently published, or queer in some way or historicals. Historical Romances for some reason are less like this, or less glaringly so, and don't feel the need to infantilize the female lead or heroine. Or have her searching for Daddy, in most cases they are either trying to get away from that or don't want a guy ruling their lives, but it being a historical - they have little choice in the matter. T
I've also noticed that most of the reviewers on Good Reads and Amazon on romances tend to do this in their reviews: "The Hero is...and the heroine is..." or "the H and the h". Chauvinism and sexism is so deeply ingrained in our culture that don't pick up on it. It got to the point that I gave up on reviews.
Also, with all the Mommy issues and Daddy issues in fiction - I'm thinking there's a lot of folks out there that should have been neutered at birth - because they were definitely not cut out to be parents.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-16 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-17 12:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-16 09:15 am (UTC)I'm very glad that my wife and daughter think and speak for themselves. It may not be a coincidence that I've never known either of them to wear heels. (-: My wife's short though: average size, sure, for a Filipino female such as she is.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-17 01:01 pm (UTC)I am Northern European. Most of my family is. The family members that are shorter, have more of the Iberian or Spanish blood in them or Southern England and Wales, which ran shorter. I have Norwegian, French Belgium, Russian, German, Scottish, and Northern Irish, which ran taller.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-18 05:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-18 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-18 01:31 pm (UTC)And, yeah, the Philippines are positively tropical! When there, I do get to see an awful lot of constellations in the night sky over time.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-17 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-17 03:29 pm (UTC)I mean, normally, I'd agree - but this feels too similar to other books I've read featuring non-POC characters. Maybe the stigma is heavier in the more rural small town communities? Except, she's in LA, so that doesn't quite work either. Maybe it's from the small village she lived in - except I thought she lived in a city in Vietnam, not a village?
It is a major trope in contemporary romance novels though - the searching for Daddy, single parent, lying about the kid, and needing to be saved by the wealthy guy. (I've read so many contemporary novels with this trope - that I'd say it's not culturally specific.)
no subject
Date: 2022-07-17 04:16 pm (UTC)Like I said, I think we largely don't read the same contemporary romance novels because the stuff you're talking about isn't common in the ones I read (perhaps because those plots don't interest me?).
no subject
Date: 2022-07-17 04:59 pm (UTC)I think you may be right - that we're reading The Bride Test through different lens.
And relating to it differently. I'm disappointed - because I thought it would be more focused on the search for her father, and the relationship, and less on the sex and their insecurities and miscommunication and the lies.
Also, I'm coming at it - as a single woman, with no significant other, no kids, and who has friends and coworkers of mixed race who are successful single parents.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-17 06:23 pm (UTC)FWIW, from what I learned about Vietnam in college, being mixed race there is very much stigmatized. And, to be fair, it still is in the US depending on what the mix of race and ethnicity is.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-17 06:54 pm (UTC)So, I barely noticed the Mixed Race thing and to the extent that I did, it's not what bothered me about the book. Actually, I'd have liked it better if there was more focus on it. The only mention is that she has beautiful green eyes. (I also have green eyes. Only one in my immediate family who has green eyes by the way. It's my best feature.)
What bugged me - and I noticed, was she thought her hands were small and ugly (not a mixed race trait and common in a lot of contemporary romances, there's clearly a lot of women out there who have stigmatized their bodies). She also was ashamed of being a single mother. And felt he didn't want her because she was poor, had no money, no class, no education, and a kid. (Which are common tropes in contemporary romance novels - and have zip to do with race, and everything to do with economics. I honestly think this particular topic - differences in economic standing and "Class" is handled better in "historical romance" novels. Mainly because contempoary novels fall into the trap of the billionaire or millionaire boyfriend taking care of the poor broke girlfriend or bailing her out of trouble.)
I was not bothered by the "green card" bit - that's somewhat realistic. Although no-where near as easy as it looks. I have a co-worker who went through hell getting his wife a green card and visa. Absolute hell. Took him four years.
And, you can do a romance novel with more on the search for the father, and more character development without falling into contemporary women's fiction - as long as your central focus is on the romance. It's doable. I think the difficulty here - was too much emphasis is put on Esme lying about her child - I didn't really understand that. Particularly considering her Daddy issues.
And too much emphasis is put on her shame about a lack of education - which granted is a universal theme - which may be why the writer had to push it. More people will admittedly identify with the struggle for an education and the struggle of raising a kid on one's own and dating at the same time, then they might regarding being an immigrant, searching for a bio dad, or mixed racial heritage.
I also think the writer being Autistic - pushed more on the Autistic bit, and less on the other. I don't know. I'm 60% of the way through and kind of stuck at the moment. She keeps worrying about not being good enough for him or pretty enough or that he'll hate her for having a kid, and he keeps worrying about not being able to love her, when he clearly does. And I just want to smack both of them upside the head.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-18 12:25 pm (UTC)This is my difficulty with the book:
"I love you, do you love me?"
"I want to take care of you, help you find your father, help you redo the yard, ..etc"
"But do you love me?"
"No."
He can't say the words, and god, what is she - 12? This trope in romance novels is so annoying. Honestly, sociopaths and narcissists are very good at saying those words, bringing flowers, and romanticizing women, so are serial killers.
Add to this? This woman had the father of her child ask to take her with his wife, to provide for her - turned him down only to fly off to the US, leaving her child behind, and lie about the child's existence, and spend all her time whinging about it and whinging about the fact that he doesn't love her. She's a mail order bride. He's kind. Love builds over time. Plus he obviously has a disability - but she's so self-absorbed and needy for validation - that she doesn't appear to even notice it.
It's a common trope in contemporary romances (also historicals - but not quite as bad). In contemporaries, it's annoying.
This is made worse by some jarring plot items at the 74% mark. The deal was she marry him, or go home at the end of the summer. She doesn't have a green card - she has a temporary visa. Yet, she's able with her scant earnings from the restaurant to find an apartment in LA on the fly. With no clothes but what she's wearing? And without her sponsor knowing? It threw me out of the story.
This romance is not working for me at all. And I'm pissed off at the line editor for not tweaking and fixing it. It would have been easy to do.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-18 05:41 pm (UTC)Perfectly natural. When my BFF died, I wore his (suede) coat for about 5 years, (despite being a vegetarian) until it fell apart. It just made me feel safer, somehow.