Really, though, what if I was famous? I'm reading a quad-ography of Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dorothy Parker, Edna Ferber, and Zelda Fitzgerald. What if I was like them? Check list:
Qualifications for Being A Famous Female Writer in the 1920s
1) Drinking a lot (done)
2) Abortions (nope, not needed)
3) Debt (yeah, but I can't get rich playboys to pay them off)
4) Living in France because the exchange rate is amazing (nope, USD prematurely ejaculates over all foreign markets)
5) Being a celebrity in New York (possibly, but not yet)
6) Having a shitty husband (not married yet)
7) Having dirty affairs (not until I need to sleep with someone to get my novel published)
8) Trying out Hollywood and failing (I won't fail. But I haven't tried yet.)
9) Acting impish and retarded and hating Ernest Hemingway because I'm supposed to be a flapper (I can never be as crazy as Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald)
10) Marrying a homosexual theater critic who will let me sleep with a lot of men and women (However glamorous that may sound, I can't see myself doing that.)
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