Yesterday Entertainment Weekly ran a piece about debut novels with six-figure advances and why publishers are willing to take big financial risks on (relative) literary unknowns. The answer is, among other things, "because they believe they will make even more money later," but the part that really leapt out at me was this:
The University of Texas (UT) at Austin’s School of Nursing removed “poorly worded” dress code signs Wednesday that discouraged students from wearing “revealing” and “distracting” clothing. Following backlash on social media, especially from prominent feminist groups, UT officials removed four signs, all posted in elevators on campus on Tuesday. The signs prohibited midriff-baring shirts, short shorts, short skirts, low-rise pants and low-cut shirts that reveal cleavage.
There I was, a recently 30-year-old woman. Girl? Lady? Who knows. I spent a good amount of time in the run-up to The Birthday thinking about what I would call myself once that milestone was reached. But the many moving parts of my brain never quite settled on one choice. For now, let’s go with lady. It’ll make this story sound fancier than it is, like I’m a brooding yet whip-smart heroine in a Charlotte…
I just fell, hard. I was halfway home from a friend’s house when I realized I had left my phone there; ten minutes later, I was jumping out of my car in front of their house. I started to jog inside when my foot slipped on something, and I was down for the count - palms and knees slammed into the ground, protecting the rest of my body.
