Frankly, My Dear…

Friday I spent a little bit of time in a place I never really imagined I’d be:  the house where Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone with the Wind.

Gone with the Wind is my favorite book. I read it for the first time when I was 11 years old. I’ve probably read it at least 25 times. I’m reading it now (Sort of.). The name of this blog comes from the novel.  It’s not that I idolize the era it takes place in. I don’t. There was a lot wrong with that society, its practices, and its beliefs. It’s not that I wished I lived there. (Ha. I despise wearing dresses, so living where elaborate dresses was the norm is a joke.).

This painting was actually used in the movie. Gorgeous dress, but not my style.

But the characters are so vividly realized I feel like I know them, as is the setting. I think Margaret Mitchell did an astounding job creating characters and bringing them to life. I still laugh, and cry, every time I read the book.

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Where she actually wrote the novel (Although not the actual desk or typewriter, which is on display at the Atlanta library.). She used a towel to cover her work when unexpected visitors dropped in.

I did not know that Ms. Mitchell had her husband burn the first draft (there was only one copy) of the novel after her death, as well as any other projects she was working on. I didn’t know that she never intended to publish it at all, and wanted it back after she did let a publisher look at it.

A story the author wrote as a girl.

I knew she worked as a reporter for a while.

Ms. Mitchell was so short that the legs of the desk she used as a reporter had to be shortened.

What I did know:  still my favorite book. Ever.

3 thoughts on “Frankly, My Dear…

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