For a while I started getting up absurdly early in the morning (horrible - I'm naturally a late riser), baking and cleaning enthusiastically. When I read Lewis Grassic Gibbon's Sunset Song in my mid-teens I entered into it with such wholehearted love that I longed to live inside it I made a huge effort to will its life of ploughing and planting and passion inside mine, as a middle-class schoolgirl in a big city. Or that you might be suited to the hard life of a crofter in the Mearns, Kincardineshire in eastern Scotland, at the turn of the 20th century. But you aren't clear about any of that yet - you really think you might turn out to be Anna Karenina or Isabel Archer. A dispassionate observer could probably let you know some of the ingredients you're going to have to work with - perhaps bookish, awkward, indolent, clever, odd-looking. When you're 14 or 15 you really don't know what you're going to be like when you grow up.
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