Minna is sick and tired of “toning it down.” She’s losing her voice, her essence, her vitality, from doing so. Yet another superficial lover has left her and with him he took a potential rehearsal space that Minna just might feel more passion for than the man himself. In the first novella, Minna Needs Rehearsal Space, we meet Minna, a composer in her forties. In my book So Much for That Winter I introduce two middle-aged women struggling with visibility. Perhaps he always chewed his toast that slowly, it’s possible, she just hadn’t been around to notice it, but there it was: slow chewing, and she had all the time in the world to witness it. No more cab rides to the center of power, just a briefcase, her 46th birthday coming up, and then the husband who would chew his toast very slowly in the morning. So she let go of her job and found herself a lower profile one. It was too late to have children but never too late to rediscover themselves as a couple, and to be frank she was exhausted from all the Prime Ministerial counseling. Shrubbery) had suggested that she slow down. When she reached her mid-forties her husband (Mr. ![]() She was someone, and therefore had to work around the clock and it was great fun, it was super interesting, it was high profile, and it was very exhausting. For over twenty years her career had escalated, she had become a star attorney, and there was not a week where she didn’t have to meet with the people in 10 Downing Street. The woman explained to me that she had been a very successful lawyer. She looked at me as if I was mirroring something, and I was: We were both two middle-aged women at a reception without men (not counting the husband in the shrubbery) and it called for some narrative. But I’m a writer, I said, I’m used to traveling on my own. ![]() I also told her that it was a bit strange to be with nobody amid scenery that so much called for somebody. She pointed at a small man with a cell phone behind some shrubbery in the park: My husband, she said, and who are you with? Isn’t it a breathtaking view? I nodded, and we shook hands and introduced ourselves. Then suddenly a woman appeared in front of me. I had no companion to the reception, knew nobody there, and was circling with a glass of champagne trying to make it look as if I was waiting for someone who had just briefly stepped out of the picture. It was at a reception at a castle that had a beautiful park and a regal view of the Welsh landscape. A year ago at a literary festival in Wales, I met a woman.
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