Confessions of a chick lit miss

Friends, psychics and stalkers will already be aware of my guilty secret. I am not what I claim to be.

Though my header proudly proclaims me to be a twenty-something, a few weeks ago I celebrated my thirtieth birthday. So, yep, technically I'm now a thirty-something lost in the world of chick lit.

Now, if I was a genuine chick lit heroine, this birthday would have been cue for a proper crisis and questioning of life. But I think I had my crisis a few years early, on the break-up of my previous relationship (now this is worthy of a chick lit novel: he got engaged within a year and is now married, and doesn't acknowledge my existence) when I took a lot of time trying to work out what would make me content. And it worked, I'm in very happy place right now, with my own steadfast hero. We're excitingly flat hunting for a new home together. Surely here the story could end?

I did declare from the start I was only reading chick lit until I reached 30. However, I don't think I can let it go just like tat, not just because I've got a back catalogue of books to write up.

The truth is I've found more of myself - to hark back to that quote I half remembered at the start of the project - than in any other book.  Handily, there's a chick lit book to refer to in every situation, no matter how random. A girl I know is off to Vegas - cite a bit of Belinda and her Divas (oops, don't think I've written that one up yet). More bizarrely, my friend was told by a tarot reader that in a year she'd be pregnant - bring on Lucy Sullivan. So, having won their own little spot in my brain, I'm going to keep them as part of my reading repertoire, just I'll read other books too.

I was careful to pick a good author to finish off this chick lit chunk of my reading, the one who ticked the most boxes for me. Can you guess who? It's not Jane Green. Or perhaps I should say, can you keep a secret? Yep, it's the lovely Marian Keyes.

More, hopefully soon...