When I was in my twenties, I started writing mysteries. I took a class from an author I really admired. We brought in our work and had it critiqued. She said that I could not have an ‘I’ protagonist and then have scenes without that protagonist. I asked why not. She said it just wasn’t done.
Fast-forward to three or four years later when it became all the rage in mystery novels. I was kicking myself for not beleiving in me, but she was so certain that it could not be done. That did not stop me from doing it, but I stopped talking about it in class.
It’s a small thing, but it’s indicative of the way my brain thinks. I didn’t undrestand why I could not do it, and nothing she said changed my mind. When people tell me I can’t do something, I always want to know why. If the reason doesn’t make sense to me, then I ignore it.
That’s how I am in general, by the way. When I was a teenager and going to a very restrictive, sexist, Evangelical Taiwanes church (under protest. The only thing I liked was going to a fast food restaurant afterwards. It was the only time we were allowed fast food). The youth pastor was a white guy who had no cultural sensitivity and what’s worse, no capability for independent thinking.
We were talking about dating in high school, and he disclosed that he had had a wild youth. He put it aside once he became a Christian, and he espoused not having sex before marriage. Which, fine. Whatever. That’s standard for Christianity. I don’t agree with it, but it’s to be expected.
Side note: When I thought about it more, it made no sense at all to me. It’s the same act whether you do it in marriage or outside of it. It’s not as if there was something magical about that piece of paper saying you were married. I realize that it’s a philosophical matter as to whether ‘marriage’ is a different state in and of itself, so much so that it can transform sex from ‘your soul will be eternally damned in hell’ to ‘angels approve and choirs sing’.