As you all know, I’m a crazy fan of Jane Austen. I’ve read all her books, do the annual Jane Austen movie marathon, I even have her figurine standing right above where I write (okay, that sounds a little creepy).
So when my uncle and I were chatting on the phone the other day about my dream to become an author, he said, “Well it makes sense considering who your relative is.”
This is where I sit and rack my memory to recall which relative he’s talking about. (Note: my uncle is a historian and knows everything about our family tree).
“You know,” he prompts, “Jane Austen.”
I laugh. (Because that is funny)
“No,” he says. “I’m serious. She’s your 14th cousin.”
And then it all makes sense. Now my dad’s side is Jewish. But my mom’s side is English. And her family name was Austen.
Sure, 14th cousin is FAR off and I definitely don’t live in England, but still. It’s pretty cool.
And maybe he’s right. Maybe there is a little bit of her writing spirit passed down to me over the years.
I sense a book idea here…