I always claim that I majored in history because I couldn't major in everything. This is a lie. Well, a little lie. I appreciate that history has let me ramble through any number of academic curiosities from eighteenth-century cartoons to thirteenth-century Irish dress codes and modern Minnesota politics. Historians proved much friendlier to my "serendipity works" mindset than did Chemists.
But in truth I became a historian the day I fell for stories. I do history because, at the very heart of the matter, I love nothing in the world more than stories - reading them, hearing them, telling them - always have, always will. And in the course of falling for stories as a little kid, I heard the stories of a great many intrepid girls. But among the intrepid-est of intrepid young ladies was Nancy - with her blue roadster and cunning detection, Nancy Drew seemed, to eight-year-old me, the height of cool. And while, in a more grown-up mindset, I recognize that I'd rather not be clubbed or chloroformed while in pursuit of my detecting, I still hope to channel the famed girl detective in my own work- being a girl (things) detective.
Hence the blog
I'll try to let it reconnect me to what I love - the stories of my dissertation. I'll spin tales of what I read and see and uncover as I continue to dissertate furiously onward.
So let's keep the blue roadster idling at the curb -- I could be off on the trail of a menacing black sedan (of the historical variety) at any moment. That's just how we intrepid girl historians roll.
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