Lauren Baratz-Logsted (a woman whose talent and energy I so admire!) joins us this week for two guest blogs. Check back on Wednesday when her new post appears!


As I review some of the previous entries here – in particular, the ones devoted to thongs and thighs – I realize that, sadly, I am once again odd girl out. I’m 42 years old, plus I had a baby in 2000, so thongs and baring my thighs all the way up to my pantyline would only be a possibility if Demi Moore lent me her personal trainer and chef and are therefore about as relevant to my future as a codpiece or Ashton Kutcher. So my own personal demon that I need to slay has to do with height.

Or, lack thereof, I should say.

I’ve been 4’11 since the age of 10 and if there are any growth spurts left in my future, I’m thinking they’ll more likely be horizontal rather than vertical.

What this lack of any significant stature means, at least in terms of my writing career, is that my heroines, both real and anti-, are always 4’11 too.

Not long ago, on one of the Yahoogroups I participate in, someone raised the question of how writers’ characters reflect their own personal appearance. Most writers admitted that their characters had a tendency to be the same height as them, a thing I can readily understand. In my own case, the reasons my characters always share by advanced state of diminution are twofold: 1) it makes it easier for me to remember what height the character is; similarly, you’ll never find a blonde lead in one of my books, not because I have anything against blondes, but because I’ve only had black hair and red hair thus far in my life and my hairdresser has always staunchly advised against my going blonde; and 2) because it is a perspective on the world, plus the mental makeup that goes with it, that I well understand.

Like all short people, I suffer from height envy. I’ve worn high heels that hurt, eschewing any styles of clothing that might make me look like a human stump, and I’ve taken obscene pleasure when those who’ve met me, upon learning how tall (read: short) I am, invariably say, “But you don’t look that short!” Those same people invariably say, “But you don’t look that old!” and “But you don’t look Jewish!” and while I appreciate the former and don’t understand what the latter means, I’m always thrilled people don’t see me as being as short as I really am, a fact that leads me to the conclusion that: Hey! I must have a tall personality!

But oh what I wouldn’t give to be tall for just one day.

For Mother’s Day this year, my husband and five-year-old daughter thought to give me a wonderful kit called Queen For A Day. (OK, so I pointed it out to my daughter – a few times – in Borders and suggested it might make Daddy’s shopping experience a little easier.) Here’s what came in my Queen For A Day kit: 1 tiara (which my daughter immediately appropriated), 1 lavender-scented tea candle, 1 envelope bath salts, 10 decree cards stating that grateful subjects will do their chores and other favors, 1 sheet of 10 royal seal stickers, 1 “Official Declaration of Appreciation” scroll announcing everyone’s love for Queen Mom, 1 64-page book.

Now that I’ve got all that, I would also like a Tall For A Day kit, please. And here’s what I’d want to see in it:
- a shopping spree that doesn’t involve going to a petite store, instead going to stores where I can buy things like low-riders and long summer dresses without having to lop a foot off the hem
- a cohort of tall friends that make me feel like, “Yes! I’m finally one of you!”
- good posture
- a runway-style walk
- a tall person’s confidence with its implicit lack of any Napoleon Complex
- and I’ll take another “Official Declaration of Appreciation” scroll as well, please; and, oh yes, I’d really like that tiara back

And while I’m dreaming here, I’d also like to once, just once, write a book featuring a tall heroine. I can remember years ago reading the late Amanda Cross’s mystery series featuring Kate Fensler, a super-intelligent, never-ruffled woman who was always described as being “soignée,” an adjective meaning, according to my Tenth Webster’s, “well-groomed,” “sleek,” “elegantly maintained or designed.” Never mind any heroine, I just realized something: I want to be that adjective.

Oh, well, I sigh, as I sit here in my work chair, the tips of my toes barely touching the ground, maybe in another life.
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Lauren Baratz-Logsted is the author of The Thin Pink Line and Crossing the Line. Her third novel, A Little Change of Face, is on shelves now. Her essay, “If Jane Austen Were Writing Today,” is collected in Flirting with Pride and Prejudice: Fresh Perspectives on the Original Chick-Lit Masterpiece, edited by Jennifer Crusie and due out from Benbella Books on September 1.