I'll do it, by George!

I've tried—I really have tried to decolonize my imagination.  But try as I might, I just can't seem to keep the British out of my head!  It doesn't help, of course, that I watch Britcoms on PBS and Masterpiece Theatre every Sunday night, and Mystery, and Doc Martin, and BBC news is on the television right now…I write with the TV on (bad, I know) and the other day I gasped when I re-read some of my novel and found that my characters sounded BRITISH.  As much as I fuss about having to read The Phoenix and the Carpet when I was 8, I now find that MY magical talking bird sounds a lot like Nesbit's snooty bird.  Sigh…then this afternoon I went to see The King's Speech and it felt like indulging in a guilty pleasure.  All I needed was a cup of tea and a butter tart and my betrayal would have been complete! (Rosa did provide a raspberry jam thumbprint cookie, which is close enough)  Some days I wonder if I even have a choice about the things that I love; sure, I was conditioned from birth to admire all things British, but I'm no longer a child.  Is there a way to appreciate those things without ambivalence?  I guess that's the postcolonial quandary.  Anyway, the writing's going really well (nearing 18K), I accepted an exciting teaching opportunity for this spring, and I have an out-of-state interview next week.  It's snowing again, but I'm ready to write: just filled up on leftover Indian food and there's a pint of ice cream waiting in the wings…