That young woman would be me quite some years ago.
As a rather poor quite young newly married couple, and having no funds to do much else, we went to the library frequently and I would check out as many books as one would be allowed to check out in one day and brought them home to read. Then return them to check out another ten books or so.
I am getting to the point. Be patient.
These choices were fiction mostly. Some became dear loved friends in a manner of speaking, that I have read and re-read even unto this day.
One day I happened upon a romance that was set in Victorian times. Not a "bodice ripper" per se but one that was intricately written (as well as could be in that particular genre) with an abundance of to-the-brink situations and crisis both personal and business that could go one of two ways and inevitably went wrong way in my young opinion!
I had no experience with this type of literature and no experience in life either. And now I will finally journey to my point.
I was an intense reader as a young woman and I still am. The particular romance I spoke of above, the one that pushed me over an edge--- soon to be told to you here, was a depiction of a meeting, the courting and inevitable misunderstandings each of the characters entertained about one another.
As intent as I was in my reading I could not stand seeing the characters always at odds when a simple solution was always glaringly simple. And all their problems would be over, would they ONLY listen to me.
Listen to me, you may well say? Why yes! I was so irritated at the way the characters reacted to one another in some of the fictional situations that I will confess to you now my friends that I re-wrote the fictional situations down on lined notebook paper and polished the scenes to my satisfaction! Sometimes there would be as many as seven to eight pieces of paper with my re-writes (!!!!) carefully folded into the books so as not to fall out I hoped, to be there for the sure to be grateful next borrowers of the novels.
I took care of the characters and their problems in the books. It seemed to be important for me to "clarify" and "fix" their situations. I took the books back (not all of my borrowed books got this treatment thank goodness. Only the ones that frustrated me the most). This little venture lasted perhaps two or three months and then I grew tired of my corrections!
I had no knowledge of how one wrote a book and I did not realize that techniques were used to create tension and drama, poor little girl that I was. But those techniques worked on me, as I was drawn in as though it were happening in the here and now. I was a perfect audience in that the novel was so well written that a reader, me, became a part of the story while reading it.
It makes me smile remembering those few ventures into learning and maturing, finding the line between truth and fiction, pretend and real. I did, and thankfully it was not an arduous journey, that growing up I had to do.
Young people have to gain experience and that part of my learning process makes me smile now.