I wrote a post but it didn’t work. Instead, snippets of story ideas floated around my head and characters whispered behind my back. So I give in. I’m going to sit at the table with my characters and listen to what they have to say.
See you next week!
I was once stuck at a friend’s business function at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Since we were limited to one small room and boring small talk, in desperation, she and I began to read every single card in the few glass cases available to us.
If there are a zillion writers, I’m sure there are a zillion answers to the question. I write because I get to play with the Universe. Create a universe. And it’s based on things I’ve experienced and seen and read and watched in other people. Because as far as I write against the grain, there are still inherent moments that come from the place of me.
Greenwich Village, that is. Over the week, I had to be in the East Village one day and the West Village on another. Not a hardship! I love the energy pulsing through those areas.
On the East side, two of my favorite bookstores:
And on the West side, a rubber stamp store (yes, I have a collection, although it’s been a while since I used them):
And a good place to eat at 46 Greenwich Ave.:
The day I took the pics of the West Side, it was freezing out. But the sharp slap of cold across my face made this place even more of a comfort. For the record, they sell a fantastic root beer.
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