Photo by quinn.anya 
You know what happens. You’re reading a story and a character who doesn’t know your language says something in it. And you cringe, because the word is correct but the nuance is wrong.
I owe a short story for an anthology so I’m leaving you this week with a touch of the season as I buckle down with pen and keyboard. Happy writing to all who write!
It had been too long since I walked in the woods so I grabbed a friend and we headed to something easy and quiet. Aside from the polite hellos of other hikers (and two on horses), there was a feeling of serenity. May we all have that in our lives.
Their website: https://parks.ny.gov/parks/59/details.aspx
Who says New York City doesn’t have some country in the mix? I attended the annual Queens Country Fair yesterday and had a blast. Although I really didn’t expect to see chickens (or goats or cows or rabbits).
Author Arielle Prose, a member of The Penheads and published in two anthologies, checks in:
I had the good fortune to be paid a ten-day visit from French relatives, my first cousin and her husband. My cousin and I knew each other in France when we were little, before my family emigrated to the United States. We both share a few memories from that time, and from when I visited her when we were adults with our own families. That was twenty-three years ago, so there was a lot of catching up to do.
I say good fortune not only because we got to renew our ties to each other, but also because, as a writer always on the lookout for new material, it afforded me the opportunity to use the experience for a new story or two.
Communicating with each other in broken French on my part and broken English on theirs was a challenge at first (good thing for translator apps), but with each passing day we became more and more fluent in each other’s language. It was amazing to me to recall French words and phrases I once owned but had forgotten. It was as if a part of my personality had long been dormant and was now waking up again.
Throughout their stay, I was doing everything to make their visit memorable: preparing meals, planning sightseeing trips, or just relaxing at home, conversing and reminiscing. But at the back of my mind, the part that lies in wait for a story inspiration, writing possibilities were humming. What would their visit mean in the overall scheme of things? Would I write about our interactions? How we sized each other up, or quirks of our personalities? What we mean to each other, or the kind of bond we formed?
In the meantime, I should write a detailed journal of the visit, so I can draw on it when the time comes that I have a story, a message I want to relate.
My takeaway from my guests’ visit, a day after their departure, is that it feels good to dig into one’s roots, one’s past, and bring it present again, especially from old friends and relatives. But a visit to your old school, old neighborhood, or simply looking at old photographs, can also do the trick.
You can read Arielle’s stories in Hunger: Stories of Desire, Discovery, and Dissatisfaction, and Smoke: Tales Between Dark and Light.
That is all.
J. M. Levinton
World Trade Center survivor
Ground Zero volunteer
Today is Labor Day in the U.S., a holiday that celebrates workers.
Happy Holiday!
This weekend I drove to Flemington, NJ to visit Northlandz, listed as the world’s largest model railroad.
One tip: take walking shoes. You’ll be doing a lot of it following the path round and round inside the building. It’s deceptively large and the level of detail is breathtaking.
Years ago, my parents drove through a neighborhood on Long Island where lush, green lawns adorned the front of every house. Each lawn had one or two azalea bushes in bright fuchsia.
As we drove past manicured lawn after manicured lawn with that splash of fuchsia dotting a spot, I began to think of the Stepford Wives. My parents shook their heads at me and said they probably all used the same lawn service. A friend went one further and said the plants were probably best for the area given the weather conditions.
But my mind’s eye never forgot those almost-identical patches of land, one after the other. And my novel used that as a perfect spot for vampires to live, hidden inside that sameness.
I drove to Long Island a few days ago to see if that still existed.
“No,” said my friend. “Azaleas bloom in the spring.”
Oh.
So I drove around neighborhoods and discovered that the flower of choice right now seemed to be black-eyed Susans. I called my friend from the car. “Why?”
“It’s drought tolerant.”
“I don’t think we’re in a drought.”
“We’re not, but drought-tolerant plants need less water so it’s better for the water bill. They last from summer to early fall,” she added.
Ah.
I’ll be making more trips as the season turns to fall. World building can be a tricky business.
I thought I found a new book to read today. It sounded great, was written by an author with a solid track record (even though I hadn’t heard of him before—there are so many hours in the day, forgive me), and the book got good reviews overall.
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