the world and writing of a nyc writer

i have a few pseudonyms and millions of stories. thank you for stopping by.

Author: the writer (page 1 of 236)

what you chase

Since cracking off this web-ville in 2009, I’ve seen (and written about) a lot going down.

I’ve also had the privilege to watch a collection of my fellow wordsmiths get the bindings they’ve been chasing, with their name printed across, scattered around bookshelves all over the place.

That, to me, is very special. Self-publishing gave me the same tingles as I observed strangers plucking up my pages to indulge in my poetry. It meant a lot to me, as a Writer and as a human creature in general.

However, regular readers know – I don’t chase agents or publishers. Maybe I should? I’ve never had it in me. I did, however, chase a Writer’s life. I knew there was nothing else I could settle for doing. I once briefly considered teaching writing, during my very young years when I was running waterfalls of possibilities through my mind figuring out how to survive on Earth – I decided against it. Number one I don’t think the best writing is taught, number two – I’m not a teacher like that.

Professionally, my writing has brought me everywhere from foreign government to Wall Street. And I’ve never had to worry about anyone saying, “No thanks, we don’t like what you say, we’ll pass…”

Instead, I have a lovely global group who pays for my apartment in midtown Manhattan as long as I show up a few hours a day and write.

Notably, I’m not a journalist. Shout out newspaper and magazine people, again – not my thing.

Considering I spend so much time dating men that don’t deserve my time, sometimes I lose sight of what I have achieved as a Writer – which is fucking incredible, actually.

As I continue to wash off the last one, I’m realigning myself for my, personal next chase – Sperlonga.

No matter how much he hurt me, ever since he took me to Italia – I haven’t been the same since. I appreciate that, at least.

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out and about. autumn.

img_7627With Halloween a week away, I spent the weekend watching scary movies in the theatre; wearing orange articles of clothing; and eating caramel apples. There was also dancing, a lot of food – and three of my favorite people.

Regardless of saying, “I’m ok,” the boys know something is up. There aren’t very many things in my life that I have taken as badly as I took the luthier experience. That means a lot of overtime from my friends and lap time with the puppies.

With today being Monday, I am planning a relaxed week… that’s my mantra. Work is still insane, it’s at the really crazy middle bit and should cool out in another two weeks. Listening to Italian radio and writing reports seems to have been keeping me at a somewhat reasonable level of routine.

I liked my routine of waking up with him better. One day I’ll get over it.

As a side note, my Italian is really getting better. I can understand a lot more. I still have two friends around who are fluent, which I find tremendously helpful. One of them texts me Italian all day, the other is helping me with pronunciations.

I’m ready for the winter, even though I hate the cold weather. I’m hoping to come out of the hibernation with a new mood. Alas, while I’m tired of being dreary – you can’t really change who you are.

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and then… i went ice skating…

There has been summer weather in New York City all week. And while I realize the need to grieve our environment – it’s helped my mood.

Oddly enough… last night… for the first time, ever:

I went ice skating in Rockefeller Center. One of my friends came through to work on cheering me up.

Sometimes, I can be very lucky.

My friend came and picked me up last night around seven. I drank Hennessy at a bar called Lily, because the rooftop deck Henry is closed for the season.

Lily and Henry in the same hotel? My babies… and I was with a dog person too.

So that’s how it started… with Hennessy up and double whiskeys on the rocks.

Next thing, I’m on skates – probably for the fourth time in the 38 years that I’ve been roaming earth.

It. Was. SO. F*CKIG FuUN.

Probably one of my favorite moments. Like, when I get dementia and can’t remember shit… I’ll remember that.

I’m still working on forgetting the rest.

We stood and stretched in my living room the next day, after I decided not to fuck. Because sometimes I’m like that. I love men and realize they always think it’s about them…

It’s not.


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staying home. shutting down.

Trauma is a strange beast. No matter how much you pat her in your lap to keep her calm, you know sooner or img_7433later, with one quick neck whip – she bites you, again.

Everyone on Earth experiences trauma to a certain degree. I feel like anyone who disagrees with that might be still in some type of denial period.

Matters of the heart are among my top traumatizing periods. Like now, for example.

Yesterday was a “no deal with world” day. One of my favorite things about being a Writer is that I can work from anywhere, with very little number of resources required. So yesterday, I worked from home. And then I went to sleep, at 5.30.

I slept until 6.30 this morning to the dismay of one of my Brooklyn people who called six times last night and then again this morning.

Sometimes people get nervous when I disappear. Usually they’re wondering what country I’m going to phone them from, eventually. I think my friend last night just wanted to make sure I’m still alive.

It’s been a bit like that lately.

On a side note, I’m kicking around 60,000 words of a particular project that I may like enough to make novel one. After that I’ll switch gears back to sorting poetry. But after three poetry books and a movie, novel seems to make the most sense at this point.

At least today I’m leaving the apartment. Probably because it’s raining, there’s something to that I can handle. The grey.

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banter. boyfriends. blocking.

So, I started this webpage as a wife of nine years and have spun more boys through the past five than I can img_7412count. It’s usually terribly boring, and, until recently – I didn’t take any of it to heart, really.

However, there have been one or two times when a man in my life finds out about FollowMeToNYC. This is fine and everything, but not after we stop talking.

If I know someone personally, and we stop talking, and the person continues to come around here to see what’s popping – I classify them as a creep.

Go away. Continue reading

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