Everywhere I go I scribble down fragments to tie together parts of Novel. It’s an odd process. Other works I’ve written in consecutive order – start to finish. Novel has a life of its own. I’m antsy to run to the woods with my fragments and sew them into storyline.
I was flipping through old stories in a this stays / this goes way earlier when I came across one that made my mouth water and smile at New York City. Considering that I’ve mainly eaten exclusively steamed green things all week, reading about peppery Croatian olive oil left me longing.
Part of the reason New York City is one of my favorites is because I don’t have to go anywhere to feel like I’m on some type of international holiday. I can literally order-in from over 500 restaurants – that’s a lot of different cuisines. If I stand on any particular corner or take a subway ride, I’ll be able to listen at least three languages. There are more styles, shapes and sorts of humans here than I’ve seen in most places.
When I lived in Australia, I referred to New York City as a country within a country. I was on the phone with one of my Australian sisters last week, and she told me that after some of her family recently traveled to these parts and back, the feedback she received was, “There’s just something about it…”
I couldn’t agree more. That said, I need to pile up these pieces I’ve been penning in this town and take them home to build story with.
Please Lord, bring on my holiday.