I don’t think my writing has ever been at a better place, sincerely. Sentences string and pages are pieced every day.

Funny how I’m still feeling so introspective.

I think I’m working more on my novel now than I have during the duration of FollowMeToNYC. And I feel like the more I write, the less I have to say.

And so on, etc.

Here’s my grown up shoes standing on a few rows of books over double espresso this morning on 42nd Street.