the world and writing of a nyc writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Tag: happiness (page 4 of 29)

italy, marriage and me

Out of all the jokes I crack about being a shit girlfriend but an amazing wife, there’s certainly some truth to it.

Early in my writing career, I had a very brilliant mentor – a lovely Australian man around 70 years old back then. When he introduced me to people, he would say “Meet Gretchen, she’s hard and fast.” Continue reading

here i go (again)

Namaste blog tribe

IMG_3955So I’m leaving for Australia via Tahiti in about seven hours. I’m not packed. I woke up in tears. I don’t want to go, but I do want to go.

I have to go. Continue reading

book. stories. tahiti.

Namaste blog tribe

A month from today, I leave for Tahiti. I’m going to Tahiti, alone, to hide out for a few days and squat in a water hut.

It’s quite a grown-up moment, actually. When I started this webpage I didn’t know how I was going to write professionally in Manhattan, now I’m jet-setting to Tahiti, alone, to play with the words I’ve been spooling for the past four years.

IMG_2405The number of stories and general written work I have is baffling. I’m excited to see the first full-length novel I bring out with it. Lately I’m been spreading pages around the floors of my east midtown tower in the sky, shuffling them around and then brining them together.

My approach to “making it” was to be paid full time to do nothing but spill ink in a job that didn’t involve journalism. And naturally, I had to do this completely independently in one of the most expensive neighborhoods on earth because I’ve always supported the “go hard or go home” mentality.

I don’t believe it’s possible to be better than anyone. All you can do is weigh you up against you. I never felt I had anything to prove, but I’ve always wanted to prove things to myself.

Flying to a south Pacific paradise with a few outfits, a lot of books and a photograph of my favorite person it exactly what I need.

28 days. Tick tock tick…

cause your sex takes me to paradise

I’ve been working two full-time jobs lately. One writing, one falling in love. And as much joy that I take in being a professional Writer… the second job is why I’ve been so scarce.

I actually took the D train to Brooklyn for the first time the this week. Anthony and I decided this is a more practical choice from time to time opposed to an $80 return cab fare. Although, as my boyfriend puts it, “40 bucks each way to get us to each other in twenty minutes is nothing.” The subway is an hour.

IMG_2867I’ve never had an official boyfriend. It’s really fun. He always asks, “Do you need money?” when another car adventure comes; he brings me flowers every time it’s his turn to visit Manhattan; I wear his clothes everywhere; he’s a gentleman, always.

If I don’t marry this man, I’ll be shocked. Certainly it wouldn’t be the first shock I’ve endured – but it would definitely be one of the greatest.

I’ve never looked in anyone’s eyes and actually witnessed my future before. The way he speaks to me, looks at me and silently dwells around me is the greatest level of divinity I’ve experienced. It’s like ever single element in my life came together.

We talk about my writing a lot. He’s always encouraging me to submit something IMG_2903somewhere and I’m always contesting that no great Writer ever gets known before we croak. I told him how proud I was of myself when I got my first business card to officially say Writer on it and he concurred.

I’ll post some fresh creative work soon. It’s been spilling in inky rivers for three weeks now. Something about the perfection in the balance of finding who you’ll be with forever has returned to me…

And it has been a really, really fucking long time.

I’ll be bouncing around Anthony’s apartment later, wearing one of his garments, bopping to this:

“Your sex takes me to paradise…”

Finally.

open a book. turn the page.

For the past 11 months, my notebooks have been in a suitcase locked away. Not the ones that are in my handbag filled with blue ink, of course. But my history.

I took such an emotional and psychological beating over a three year period, that I shut off one of the most important parts of me. Sure there’s a lot of my words floating around here on this site, but they aren’t inky.

Ink is and will always be what flows through my veins. My blood line. For awhile my life really dried up, for reasons too vast to phrase.

Considering I was married when I was 25 until close to 35, my adult life was really fueled byIMG_2831 a relationship. My ex-husband never understood how he impacted my word art. He never gave a shit, to be frank, which is just another reason I left him 10,000 miles behind me.

The collection of tepid lovers I’ve acquired over the past few sets of months may have inspired a poem or story, nothing earth shattering. Certainly nothing soul shaking.

Then, about three weeks ago, I met someone who completely changed my life. I don’t stop thinking about him. I tap my fingers and bop my toes thinking of where we’ll go next; what flowers I’ll bring him; the sound of his voice or spark of his touch.

And finally, this morning, I opened my suitcase of notebooks. First, I cried. Not a lot, just a little. Then I called Anthony to tell him what he inspired of my morning.

I can’t even begin to get into what’s in these books. Aside from my literal life from about 2001 forward, the poetry and stories and ideas are some of my personal favorites. I simply flipped a few pages here and there. I know how my weekend will be spent.

Praises to all things divine for finally turning my page. It’s been years. I couldn’t be more grateful.

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