the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Tag: thinking (page 8 of 48)

water dancing

IMG_3798I danced along the east river this morning, like I do most days. Today was a little different though, it was a unique celebration. Continue reading

when brooklyn eats you

Brooklyn ate me last weekend. Ever since I made up with my boyfriend, I’ve been spending way too much time there.IMG_3550

Don’t get me wrong, Cony Island all day. But I built my life in midtown. I move so much, that it’s important I make use of where I am while I’m there; which just so happens to be upstairs from a 24-hour wonderland.

I’m boycotting Brooklyn for a hot second. It’s just about summer here in New York City,¬†which is the best time of year in one of the best places on Earth. I watched the sunrise this morning before IMG_3676dancing on the river’s edge. I wandered through my local farmer’s market and smiled at all of the vendors I see every Wednesday. I sat in front of the north facing glass wall of my apartment with the sun on my face and words spilling from my fingers. 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…

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.

under the surface

My new French Painter friend sells his work. Sometimes he gets up me about selling mine.

“This is fantasteeec, you should sell theees.”

I feel like money puts pressure on things, to me. While I live in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the world, and make a lot more money than I actually need… it’s pressure. Nothing I can’t address with a good gym romp, some meditation, the puppies and well, writing – but, alas, it’s still there.

IMG_1634I never want “I need to get paid for this” to cross my mind when I’m writing creatively. I have a lot of respect for people who get way more money than me spinning words, I feel like a lot of those people might relate with me about this is some ways.

While I’m sure it is satisfying to have fans give you money to be down with your art, currency exchange has become such a hideous aspect of Earth that I really try to avoid it in any way possible.

Basically, money ruins everything.

In another news, as I write this – some creepy guy in the highrise across 2nd Avenue from me is directly facing my way in an oddly lit room. I’m going to go write a story about him.

Truth be told, I’d really rather be sleeping at half to one am on a Sunday. I guess that wasn’t in the cards tonight.

Also, I leave for vacation this coming Saturday and I cannot bloody wait.


Matalan
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