shaking brains. eating olives. clickclickclick.

April 10, 2011 Posted by the writer

Writers love the sound of clicking. We like how inky expression feels when it spills from our instrument of choice; which we judge from qualities like weight, thickness, color and cap…

I clicked a lot today. I started clicking around seven this morning. Pieces started coming together. I shook my head forgetting I had written a few pages hidden over here and greedily gobbled a couple more I had stashed over there.


I met a Greek man in his 80’s who’s lived in Australia for 42 years. He made me a cappuccino and said, “Thanks mate.” I said “Yassou,” and he squealed “Greek?!” When I smiled and replied, “A little Italian?” He ran out from behind the counter cheering “ITALIANO!” proceeding to ask where I live, where my family is, whether or not I’m married, and if I have children or not.

I came back home thirty minutes later to a few more hours of click click click…

I went back out to eat olives with my Queenslanders and share a pitcher of Manhattan Iced Tea in Southbank (not Long Island… different ingredients… jack daniels, canadian club, american honey, southern comfort with white chocolate syrup and lemon juice… yo) seeing them off properly.

On my out to meet them, my new Greek friend waved from three blocks away yelling, “Where you going?!”

The cocktails were ridiculous. The olives were amazing, piled with sweet pistachios and walnuts.

I came home and read. I pondered. I cuddled the puppies. I re-arranged my living room. I
took a nap.

I’m writing again…

Yesterday I hung upside down a fair bit. I’m not sure if doing this shook some fresh ideas from the bottom of my brain that kept me busy all day… but I’ll probably try it again tomorrow.

… and maybe the next day.

About the writer

gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

2 Responses to shaking brains. eating olives. clickclickclick.

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    FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.
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