the world and words of a writer

gretchen is a writer floating between australia and manhattan

Tag: inspiration (page 6 of 8)

keep them guessing. not a brand.

I’m not a brand. Shout out to anyone who is.

I, am not.

I never want to be categorized as anything based on what I’m doing in any given moment. There are two things I’d own up to – being spiritual and being a Writer. But I’m not trying to create a “spiritual writer” brand by any means.

Part of the reason I love writing edgy shit that makes people uncomfortable is because I’m so calm on the surface. I’m also a wide-eyed romantic, which is why I also write love poems. Sometimes, in French.

I’m a paradox. Certainly not a brand. I’m not trying to be replicated. I certainly don’t want anyone to follow me. But I keep a tight crew. And you can be down… just be down. Don’t follow anyone.

I had a complicated morning. Later on I’ll write some dirty fiction based on fragments of the experience.

We can taste spring here in Manhattan today, it’s going to be 20 degrees C, around 72F. I’m about to get ready to go read the Wall Street Journal and observe the concept of money moving on Earth. Then I’ll write about it.

I have a really interesting job for a beautiful company, it’s a blessing – really.

I hope you are all well. I promise my next book is really coming soon. It’s gritty and complicated, like me.

Also, have you heard you heard Uncle Luke yet?

“My lifestyle should be banned in the U.S.A.”

close call

Happy Saturday blog tribe. I’m happy to report, I didn’t actually dump my boyfriend. I feel like I was temporarily thrust into one of those icky dating things where people act like dickbags but then have to wash it out of their hair and deal with their feelings.

IMG_1667So yesterday I dealt with my feelings. I’ll probably see my boyfriend later on. Continue reading

transport delivery

Transport Delivery

“Thanks for not having sex with me.”

There’s nothing quite like a 27 year old lover scorned. We started sleeping together when he was 24. I ended it recently for someone who is 52 and speaks French. Someone who appreciates shoes, smells like tangerines and tastes like vanilla.

Certain things are worth the sacrifice.

I’m on the corner of 44th Street and 3rd Avenue at 8 in the morning, when midtown is just as hopping as the meat packing district at 4am. Every creed and color pours up and down avenues, in and out of transport hubs. There’s so many of us, it’s like no one even notices each other.

“You’re welcome.”

We kiss on the cheek in the amicable style we’re each trying to adjust to. This is what it means to make friends with someone you used to fuck. I’m 37 years old, I haven’t done this to date. I’m still uncertain that I’m going to start now.

There’s something beautiful to me about standing in the center of Manhattan wearing sweatpants I slept in with messy bed hair. You never know where life will take you.

The cold February prick of winter stings my cheeks as I turn to walk home. I try to be a good host and always escort guests to their destination. That’s part of why I love living in my neighborhood, there’s 24-hour transportation that can literally get you anywhere in the world. That’s how I ended up living in Australia for ten years.

I originally left New York City for love and I came back because of heartbreak. Both times I was saved, for different reasons. There was at least one solid lesson that came of it all, anyways; your heart only breaks once.

éveil internationale

I’ve been writing in French lately…

éveil internationale

et ses paroles sont devenues
mon pinceau. mon inspiration.
mon amour.
soudain,
je pensais en français…
pinot noir. creme brule.
baisers à Manhattan en –
rêvant de l’Australie.
et mon monde
élargi. couleurs
que tout a commencé
quand j’ai regardé dans les yeux.

international awakening

and his words became
my paintbrush. my inspiration.
my love.
suddenly
i was thinking in french…
pinot noir. creme brule.
kissing in manhattan –
dreaming of australia.
and my world
expanded. colors
that all started
when i looked in his eyes.

oh lord. who else soundin like this.

Namaste blog tribe

The book is bouncing and soaring around. Over the past two months, I’ve really visited each character and their complexities. I’m starting to add subtle details and motivations. And pages fill, paragraphs get slashed – and I’m creating something I’m really proud of.

In other news – we had an ill snowstorm last weekend, the second largest in Manhattan history, so I was told. We dove in snowbanks… I carried designer shoes in my Mulberry bag, slipping into open-toe stilettos during Sunday brunch at The Waldorf.

The dreaded January detox went pear-shaped this year, so it’s become the terrible February cleanse. No caffeine, no alcohol… and a very small amount of laughing and smiles allowed. I’ve been mad busy at work and frankly a Friday vodka is exactly what I need to look forward to trying to process 30 reports a day.

Work will be slower next month… that means more novel finishing time. And more exercise time. The gym is my second best friend lately, after the puppies.

Needless to say, I’m mainly trying to stay occupied and not lose my mind in the ugh of winter’s freezingness. I’ve already booked three tropical holidays for the year… and counting.

I still make time for other important things – cooking from scratch, going dancing, long walks around the city… I’m betting on these things to be amongst my saving graces during the terrible February cleanse.

Mainly, I’m excited to finish book. Then it’s time to plan my path back to Australia.

“Oh Lord. Who else soundin like this?”

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