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.
For those of you still around, all of the love in the world to you. I’ve been thinking a lot about FollowMeToNYC lately. I’ve also received a handful of messages after my last post asking how to find me these days. Continue reading
Sometimes, my favorite part of being a Writer is when I hear other ones sweep by. This is what I’ve been stuck on recently:
Yah yah bitch, back up off me You don’t know me, I’m too clean, I’m too holy, bitch I’m godly
I only go for real niggas who don’t brag ’bout what they bought me
Cause they know I got a bag, gotta fuck me up some commas
If I fuck and make you cum, you got to promise not to stress me
Don’t be blowin’ up my phone and don’t be leavin’ voice messages
And I can do you right, do you better than your exes
I told that nigga to stop it, he was talkin’ out his necklace See the difference with me, I never needed niggas, ever I’ll leave ’em where I met ’em, I ain’t trippin’ off no, ever Goons in the cut try to talk you out your necklace If you ever disrespect me, pussy, don’t be disrespectful
I said woo, I said I know, I know, I know
He heard about me, he was waitin’ on me at the door
I said woo, yeah that mink all on the floor
Used to bust the skatin’, 6 to 9, come in at 4 We got glow sticks for you ho chicks Bitch don’t act like you don’t know this I’m very antisocial, social network ain’t my motion (I don’t move like that)
I sure know emotions, niggas, bitches is disgustin’
Bananas with the Trojans, pop that pussy for a legend
I said woo, I said I know, I know, I know
I said bitch back up off me
I’ve always been entertained by the notion of being a “sell out”. Over the years, I’ve seen the term thrown around in a variety of ways, and I’ve read a variety of reactions to it.
As an Artist, I guess being a “sell out” means you make money for your Art. I can sum my reaction to this up in two words, “Get money.”
Many regular readers are aware, my lack of interest in commercial publishing is a big part of why I’ve kept a little word-ly corner here since 2009. Being unconcerned with pleasing a publisher, however, was never due to a fear of “selling out”. I guess it’s a bit more egotistical, in certain ways.
I’ve always promised myself that my creative work is written mainly for one audience, Me. I encourage this theory as a priority for any Artist to consider. Some people have said, “Well, that’s because you have a fear of rejection.” My response, not so much. I simply took a different route.
Don’t get me wrong, I love sharing my work. There are no words for the feeling when a reader reaches out to say they’ve connected with something I’ve written. These occurrences are divine, but they aren’t why I started painting with words when I was eight years old.
I’m fortunate to be the sort of word-nerd who not only enjoys the creative expression language can provide, I also like stringing and structuring sentences in whichever way necessary at a particular time.
This is how I independently support myself (and the puppies) as a professional Writer in the center of the most expensive city in the country. Maybe some published authors would say I’m a “sell out” because I don’t pay my bills with my Art. Like I said, what a foolish concept.
“Sell out” is an inane term. Hopefully one day humans can evolve beyond it.
It’s been just around three months since I’ve been outside of New York City – nearly five months since my wonderful Writer job took a dive and sent me all sorts of places from a farm upstate to the woods of north-west Connecticut.
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.