sexta-feira, 22 de julho de 2011

writing and wandering around

"I write for four hours straight, until hunger forces me out in search for food. I wander dazedly into the deli, the characters still in my head, yapping away as I buy a can of soup, heat it up, and place it next to my typewriter so I can eat and work. I beetle on for quite a while, and when I finally feel finished for the day, I decide to visit my favorite street.
It's a tiny, brick-paved path called Commerce Street - one of those rare places in the West Village that you can never find unless you're actually looking for it. You have to sneak up on it by using certain landmarks: the junk store on Hudson Street. The sex shop on Barrow. Somewhere near the pet store is a small gate. And there is it, just on the other side.
I stroll slowly down the sidewalk, wanting to memorize each detail. The tiny, charming old houses, the cherry trees, the little neighborhood bar where, I imagine, all the patrons know one another. I take several turns up and down the street, pausing in front of each house, picturing how it would feel to live there. As I gaze up at the tiny windows on the top floor of a red-brick carriage house, it dawns on me that I've changed. I used to worry that my dream of becoming a writer was just that - a dream. I had no idea how to do it, where to begin and how to continue. But lately, I'm beginning to feel that I am a writer. This is me. Writing and wandering the Village in my scrubs."



2 comentários:

  1. acho que eu já te disse isso, mas você é muito Carrie Bradshaw

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