Reading is a form of procrastination. Here’s how I’ve been procrastinating lately:
Tuesday Nights in 1980 by Molly Prentiss. This was a recommendation from an accomplished writer friend of mine who lives in NYC but gets to Paris from time to time. The author is a colleague or friend or something of hers. Doesn’t matter. This book is excellent - modern and highly visual - especially if you appreciate the art world. It leaves a lasting impression, which is after all, the job of a really good book.
Fractals by William Bradley. These are personal essays by a cool literati type who also happens to be a Hodgkins Lymphoma survivor. I laughed, and I cried. Mostly, I laughed.
2 A.M. at The Cat’s Pajamas by Marie-Helene Bertino. Set in Philadelphia, this is the story of an independent young girl who finds her way to an iconic jazz club. Fresh and original, Philly is personified with crisp imagery and gritty realism. The Bestie found this gem for me. But of course.
Currently in my Kindle Queue: Cathedral by Raymond Carver and A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. I also have several collections of classic American short stories that I work my way through in doctor’s offices and on long Metro rides. Nothing mind-blowing, but you know, Poe and Hawthorne and O. Henry and jawn like that.
Anyways. I do write sometimes, too. I completed This is Not an Exit, a short story slated for my Guns of the Borough collection. It’s out there awaiting rejections before I’ll edit the hell out of it and then let it marinate. The rejections somehow give me that necessary kick in the ass to say, “Right, that was a piece of shit and I can make it better.”
And oh! There’s my novel. That thing is not dead, people. In fact, I recently revised my elevator pitch, and guess what? It gets better every fucking time. Now if I could write the darn thing. That will happen.
In the mean time, well, there’s Paris.
|The Eiffel Tower|
|Flowers at the Versailles Market|
|The Louvre Paris|
|Sacre Coeur Paris|