Being a New Yorker (if only for a summer) makes me want to be a writer.
All the requirements for the profession are met by my apartment:
1. Ample view of the main drag, so much people-watching can be accomplished
2. LOTS of coffee
3. A cute little laptop
4. A fabulous wardrobe of clothes
5. A fabulous, perky girl with a zest for life....
Maybe I'm gearing my writing persona more towards Carrie Bradshaw via sex in the city.
Okay, for those of you who are fans of the Algonquin round table - how about a big pink fuzzy bathrobe, slippers to match and horn rimmed specs? Get rid of the lap top and trade it in for an old typwriter - not the electric kind, but just you, the keys, ink and the paper. Stay up late smoozing with fellow artists, drinking gin and smoking 50 cigarettes, get home and write until the wee hours of the morning. Although you'd have to pray that you'd live alone because the incessant TAP TAP TAP would drive any roommate mad.
So I guess...I'll settled for a mixture of both. Finding the perfect window in my apartment, watching as life goes by, and occasionally...joining it.
1 comment:
You join life more than just occasionally--you're usually in the thick of it!
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