Discussion → How do you write New York--
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--when so many have written before you?
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There are 8 million stories in this city . . . I must have a few in my head. Every thread of an incident, or group of incidents, is unique. Walk down 7th, you see racks on end of suits that appear all the same as they are pushed past you. But if you look closely, these are all individual pieces, and each one will hopefully find its own wearer.
So, I weave my unique thread, with my unique fingerprints, and though the story may appear the same as many others from an outline or summary, I have my own needle pen, my own hand and mind, and it will never, could never, be the same as another.
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I figure you just ignore those eight million stories. New York is an exciting backdrop, but if there's no story it doesn't matter. And if there is a story then it doesn't matter if its in NYC or Peyton Place (in my opinion). . .
It's kind of like what happens to me when I go to the library or the bookstore. There are obviously far, far too many books in print. It doesn't matter.
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Like it's been said: there are no new plots, just different ways of looking at them, and that goes for places too. Anything or anywhere that peaks your interest can turn into a story.
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I write New York as if "please"--as if "please let me be there" as if "please let me go back--this was a terrible mistake"--I am stuck in New Mexico--I watch 30 Rock, Sex in the City just for the views--I can't believe I left--I write New York as longing-- I can't bear it here. Bulls and cows and camels and emus and Horses. And horse shit. The stench in the morning. The terrible bluebirds who steal the sparrows' food by killing them.--the horrific road runners, "State Bird of New Mexico"--they fear me not--yo soy nada para los pajaros--they walk right up to me and show me their prey--dead lizards--dead mice--necks broken--blood coagulated into black--they reflect this terribly sad land. The Hispanics are really Jews. They escaped the massacre in Spain 1492. They do not possess the gaiety of the Latins. They are Jews, los perdidos. They say to me, "Es tan raro. Mi abuela a ella hay muchas cosas como en su casa"--Si. Exactamente. Yo se. Todos me dicen eso"--they see the menora and freak. They eat menudo from the kosher plates. Les gustan la luz de la menora pero nadia sabe porque hay una cosa con un nombre como "menora. es chistoso. no es. tengo que salir."--Please: let me wake up and be in the Chelsea Market drinking a triple macchiato in that coffee place on the way to the toilet with the endless line and the courage it takes to stay in that stench. All I do is: sit in my house. And type. New York.
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god, bobbi--there's a story there. i think you just told it--
bad as it is for you, imagine this nyer in ohio--not seen the sun in 2 months, here in the armpit of the nation.
i miss chelsea. i miss my bronx. i miss everything. missing, it seems, is who i am.
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i know i don't really belong in this group, being a berliner and all, but i lost my virginity in NYC - and with a writer at that - does that count?
oops, did i actually say this out loud? i suppose it's too late. truth must be told.
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Gary,
Perhaps we should start a group for those who miss New York and imagine it in order to maintain sanity. It seems to get clearer the farther away one is....do you plan to go back?
Finnegan, do you plan to go back?
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Bobbi, in case you revisit this thread soon, what a world you wrote in your aside.
Group Description
as setting, as character, as host, as witness--make it new.
as exiled from?
you name it.
also a good place to post notices to fellow nyc writers and out of towners about upcoming readings, bookstore appearances, book signings, and whatnot.
This is a public group.
Anyone can see it and join.