His New World II

We found the apartment and when I opened the door I wasn't expecting a twenty stair climb with all of our luggage and a toddler.  By the time we reached the top of the stairs I was sick from the heat and humidity and there was no relief offered when I opened the door.  The apartment was beautiful and large but it was also hot and stuffy.  We cracked open all of the windows and collectively prayed for a breeze to pass through the windows...no such luck.  I peeled myself off of the bed and offered to buy pizza just to escape the heat trap.

Montreal is beautiful and I almost forgot just how much...even from the back seat of a civic.  We still had a few days before he would be given access to his dorm room and in the mean time we would take in the city and get everything he needed to be comfortable in his new home.  He has no idea how anxious and excited I am for him.  I always wanted this opportunity; to live in a dorm and experience university the way I had seen on television while growing up.  Life's circumstances stepped in and tore my family apart and at sixteen years old I wasn't even sure if I would make it past high school let alone university.  My parents would have supported it and even funded it if they had the finances but I guess I had to take a detour...which by the way lead to me having my beautiful son...funny how life works.  And here I was giving him everything he could possibly need to live his dream...which just so happens to have many of the components of one of my own.

His New World

The flight was fast and easy once we actually left the ground, and then begins the battle of waiting for my luggage.  I get anxious and antsy at times when I have no other option but to wait, I hate it but it's just a character flaw I haven't been able to adjust.  I could see my luggage and attempted to grab it without pushing too many people over, it becomes an unnecessary crowd.  I sent him a text to pick me up at the doors and held back my tears as I walked out to meet everyone.  

I found a beautiful apartment on Airbnb for the four of us.  I haven't been to Montreal since Leann and I drove across the country and then went to NYC for a few days.  I am so proud of him for leaving everything he has ever known to come to a city that is mainly french speaking and no longer just a days drive away.  He loves football and now he has the opportunity to play at the highest level to date.  He placed my luggage in the trunk and I hugged him until cars started to honk their horns then I crawled into the back seat next to my daughter and snuggled up to her.  Karen was riding shot gun and I was never so happy to see her face; she is an honorary grandmother to both of my children and come hell or high water she is there for them for every event, every holiday and every day she is free.  

We pulled out into traffic and I felt sick sitting in the back seat while he whipped through traffic at a fast pace and I was legitimately terrified for my son having to drive here after leaving small town Saskatchewan. 

A Writer in the Village XI

We sat on the tarmac for over an hour in line waiting to take off and every minute felt longer than the last.  I was a mere one hour flight from my children and best friend and I just wanted to see them.  I hadn't turned my phone off yet, the pilot said it would be another twenty minutes so I texted Dan.  I wanted to call and tell him everything but I couldn't wait any longer so I began my series of texts, one more anxious and exciting than the last and I love the build up leading to the reveal.  I never expected anything but complete happiness and support from my husband...I guess I'm spoiled that way but this is who we are.  I would gladly kiss him and send him to play music all over the world if he was given the opportunity and in return he gives me the same.

I turned my phone to airplane mode and started a conversation with the four year  old beside me.  He was quite chatty and reminded me of my daughter, the thought tugged on my heart and I teared up knowing I would see her soon.   This variation of my dream that I live is better than I would have ever imagined and I wonder if people know that the real deal may not be all it's cracked up to be...just because we aren't able to live it to the exact letter doesn't mean it is a loss or that we failed...reinvent it, find a way, a variation and just let it evolve.  More importantly just make the commitment to live the way you want and then do it.  I could never be a writer in NYC if I wasn't there or if I didn't write...sure I don't live there but I defiantly have a life there and I am writer that gets to be a New Yorker for one week a month...wheels up....

A Writer in the Village X

I arrived at LaGuardia just in time to wait through the delays.  I just don't understand how I have never left this airport on time.  I walked back up the corridor and poured a coffee and attempted to find something gluten free...which is never easy.  I found a seat and pulled out my note book to review the chapters we had discussed.  I need to be careful with how I write these; my book will not contain anything I wouldn't want my children to read...perhaps sex sells but it won't be in my writings.  I want my children to read my work and have an understanding of who I am and how I got here, this is my legacy and I have to get it right...

A Writer in the Village VIIII

I kissed Cleo good bye and left her with a toy and extra snacks.  I locked the door and walked down the street with my luggage to catch the bus and then the Path to 14th street.  It was $4.50 this way and a cab or Uber was well over $30 with tolls and tunnels.  I found a place when I came out of the stairwell to store my luggage for a couple of hours while I went to meet with my coach.  I didn't mind pulling my luggage around but the heat made it feel worse than it actually was and I didn't want to be soaked in sweat for the day.

I walked east and grabbed an ice coffee and yogurt for breakfast while I stole Wifi from the Starbucks.  This was my usual breakfast in the city and I almost didn't mind paying the ten dollars for it...almost.  I buzzed her number and slowly made my way up the four flights of stairs to her apartment.  The door was open so I sat on the couch and took out my notes, a pen and the rough draft of my synopsis.  It wasn't perfect and to be fair I had no idea if it was even good, I just wrote and wrote and then kept every draft until I had a few paragraphs of what I felt the most important parts were.  I don't throw away anything I cut, I fear those will be needed at some point and until my writings are complete...not just with this book but with all of them...I will not throw away a word I have written.

She came into the living room from her office and sat down opposite me, picked up my synopsis, read it quickly and laid it back down.  I could see her wheels turning and it drove me to the edge with anticipation waiting for her to say anything.  She ran her hand through her hair..."let's pick chapter topics and start the proposal".  I slid further back into the couch and let out my breath...my soul was on fire with excitement....

A Writer in the Village VIII

I woke early so I could take Cleo for a walk before I made my way to the airport.  We turned right off Kennedy and started towards Journal Square...or as far as she would walk before she insisted we turn around and head home.   My marathon training has not been going as well as I had hoped, I've had so many injuries and the humidity here makes me sick; perhaps when I get home I can resume and kick it into high gear.

I had to still run into the city and meet with my coach for an hour before I left for a few weeks.  I felt good in my synopsis and understand that as I write chapters it can change and evolve as I tell my story...but for now it gives me a direction to follow.  I walked Cleo over to a park that gives a beautiful view of Manhattan and walked along the wall for a while.  We sat on a bench and I pointed out all the buildings and areas of the city and like a perfect student she looked at the city then looked at me and licked my face.  I could feel the butterflies start to flutter with excitement around my writing and then I will be dining with my two children and Karen this evening...assuming my flight leaves on time.

We continued down the path and we were about four miles in when I could feel Cleo falling behind,  I started to turn back because I know I cannot carry her and she has no more gas in the tank.  When I opened the door she looked up the twenty plus stairs and then back at me...I scooped her up and climbed the stairs...

A Writer in the Village VII

I made my way through the West Village, getting lost and working my way back slowly while window shopping.  New York is incredible in so many wonderful ways with an impressive urban park in the middle of Manhattan, the Village which extends east and west that gives you the feeling of not actually being in one of the largest cities on the planet.  Then you have Broadway, Wall Street, one of the largest Chinatown's I have ever seen, beautiful squares, museums, shopping, celebrities and is packed full of culture...and then you have four other burroughs.  One could literally stand in the centre of all of the madness and almost feel small and insignificant.  I remember wanting to go to the city to get lost in all of it but I soon found out that it doesn't take long to get swallowed up in it all and start to feel lost.

I found my way back to Hudson then walked until I could connect with 8th and started to find my way back to midtown.  I stopped to shop a little along the way and collect some things for my son and daughter for when I get to Montreal tomorrow.  

A Writer in the Village VI

I have no idea how people are able to complete work while sitting in a Starbucks.  All I seem to do is people watch and drink large amounts of coffee.  Perhaps it's procrastination, but how can I not watch the people of this city and wonder about their stories.  I looked down at my notes and found a few pages of ideas written in point form, now they just need to be organized and written to read fluidly...to other people.  I leaned back against the window and silently stood at the edge of my thoughts...boredom can be dangerous and I take pause wondering how my darkness is doing.  I started this journey because I had been lead around by it for most of my life and now that it is stored away in a dark corner I can't help but wonder about it from time to time.  I have never felt such contentment but there are times I miss my fire and chaos that lived within me.  I giggled at the thought of having Stockholm Syndrome with my darkness...but I would be lying if I said there were't times I wanted to venture back into that corner and lay by the cage like I did with the little girl...

A Writer in the Village V

I laid in bed long into the morning struggling to find inspiration and motivation to write.  Writing a blog seems easy with entering a couple of paragraphs a day or every other day but putting that whole idea, my whole life, into a few chapters to sum it up seems impossible.  Perhaps the writing class will help me achieve the conciseness I need but that doesn't happen for another six weeks.  I watched the ceiling fan spin around and slowly got hypnotized until I reached a relaxed state.  I only want to write when I enjoy it and feel it, when it is not forced or when it becomes a burden rather than a passion.  There's no time limit for my book and I don't want to start to feel the pressure of one when it's unnecessary.  I could feel the anxieties float away as I was drifting back off to sleep...I can write for no other reason than absolute love and passion...I don't need another job...

A Writer in the Village IV

I stepped out into the street and back into the draining humidity.  I turned right to start walking uptown and back to the square.  I felt nauseous and I wasn't sure if it was from the heat or the interview.  I must have stood on the corner through three walk lights zoned out and lost in my thoughts; the lights came into focus and I slowly crossed the street trying to move faster but feeling unable to.  It was all starting to feel a bit surreal and the streets are spinning around me; I walked into a deli and grabbed some water and fruit hoping it would help.  I sat down at a table by myself and rested my head on my arms until I felt the nausea start to retreat.  I opened my cup of fruit and pulled out my notepad...I have a coach in NY...another piece of my puzzle falls into place.  I popped a grape into my mouth and started working on my synopsis...

A Writer in the Village III

I pushed the door open when I heard the buzzer and I am starting to think that all apartment buildings in New York are walk ups.  I attempted to count the floors as I walked flights of stairs but I must have made a mistake because I had to look down the staircases when I heard her calling my name.  I walked back down to the door she left open for me.  I was stunned at the size of her apartment, there must be six different rooms; the walls were lined with bookcases filled with books and her windows looked out over the East Village.  It was comfortable and lived in, she is not pretentious in the least and although she is a village girl she don't come across as a true New Yorker...perhaps that's because she is a Canadian transplant living in the city...and it occurs to me that she has my life.  She is the author of five books, one of which is being made into a movie...I immediately felt that I was meant to find her.

I was sitting on one of her couches when she came in from her office with a note pad and pages printed off from my blog.  I moved to the edge of the couch, more out of anticipation than nervousness and at this point I just want a yes or no...sometimes that's the issue with nerves, they make you want to run before you even know if you are going to get what you want.  I tried to look more relaxed but the longer she flipped through her pages in silence the more I could feel the anxiety build and the heat was not helping me.  She placed the papers on the coffee table that was separating us and smiled when she looked up at me, "you have a unique story, tell me about you".  I took a deep breath and started from the beginning...the groundhog day cycle...

A Writer in the Village II

I took the bus to Journal Square then hopped back on the Path to 14th street.  From there I would just walk east and find a Starbucks to grab a coffee and enjoy the free wifi while I tried not to sweat through my clothes.  I felt light headed from the heat and anxiety so I grabbed a yogurt hoping it would spike my blood sugar and set me straight.

I found a seat at the window and watched the city walk by me in Union Square and I wondered if one day I would actually be a resident...not just for a day or a week or for vacation but an actual New Yorker.  I smiled at the thought and at the silly little girl who first dreamed it up; I am so happy she is back and I'm letting her loose in our life.  I day dream about taking my daughter to the markets throughout the week and music lessons with Dan; playing in the concrete parks and riding her bike through the village with me.  I sat for a little while longer hoping the humidity some how vanished then threw my cup in the garbage, put on my sunglasses and walked the last few blocks to her apartment.

I stood at the gate of the oversized black door and rang one of the six buzzers while I felt my heart trying to escape my chest...she needs to believe in me as a writer as much as I want to be a writer...it happens every single day...I want today to be my day...

A Writer in the Village

I woke to Clarence yelling at Cleopatra because she wanted to go for a walk but the sun was just coming up.  I flopped my head back on the pillow, rubbed my eyes and rolled out of bed.  My running gear was already laid out and ready to go, sometimes that helps with motivation but it's really hit and miss.  It felt like I had sand in my eyes and I am dreading the humidity.  I opened the door to my room and found Clarence standing at the back door watching for Cleo and looking a touch irritated so I told him to go back to bed and I would take her out right away.  He rescued Cleo about a year ago when she was going to be put down just for being a pit bull; she is completely in love with him.   I opened the door and she sat perfectly so I could put her collar on, I sighed when I felt my skin become sticky from the humidity...even at this awful hour there is no reprieve.

I set out to do eight miles today but apparently Clarence doesn't walk Cleo as much as I had thought because we ran for less than two of those miles and I had to let her rest for a bit before we slowly walked back, I even had to help her up the stairs.  Perhaps she needs a little training too.  I found some clothes and headed for the shower, it was barely 730am and I had my first meeting in the East Village at 930am.  I wanted some time to get into the city, grab a coffee and go over my notes so I at least appeared to know what the hell I was talking about or the direction I wanted it to go.  I stood there letting the cold water wash over me, nervous, excited and scared to move.  This is my biggest interview I have ever had because in order for her to take me on for the book journey she will have to believe in my vision just as strongly as I do.  I know I can take the class and she will help me with my writing...but I want an agent and I need her help and guidance to do that.  I need a clear vision in order to be able to sell it to her and make her see that it is not only great but very unique.  I turned the water off and grabbed a towel off of the rack...I guess I never thought that I would actually be in the position to take the next step and try and sell my work.  It's funny but at the beginning I told myself that I was going to keep moving my project forward until it was no longer able to move...and for some reason I am able to keep moving forward and I have to believe it's because I am a writer.  

The Space Between XVI

It only took about twenty minutes to get from Christopher Street to Hoboken which seemed pretty quick.  I rolled my luggage out and looked around for an elevator or escalator...no such luck.  I looked up the flights of stairs and tried to count like that would give me the motivation to lug my clothes all the way up.  The worst part was when I finally thought I reached the top it was just a landing and another set of stairs, but I could see the buildings so I took a deep breath and kept going. I really need to learn to pack lighter or find a better way to get from point A to point B.

I could see Clarence waving at me from in front of the Starbucks and it looked miles away with arms that felt like jelly...how the hell am I ever going to run that marathon?  He lifted my luggage like it was nothing then looked at me and rolled his eyes,"how many pairs of shoes?"  I told him four...I have nine plus the pair I'm wearing.  Either I need more clothes or I need to stop packing my closet.

I always thought of Jersey as the ugly step sister to NYC but Hoboken is actually quite nice and beautiful with a spectacular view.  It was nice to see Clarence again, he makes me laugh and always has a calm and cool demeanour...unless he's driving in which case he is a foul mouthed Italian hanging out his window flipping off other drivers...well that was interesting.  I watched him carry my suitcase up his fifteen stairs and he is clearly a fireman, although I could hear him sigh when he was finally able to place it down.  I was utterly exhausted by the time I washed my face and got settled...530am training resumes for the marathon...blah

The Space Between XV

With an extended lay over in Toronto I didn't land until two hours later than scheduled so I found a taxi and made my way into the West Village.  I was having dinner with a friend and it seemed easy enough to leave my bag at their home while we grabbed a bite, caught up and wondered around...plus it was just around the corner form the Path station.  Clarence was picking me up in Hoboken around eleven so I had a few hours to unwind and breathe NY back into my life.  We found a beautiful gluten free restaurant and sat out on the sidewalk...the village is a favourite place for me, along with many others.  You can watch the world walk by while you sip sangria and eat tapas while enjoying the lights hum around you from the city.

I decided my second sangria would be my last since I had enough trouble rolling my oversized luggage while sober so tipsy would be a little much.  We paid the bill and walked the long way back to the apartment so we could enjoy the shops and nightlife for just a little bit longer.

Will had become a good friend to me over my visits and I enjoy our dinners and walks.  He grabbed my suitcase and walked me to the Path station...I felt a tinge of guilt when he had to walk it down two flights of stairs because I am pretty sure I would have let it slide the whole way.  He hugged me and I thanked him for dinner then walked through the turnstile...it feels good to be back in NY...too bad I'm going to Jersey...