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...