Saturday, January 22, 2011

Dana in the City (well, sort of...)

For a long time--years, probably--I've had this fantasy about being a writer in New York City, working in front of the window of my brownstone à la  Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I have the idea that real writers work only in the "greatest city in the world," which my rational self knows is completely irrational. Still, New York is a writer's ultimate dream, and I would love to be there now, soaking in the creativity of all the writers around me. One of my neighbors once told me that he moved to New York  in the sixties to pursue his own dream of becoming a writer. He went because he wanted to be in the presence of others who shared his aspiration. Maybe that's what I'm looking for as well--that common thread that ties people of similar interests together. The few times I've been to New York, I've gone to coffee shops to write, and being surrounded by like-minded creative people was an amazing experience. But it's that romantic vision of the writer in New York that continues to draw me...

I don't think I'll be moving to New York anytime soon, but I do continue to write, sitting here in my small home, staring at the wall in front of me as I work each day. It's not the romantic life I'd envisioned--I'm not Carrie Bradshaw by any stretch--but so far it's working for me.

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