"Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today
I want to be a part of it - new york, new york
These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it - new york, new york"
- Frank Sinatra
I spent the summer and most of autumn writing frantically with no end in sight. I was in a state of pure ecstasy as my mind emptied out on the page in a possessed frenzy. Before my first book was even on its way to an agent, I was already finishing the first draft of yet another.
Unfounded, without warning or reasoning my flood of words trickled down to a slow siphoning stream.
My mind was still creating and building, writing away as if nothing had changed. My fingers however weren’t exactly moving across the keyboard in a race against time. It was obvious in varying degrees of distracted bedlam.
Distracted bedlam consisted of being frightened by the fur covered cat toy mistakenly thrown in the dishwater instead of the bin with the other toys. Misplacing things so often; I doubt a well trained blood hound could help. The worse however, is the food I wrapped and put back in the oven instead of its desired designation the refrigerator. Take it from me, two days later the pungent smell coming from the oven leaves something to be desired.
In the midst of all this came an invitation to get together with a friend in the city. And thus begins my journey into a New York State of Mind.
For anyone who has ever lived and breathed the city at one point or another - I can't help but ask, if you have ever experienced the silence.
From the moment I emerged from Port Authority, the writer in me surged to the forefront as NYC came alive in a visual palette. I found myself turning down an offer of an umbrella in lieu of constantly turning my face upward to take in the majesty of the buildings and colorful lit backdrop. Even through the light drizzle of rain an unmistakable milieu of grandiose presented itself.
It was a miasma of bodies and cars swimming in every direction possible. I couldn’t take in enough and wanted for more. My eyes explored architecture juxtapositions and details. I took in the merging ethnicity, the heart of New York – rich and poor weaving amongst one another to the pulse of the city that throbbed from every crevice possible.
And I smiled; submerged in my silence, my deafness…I saw the city in all its visual interpretation that was possible. I imagine if the traffic and all the various voices, construction and noise that reverberate from NYC had intruded in my thoughts, I might have paused in my overwhelming wonderment. The writer in me thinks not. It would have been just one more descriptive nuance to chip away at the dam that had been holding back my words.
Therein was the hidden mystery. There is no such thing as writer’s block. It’s a simple matter of changing things up. Stalemate is nothing more than boredom or lack of tenacity.
Life has too much too offer – if you’re willing to keep yourself open to the possibilities.
NYC was the nectar in which I was able to sup for inspiration.
My muse was still operating overtime; she just needed to be visually stimulated into movement - From imagination and reality, to fingers tapping out the storyline one word after another.
I live in upstate NY. I have a feeling I’ll be making quite a few excursions into the city that literally breathes life into this writer’s mind and helped kick start my prose back into overdrive. - Indigo
Picture can be found here