Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Now or Never

Here's what I think: A writer has one window per day to get anything of any worth done. For some, it's late at night when the world has quieted down and the distractions have subsided, or all those people have stopped talking or gone home or fallen asleep. For others, like me, it's early in the morning, around when the sun is rising, when the distractions have not yet begun. The trick is to keep your brain empty. Don't look at the newspaper; don't listen to music; and for the love of god, don't check your email or look at Instagram or do anything foolish and modern. Stay human for as long as you can, and let real thoughts drift to the surface of your brain, form, mutate, and find a way to express themselves. Do not let this window pass by unused or else you will feel restless and cheated until you get another chance. You will spend the next 24 hours lying in wait, like a predator, ready to pounce. Miss it enough times in a row, and you will begin to starve. You will roam with a wild look in your eye, emitting a weird kind of desperate energy. People will think you're scary and exciting. You're not scary or exciting. Just get up early, do your writing, and stop being so dramatic about it.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Humiliation of the Day

Summer rain is pelting down outside. Happily working away at a crowded cafe in Williamsburg. Feeling productive. All is well.

I zoned out for a few minutes, and when I re-focused, I realized I had been singing Ricky Martin's "Livin' La Vida Loca" the entire time, completely involuntarily. I haven't thought about that song in years, but like some repressed trauma, it resurfaced and used me as a vessel to reassert itself. I feel so violated. 

The people sitting around me pretended not to notice. I know they noticed.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

New York.

I initially left Paris in 2009 and it has taken me until now -- about 4 years -- to admit that I properly live in New York again. In all that time, Moveable Beast was dormant because, for some reason, I thought my imagination was dead.

It's not actually dead. I've just been busy and making excuses (or more accurately: busy making excuses). But now it's time to start writing about nothing again, which is my favorite thing to do. Stand by for more. 

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Does perfect happiness exist?


And I found it yesterday at the menagerie of the Jardin des Plantes. My beloved panda foxes (a.k.a. red pandas) were in fine form. One actually ran-walked along his wooden beam to get to a better snack-branch. Their back fur was so red, their stomachs so black, their eyes so beady. Just as I remembered them, but better.

Suddenly, I realized my face was pressed right against the bars! I got scared and thought, "What if one scratches me on the face?"

And then I thought, "Would I even mind?"


Sunday, September 4, 2011

Are you there, Paris? It's me, Moveable Beast.

Moveable Beast is starting to look very dated compared to all the highfalutin blogs out there these days, but I've always been somewhat of a Luddite, so that's how it will remain.

In the meantime, I am in mega missing-Paris mode, so much so that I can't really bear to read certain books or blogs or see movies for fear that they will evoke this vicious sense of, "Why aren't I there?"

My very own Paris effect has come back to haunt me. So, here and now, I'm vowing to live there again, or as a last resort, to retire there.

Given my current age and life circumstances, I suppose the next logical question is: Is 27 an unreasonable age to retire? How about 30?


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