The world did not want me to write this morning. But I got all stubborn and determined and I marched on out of here and I set up shop in my corner and I said, So there, World. Take that.
But it was one slow start. There is a problem with living in this neighborhood and getting up early and going out the morning after Halloween (i.e., after the big Village Halloween Parade that goes up Sixth Avenue, right near where I live) and that problem is called loud drunk people still out from last night, a group of whom were sitting for a full hour right near my morning writing spot, shrieking, screaming, two wearing sparkly devil horns, the rest not even in costumes, apparently not yet ready to go home. Not to mention the drunken revelers on the doorstep of my building, blocking the way out, arguing over who looked more like Jay-Z. (The guy on the left.) I pushed through, following a Jesus in a brown sheet and sandals (naked underneath) who carried a long bamboo cross that he waved around and narrowly missed poking me. Shattered glass all over the sidewalks, the barriers still up, the sour smell of spilled beer, and a line of police cars watching me walk past. Hey, I’m all for Halloween. But it’s November 1. I selfishly wanted to get writing!
But I have no reason to complain. Even with a noisy, sloppy-drunk morning in the Village, I made word count. As of right now, I’m at 1,965. I’ll keep a little counter on the side. Go here if you want one. I have no idea what Neil Gaiman has to do with it, but…?
About the 1,965 words: I would not say they are good words. Not words I’d ever let anyone read. My narrator hasn’t found her voice. The writing is noisy and sloppy-drunk in itself, but maybe tomorrow it’ll sober up and I’ll have a better handle on things.