Here are a few things I love:
You know I love chocolate, that’s old news. I love stripes, though my passion for them can get me into dangerous territory when I have a striped shirt on and the only pants that are clean are the ones with the pinstripes and then I grab my worn but still beloved Marimekko bag with the stripes and rush outside without looking in a mirror first.
I love New York City, especially downtown Manhattan and all its ghosts. I love photos in black-and-white. I love tofu—yes, really. I love rainstorms. I love libraries. I love voicey first-person fiction and unreliable narrators. I love tomatoes, especially the grape ones. I love quirky indie movies. I love Elliott Smith songs, and I love when someone I know whips out the guitar and plays them for me. I love graffiti, especially in subway tunnels. I love magicians and I love not ever finding out how the card tricks are done. I love people who are odd and don’t care and are just totally themselves. I love brown eyes.
But there’s one thing I love that sits near the top of the list. It’s something that holds me together, makes me feel worthwhile. It gets me up in the morning. Sets my heart beating. I am so very excited to have it again:
I’m on deadline now with the novel! For me, writing a novel on deadline is like knowing someone cares. The pressure is exhilarating. You feel like the prettiest, smartest, most fascinating girl in the whole room. At first, anyway. So remind me of this later, when I’m getting up while it’s still dark out to write before a long stretch at the day job and I just want more hours in the day and I wish they’d let me come in at noon. Promise?