New York City
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Read last week’s post here or view all other New York City posts. Can we scrap the rest of this week and just look at today? Because today, I feel alive. Not that the rest of this week was worthless — it wasn’t. I worked, read the Bible (1 Samuel 1-13), interviewed an FDNY historian, found out I’m
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Read last week’s post here or view all other New York City posts. You can’t know who you are until you leave everything you’ve ever known. Not because being in an unfamiliar place surrounded by unfamiliar people brings you to some basic, almost neanderthal form of yourself. Not because everything new and strange helps you realize the person
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Read last week’s post here or view all other New York City posts. I rose early this morning, beating the sun by a hair. Crawling out of bed, I shut off my alarm, turned on my desk lamp, and paused, sighed. 6 a.m. Day has broken. A quick trip to the bathroom, splashing water on my face, and
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Read last week’s post here or view all other New York City posts. I never wanted to be where I am today. If it’d been left to me, I would have finished school in January, driven fifteen-plus hours to Colorado, moved into my own apartment in Denver, and immediately started writing for my favorite regional magazine. I
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Read last week’s post here or view all other New York City posts. How do you find stories in a city of eight million? Where the default safety feature is zero eye contact, and you’re more likely to hear a person talking to himself or yelling at someone to “back off” than you are to overhear a
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Being a nonfiction writer has been my reason for not writing. “I don’t have any assignments,” she says, her voice raising from her throat to her nose. That excuse doesn’t cut it. If I am a writer, it’s because writing is an essential part of my being, it makes me who I am. If I
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Read last week’s post here or view all other New York City posts. Everyone wants a “Friends” apartment, to live with BFFs or favorite (read only) siblings and figure out life together, with a few fights and whole lot of fun along the way. I have yet to experience anything close to that. Over the past three
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The City Hall librarian, wearing fly-eyed, red-rimmed glasses, constantly talks to herself in a thick, nasal New York accent — whether or not people are around to listen. She only stops when the phone rings and she has to answer. On the way out of the room, she told another librarian she’d be right back.
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The first time I went to New York City, I moved there for four months. In the distant future, I’ll say this to nieces, nephews, aspiring writers, and possibly children of my own. They’ll be in the middle of making big decisions, trying to decide whether to play it safe or step out of everything
Meredith Sell 