Dear Writing Friends,

It is Tuesday afternoon and I am on Fifth Avenue in mid-town Manhattan, somewhere between 42nd Street and Central Park. The sidewalk is crowded with tourists and men with grey hair holding plastic American flags. Metal barricades line the sidewalks and buses move slowly up the street. Inside the buses men and women in uniform wave to passersby. I recall the operator greeting me this morning when I dialed information: “Please hold for your call,” the recorded voice chirped. “And Happy Veterans Day!” 

I’ve hit a parade.

Just an hour ago, I had lunch downtown with my friend Barb. She took me to a cozy corner coffee shop where we ate Greek salads by a window. “I like to write here,” she told me. Maybe I’ll write here, too, I thought. I had a few hours until my next appointment. I could order a cup of coffee and stay put for a while. But just as we were paying the bill, I heard the tinkle of my iPhone. There was a text message from my 3:00 appointment asking if we could meet at 4:00—a window of opportunity to see some art. Instead of being still and pouring my thoughts into a notebook in that nice corner by the window, I headed out to the streets to find an exhibition someone had told me about at 49th and Park. Maybe I would write later, when I was done at the gallery.

I said good-bye to Barb and proceeded to the subway station. I got out at 42nd Street and walked the seven blocks uptown and then west to Park Avenue. But when I arrived at the corner, there was no gallery, only banks with big windows and old churches. Maybe I made a mistake, I thought. Maybe the gallery was on Fifth Avenue. I kept walking but I did not find the gallery. I did see a Starbuck’s, however, at which I point I thought I might salvage the afternoon by writing. But it was mobbed inside. Noisy and no place to sit. So I kept walking and that’s when I bumped into this parade.

All along Fifth Avenue ROTC students in dark green uniforms and cadet hats are racing to stay with their group. They are headed north, perhaps to greet the veterans at the end of their run. Walking beside them is like swimming with a school of fish. They move in and out of their line, all their energy focused on staying together. I can’t get away from them, and I can’t find a coffee shop. My feet hurt and my head aches and I just want to sit down.

I used to work in this neighborhood and knew several haunts where I could get out of the mid-town pedestrian traffic and put up my feet. Now I can only find cheap clothing stores. As I approach each side street I peer around the corner, praying for a neon sign that will bring me rest and caffeine. I have in mind some quiet café that sells cappuccinos and plays classical music. But these don’t exist anymore, at least not in mid-town. I think about what it must be like to be homeless, how in the city you have to keep moving or you’ll be stepped on or swept away. I’m done with this town, I think, or at the very least this part of town. I vow never to come back this way. And then I see the entrance to Trump Tower, the lobby gleaming with gold. I know there are shops inside and where there are shops, there are places to eat and drink. I duck in and discover the gaudy old palace with marble walls and mirrors now houses a Starbucks on the second floor.

I ride the escalator up and find the tables filled with young mothers and nannies bent over baby strollers. A couple of young men in pullover sweaters are asleep in the armchairs. I don’t see a place to sit, but at this point I don’t care. I’m getting a cup of coffee. The line is long but I take the opportunity to scout the tables for folks who might be finishing up their drinks. Just as the cashier hands me my change, a table opens up. I am saved.

The table is tall and my feet dangle from the high stool, but just getting off my feet feels like heaven. I clear the crumbs off the table with the back of my arm and pull out my notebook. I begin to write, recording the details of the interior. Suddenly Trump Tower is Eden. The tall atrium is open and spacious, a welcome relief from the crowded city streets. I note the pink marble wall with the waterfall streaming down it. The sound of it soothes. I say how I feel—tired—although as I write I feel my energy return. It is always like this. I start where I am and say what I see. I tell how I feel and I am alive to myself and my world. It is the most perfect pleasure.

I write for only ten minutes—I’ve got to make my 4:00 appointment—but I am refreshed and ready to return to the streets. I move swiftly with the crowd now, bolstered by the forward motion of the foot traffic and the caffeine. Maybe it’s worth coming back here after all. As long as I can find a place to write, I will go almost anywhere.
 
Quotation:
In the middle of the world, make one positive step. In the center of chaos, make one definitive act. Just write. Say yes, stay alive, be awake. Just write. Just write. Just write.
Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones
 
Writing Topics:
Homeless
On the streets
 
Upcoming Courses at the Writers’ League of Texas:
 
Writing Practice, Memory, and Memoir.
January 17, 31, February 7, 14, March 17, 28.
 
For years I’ve been dreaming of a class using writing practice to excavate material for memoir. With Natalie Goldberg coming to Austin in March to promote the paperback edition of Old Friend From Faraway: The Practice of Writing Memoir, we have the perfect opportunity. Between January 17th, when the class begins, and March 28th, when it ends, we will work through Old Friend, finishing all the exercises in the book in time for Natalie’s visit. We will also study several short memoir pieces to get some ideas for organizing our newfound material. Come on down to the League this spring and write like crazy!
 
Writing Practice Retreat
April 25th. Location to be announced.
 
Spend the day immersed in writing practice. Sit meditation, write in your notebook, and dive deeply into your writing dreams. There will be time for instruction and writing together, as well as time to write on your own. For alumni of my classes, this is a chance to deepen your writing practice. For new students, the retreat will jump-start your writing and launch you into this amazing practice.
 
Registration information forthcoming from the League!
 
Other News:
I have blog post on a great new website for writers. Check out www.drashpit.com. Great topics are posted weekly, which you can use as writing prompts and/or write to submit submit. The 350 word limit is fun and challenging! 
 
December is a busy month. Let your writing keep you connected to yourself.
 
Best regards,
Saundra