Cartwheeling Maniac Spotted in NYC

"I wonder what it is in the New York air that enables me to sit up till all hours of the night in an atmosphere which in London would make a horse dizzy, but here merely clears the brain." ~ James Agate

I am flying into NYC this Saturday, arriving at the ungodly hour of 7:00am. It isn’t so much the 7:00am that’s ungodly as the 3:30am wake up to get to the airport to catch the 6:15am flight to arrive at 7am that’s ungodly. But it’s for a worthy cause, so I’m willing.

I’ve already made up my packing list, printed off my event invites, worked up my workshop agenda around my agent/editor appointments and purchased all my little travel sized toiletries. I have a brand spanking new iPad 2 to take with me to stay wired in (thanks to J for the early wedding gift!) and I am ready to rumble.

This is the first conference I’ve attended as a published author and I have to admit, it has a different feel to it for me. I’m not sure exactly why that is – I’m still doing all the same things. Editor and agent appointments, workshops, getting lost in the labyrinth of hotel hallways… Maybe the difference is that my goal was by the time the NYC conference arrived I would go as a published author. I’ve vaulted over one hurdle (only 1,486, 234 to go) and it feels good. I mean goooooood.

FYI – if you see someone doing cartwheels through the hotel lobby shouting “I did it! I did it!!”, it’s not me. I don’t care how much she may look like me. Also, if that individual is doing these cartwheels while wearing a skirt, please tell her to stop. She’ll thank you for it later.

But NYC isn’t all about the conference for me. I’ve wanted to see the City That Never Sleeps for eons and going down a few days before conference gets underway will be a great opportunity to do that. I’ve also tried to book out a little time each day for myself, even if that means just getting out and walking around Times Square or somewhere else. And given my horrendous sense of direction, there is no telling where ‘somewhere else’ may be.

FYI#2 – if you see someone who looks a lot like the cartwheeling maniac from the hotel lobby wandering around Times Square trying to find the hotel, please send her back in the right direction. You may also want to watch for a minute to ensure she heads in the direction you indicated. Yes, her sense of direction is that bad.

FYI#3 – if she starts up with the cartwheels again on her way back to the hotel, just let her go. You’ve done all you can.

A Nice Little Day Dream

"Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plenitude of the soul." ~ Gaston Bachelard

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping this morning. Not the angry squawk of crows, not neighbors mucking about in their yards (they tend not to do that at 5:30am), not the guy across the street revving his motorcycle engine for 10 minutes non-stop until I’m so angry I want to go online and order a rocket launcher. But birds. Chirping. And it was sunny, which after 60 days of rain, cloud, drizzle and general ickiness, made waking up a good thing.

For a minute, I just laid there and pretended I didn’t have to get up, rush through my writing then trudge off to the day job. I imagined I wasn’t situated in the ‘burbs, but was lying on my bed in the spacious room of a sprawling old farmhouse. Outside, the yard was filled with thick old oak trees, their leaves still rife with the newness of spring green. There wasn’t even the faintest hint of smog or exhaust or fumes of any kind, it was just pure fresh air. A breeze wafted in from my partially opened window and the white sheers billowed out like clouds. Somewhere beyond the oak trees there was a little barn, and in that little barn was a horse, and a cow. Probably a pig, a barn cat, a few chickens with fuzzy little chicks, and a goat with a bit of an attitude problem, but no more than that.

And in this wonderful daydream, I didn’t have to get up, rush through my writing and then slog to work. All I needed to do was get up, go milk the cow and feed the animals while Cedar lumbered along at my heels happy as a clam. When I get back to my rambling farmhouse, the coffee has percolated and the scent permeates the kitchen. I pour a big mug, grab a warm cinnamon roll, and amble into my writing room. The room is decorated in honey colored hardwood floors, butter yellow walls that glow warm and cozy in the sunlight filtering through the large window and a big comfy red couch. My desk is old and ornate with cubby holes and drawers and a modern addition of a keyboard tray at just the right height.

I turn the computer on and print off yesterday’s writing then plop down on the couch with the coffee, kick my feet up on the rectangular ottoman (with interior storage!) and get out my favorite fine point pen. The dog curls up next to me, content to just hang out and snooze.

The words flow off the page and—

J nudges me. “You gonna turn that alarm off?”

Sigh…back to reality.