I love this! Felt transported to Paris. The slowing down and observing is a universal quality of good writing, but there's something very French about it too. Especially appreciating those moments that don't need to do or be anything other than just... be.
Thanks Alicia! Your point about France is spot-on, and it reminds me of a quote I feel like I've been referencing more and more these days, especially with the Americans I walk around the Latin Quarter:
Gertrude Stein: "The reason why all of us naturally began to live in France is because France has scientific methods, machines and electricity, but does not really believe that these things have anything to do with the real business of living. Life is tradition and human nature."
Haha, absolutely! Easier said than done but I try. Football season is coming up and as strange as it sounds, that's when I think we get closest to it. When leaves are changing color a certain joie de vivre emerges.
I like the photo you took of me poring (not "pouring") over books. It makes me look like something between a priest at his devotions and an alchemist creating unholy substances - which is probably not far from the truth. As you say, the textures of our days wax and wane. "Some days are diamonds, some days are stone...." Keep up the good work.
Forever the wise man, you've managed to provided editorial advice without being explicit. Thanks for noticing the typo. I vote for the alchemist hard at work amidst the wisps of unholy cloud-smoke spelling out mystery and intrigue from the underbelly of the city.
Ok. This was a good read and made me jealous of you except about the video game which, if I had been transported into your walking-around existence a la "Being John Malkovich," I woulda tried to convince you to skip. (Come on, Man. These games were invented for people who live in plywood shacks on the outskirts of Bakersfield. YOU, on the other hand, live in Paris!) My top question is: whaddya mean a garage filled with books 100-feet below the cobblestones...? And you tell us there are other garages even deeper where a Serbian concierge is likewise searching for valuable volumes... This requires more elucidation than that shiny light you show in the photograph. Whose garages, whose books, why are they abandoned and why do you know where the secret passage is???? In any case, this reads like a small sample of a wonderful life... Plus you live over a couscous place (even though you said kabab, I'm changing it to couscous cause that's more romantic and brings back fonder memories of my own days in the city of light... (I have some other questions... but no time to ask them at the moment.) Thanks for this.
Haha, something something every human has their vices. A violent hour in a fantasy landscape probably did hurt somebody somewhere at some point, but such is the nature of growing up with the advent of Medal of Honor and Call of Duty.
As for the garage filled with books 100-feet below cobblestones, well, it's precisely that! There's an underbelly to Paris of garages and storage units, where people rent out space to store books, vehicles, and unspeakable treasures. John's garage goes down at least three levels, though I've never been down to the fourth ... perhaps next time I go there I'll find a secret tunnel that leads to the couscous restaurant you mention, for the tunnel is a time traveler. Aren't we all?
Funny how you can spend 5 days writing and editing a chapter only to realize the chapter is shite and you should probably just write about what you feel.
Isn’t that the truth. I just spent two weeks trying to doctor a post I hated. Once I scrapped it and started over I had a whole new draft in an hour 🤷🏼♀️
“during lunch I remember that not everything has to be reduced to narrative” - what a sobering reminder (and what an excuse to just chill out and enjoy the view! phew, finally!)
We writers aren’t immune to the constant narrativization, not the least because now we’re told we’re supposed to be photographers and videographers, too
I love this! Felt transported to Paris. The slowing down and observing is a universal quality of good writing, but there's something very French about it too. Especially appreciating those moments that don't need to do or be anything other than just... be.
Thanks Alicia! Your point about France is spot-on, and it reminds me of a quote I feel like I've been referencing more and more these days, especially with the Americans I walk around the Latin Quarter:
Gertrude Stein: "The reason why all of us naturally began to live in France is because France has scientific methods, machines and electricity, but does not really believe that these things have anything to do with the real business of living. Life is tradition and human nature."
That's a fabulous quote. i also feel I really began to *live* in France.
I’ve heard quite a few Americans say that as of late … gotta concoct some of that Steinian Baguetteland juju back yonder !!
Haha, absolutely! Easier said than done but I try. Football season is coming up and as strange as it sounds, that's when I think we get closest to it. When leaves are changing color a certain joie de vivre emerges.
I like the photo you took of me poring (not "pouring") over books. It makes me look like something between a priest at his devotions and an alchemist creating unholy substances - which is probably not far from the truth. As you say, the textures of our days wax and wane. "Some days are diamonds, some days are stone...." Keep up the good work.
Forever the wise man, you've managed to provided editorial advice without being explicit. Thanks for noticing the typo. I vote for the alchemist hard at work amidst the wisps of unholy cloud-smoke spelling out mystery and intrigue from the underbelly of the city.
Ok. This was a good read and made me jealous of you except about the video game which, if I had been transported into your walking-around existence a la "Being John Malkovich," I woulda tried to convince you to skip. (Come on, Man. These games were invented for people who live in plywood shacks on the outskirts of Bakersfield. YOU, on the other hand, live in Paris!) My top question is: whaddya mean a garage filled with books 100-feet below the cobblestones...? And you tell us there are other garages even deeper where a Serbian concierge is likewise searching for valuable volumes... This requires more elucidation than that shiny light you show in the photograph. Whose garages, whose books, why are they abandoned and why do you know where the secret passage is???? In any case, this reads like a small sample of a wonderful life... Plus you live over a couscous place (even though you said kabab, I'm changing it to couscous cause that's more romantic and brings back fonder memories of my own days in the city of light... (I have some other questions... but no time to ask them at the moment.) Thanks for this.
I had the same question about the books 🤣🙋🏼♀️
Haha, something something every human has their vices. A violent hour in a fantasy landscape probably did hurt somebody somewhere at some point, but such is the nature of growing up with the advent of Medal of Honor and Call of Duty.
As for the garage filled with books 100-feet below cobblestones, well, it's precisely that! There's an underbelly to Paris of garages and storage units, where people rent out space to store books, vehicles, and unspeakable treasures. John's garage goes down at least three levels, though I've never been down to the fourth ... perhaps next time I go there I'll find a secret tunnel that leads to the couscous restaurant you mention, for the tunnel is a time traveler. Aren't we all?
Love this little something from nothing!
Funny how you can spend 5 days writing and editing a chapter only to realize the chapter is shite and you should probably just write about what you feel.
Isn’t that the truth. I just spent two weeks trying to doctor a post I hated. Once I scrapped it and started over I had a whole new draft in an hour 🤷🏼♀️
Yes, yes, yes. Who knew, we're not alone.
“during lunch I remember that not everything has to be reduced to narrative” - what a sobering reminder (and what an excuse to just chill out and enjoy the view! phew, finally!)
We writers aren’t immune to the constant narrativization, not the least because now we’re told we’re supposed to be photographers and videographers, too