A Bold Statement

May, June, July.
I was organizing binders for the new editor in chief of the magazine. After photocopying 1500 sheets of paper, 200 needed to be individually separated into sheet protectors. The top of every page read a corresponding month, and they needed to follow the pattern, “May… June… July.”
May… June… July
Soon enough I was on autopilot. My hands nimbly moved the pages, sticking them into sheet protectors, but my mind had long vacated any menial task and drifted wistfully into a land of its own.
The smallest part of my attention span was fixated on making sure the pages were in order.
May… June… July.
How many times had I said my mantra? “Hum… well let’s see,” I thought with the distracted portion of my brain. “There are 1500 pages, and three months, so that means… I’ll repeat this phrase 500 times in my head.”
Then my mind really tumbled into Never Land, Wonderland, Whatever You Want To Call It. I didn’t want to do this! Not forever at least. Sure, sure everyone needs to have the crappy jobs and be the intern and photocopy thousands of pages. It’s good for you… and it’s humbling.
But if I knew this wasn’t a permanent setup, then what exactly did I want to do next? Literary agencies are cutthroat and under a lot of pressure to succeed with a failing book market. Publishers are struggling to adjust to the new e-technology and have long since given up as the romanticized 1960s novel-hunters we know and love. Business has beat out creativity and marketing can be more important than the actual book itself.
And then it struck me. Now, maybe you already know what I’m going to say or maybe you’ve already guessed where I’d end up. Maybe you don’t care, but you accidently read this post and now you kind of want to know that…
I want to write.
Zing! That realization hit me like a ton of 1500-page binders.
Yes, I want to write. I want to dive into worlds, true or imaginary, that you can picture and taste and breathe in like a real ocean’s breeze or warm city night. I want to take you through the streets of Newark and show you what it looks like to be addicted to crack. I want to grab you by the hand and drag you though the subways and supermarkets of New York. I want to document personalities and human character. I want to give you the world, my world, and analyze its every fiber to present you with the truest sense of an experience – to present you with an adventure.
And I want you right there with me.
May, June, July.
No, this realization doesn’t make things any easier! Maybe it makes things more difficult. But I know this: I don’t want to edit the books; I want to write them. I don’t want to find the authors; I want to be them. I don’t want to research the stories; I want to live them. And that is a bold statement my friends.
May, July, June.
Ha. How ironic.
The last three pages were out of order.

Meanwhile, in a completely unrelated topic, it was Spring Break, St. Patrick's Day, and Sam's birthday this week! Here are some pictures from around town:

Crazy St. Patricks day. Notice the guy's shirt in front. Ah, one of the many dumb shirts for the day.

All of the avenues were crawling with people in green.

Had to have one of these.

A "plastic paddy!"

We spent most the night in Queens pubs because 1) there were real Irish people and 2) Manhattan was getting ridiculous

Sam's birthday!

She hosted her party at Brooklyn Bowl...

...which happens to have amazing food. We were all grossly full by the end of the night.