I’ve been up on the roof. no, not to throw myself off. There’s no WiFi up there. The lengths––or heights––I will go to in order to dodge the clutches of procrastination. I have a new writing project deadline which I’ll tell you about later.
You would have loved it up there this week. You hear the city below, the symphony of sirens, a school bell faintly, voices from other rooftops that sound like seagulls’ cries, a door slamming in the belly of the building, a car horn, but the noises are all so gentle and far far away. Even though I had work to do I felt like I was on holiday. On a beach even. I felt like one of those writers with the means to retreat to an exclusive island hideaway every time they have a deadline (I’m sure these blessed individuals still exist–I don’t know any but there must be some).
I think I settled on Formentera. Are you with me..?
We had some high temperatures this week so I even managed to get sunburnt on the back of my neck. This contributed to the holiday vibe as I usually find myself injured by the holiday sun.
At first I think we’re friends but I always learn we’re not.
Maybe looking for creativity I went closer to the sky. I was reaching. Maybe I still am with this analogy.
But while seeking divine inspiration I became obsessed with this little square building across from me with its big sprouting thatch of green.
Artfully disheveled and winking at me, (just my type) I was soon reminded of a French guy I met at a rave in 1996.
Inspiration and distraction, there they were again, those squabbling bedfellows.
Anyway…yes, that’s a secret garden, NYC-style. Lofty yet unobtrusive, compact but brimming, an English cottage garden on top of an Empire State walk-up.
Those passing by on the street below have no idea of its existence. Its pedestrian nether regions betray no hint of its quirky coiffure. It’s the business attire of Monday morning with the party brain of Friday night.
Back on our roof deck, other sprouts of green enticed me and I got up to run my fingers through the species of herbs thriving in their little pots. Little NYC citizens, one and all. I ate a tomato as if it was an apple.
Parsley, Sage, Russian Orthodox church and Trader Joe’s…
Back at the keyboard, I decided to add a spicy twist…
But the smell of basil and origano on my fingers became too much. It was time to think about lunch.
Maybe the sun can make herself useful and keep my chair warm till I get back.While I continue to quietly battle distraction, procrastination, and sunburn let me direct you to my debut novel Silk for the Feed Dogs which is currently available. You can buy it here.