The bad news, first. The bad is that sitting on the ground in the grassy wilderness of washsq park is v. uncomfortable. I researched “how to write a book” on the Internet, and according to the wiki how page on”How to Write a Book (With Examples)” the instructions go: finish reading the page about “How to Write a Book (With Examples)” on wiki how, do a little dance on the keyboard and that’s all. BOOM. You just landed yourself a NYT bestseller, followed by a big studio movie deal, and maybe one day, you’ll get paid in advance to write sequels, which will lead to mad stardom that is topped with the cherry of obtaining an Amazon Prime account. The Internet also says most writers set deadlines for themselves, and are disciplined (ha, what’s that?) about writing XYZ # of words, during a v. consistent time of day, while always plopping their creative butts in the same spot. Most pick a place where they don’t do other stuff, so that way, when their butts get plopped there they know it’s on like Donkey Kong. So yesterday, my dad called me to ask when I was going to write a book. (Which, is really an odd question. It’s like asking someone, so when you gonna do your NASA training & visit outer space?) He and I agreed that a perfect plan would be for me to go sit in the park and write every evening– we based our perfect plan solely on the fact I enjoy sitting in parks. But, the sad reality is: working on a laptop while sitting on the hard, yet kinda-mushy, ground w/ no lumbar support is NOT even a halfway decent plan. I may need someone to carry me home, now. But let’s wait until my leg wakes up, so I stop crying from the pins/needles feeling and I won’t get mascara on your shirt. Thanks!
The good news, (I’ll leave you on a positive note, duh!) NOT ONE PERSON annoyed me at the park this evening! There’s been an epidemic of random men interrupting my snapchat focus, which totally throws off my caption game, and then it gets worse: they are talking to me while I’m wearing HEADPHONES IN MY EARS TO WARD OFF MY ENEMIES, (AKA HUMANS.) I think I finally look scary & mean– ARGGGg! Or maybe, I’ve achieved my dream of being invisible so I can go rob a Sephora, totally undetectable. Hell. YES. Truthfully, I know it’s my new scare tactic keeping people away from me… I’ve started dancing a little and visibly bopping around to the beat of the music pumping through my headphones. I do this, (yes, in public), hoping any onlookers will assume I’m crazy and I be trippin’ on something-something, ya know what I mean… I do it just like I’ve seen the homeless men doing it: dancing around while wearing old velour track suits and grooving like nobody’s watching, but a proud, moonwalking Michael Jackson in heaven. I’m v. convincing, too. It helps that every now and then I giggle out loud, (this isn’t on purpose, unfortunately!) And, if things maybe look a bit hairy, like a guy named Harry may be approaching me, then I act quickly! I lay down in the grass so it looks like I’m already in my bed, (darn!), sleeping away at the public park where I live… Maybe come back tomorrow at a decent hour, Harry.
Bad news: I’m not writing a novel in the park. Also, there’s population of New Yorkers who think I’m homeless.
Good news: Nobody talks to me. Erm. Well, that’s weird news. But I’ll take it!