“Good writing is sexy.”
My friend and former co-worker Anna said these words once. I giggled and nodded along to the nerdy phrase. I have a crush on good writing, too.
Last night I saw “Romeo & Juliet” on Broadway. I’ll admit, it wasn’t my first choice when I asked my pal Rachael which show she’d like to see. It was in my top three, for sure. But as we left the theater, I was high on good writing.
Good writing makes me feel something. It leaves me wanting more. It makes me feel like I just savored a warm mug of hot chocolate. Not the add-packet-to-hot-water cocoa, the rich, creamy one that leaves a puddle of chocolate sauce in the bottom of my mug when I finish. That’s good writing to me.
On the subway ride home, I opened “Goodbye to All This” in my Kindle app. It’s a book of short stories from women writers who have said goodbye to New York. The book is so delicious, I’ve twice been reading and missed my stop.
When I ascended from the underground station to the street, a light rain started falling. While rain makes some rush home, I find it comforting. I slowed my step, and savored the walk home. I took notice of the streets I walk multiple times every day as I pulled my jacket a little tighter in the crisp night air.
So often I’m rushing to or from the trains, but this time I peeked into the windows of the town homes on Manhattan Avenue. One had a beautiful staircase all lit up. The lights were on in the basement apartment below where a younger pair was playing video games on a worn sofa. My brain remembered my Friday evening yoga teacher’s words: “Go slow. You’ve got all the time in the world.” Then with a laugh, she added, “that’s probably the first time anyone in New York has ever said that to you.”
My Saturday began with rushing. I hurried through all the things on my mental to-do list. I walked through photos in Times Square because I couldn’t be bothered to slow down on my way to the ticket booth. It felt good to turn New York off in the evening. I pulled off my black jacket, black and green dress, black tights and 4-inch heels. I pulled on a pair of cozy PJ pants I bought in Boston six and a half years ago. I pulled a blanket over me and settled in for another mug of good writing.