26 St. Rose Street
I’m a little dissapointed in myself that I was only able to produce two finished (well, pretty finished) pieces of work. While I plan to continue working on different time periods and stories for the collection, I really wanted to write a story from the 1940’s about a boy whose uncle dies. I think that what really made this difficult is that I was first planning on writing microficton, but my pieces felt lacking to me without backstory and lots of dialouge. Ah, creative writing is so difficult, I feel like everything I put to paper instantly sounds cheesey and overdone.
The characters in 1978 used to be straight, then they were gay. They never argued, then they argued too much, then they were just experiencing some miscommunication. They were together for a long time and then what they had was more of an affiar.
In 2008, Katherine and Steve had a child together, then just K had the child, then she was pregnant and keeping it, then she was giving it up for adoption, now she’s already had an abortion. I hate the ending of the story, but I feel really lost within it.
Well, I’m really excited to keep working. I’m sure I’ll be visiting these characters often. I’d like to add more stories and keep a thread through all of them, something that every tenant has in common, but I’m not sure what that is yet. Expect lots of visits to your office in the next year, or, at the very least, emails.
In a kind of shorthand, we can speak of foot people and car people.
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I realize Jane Jacobs meant this in context, but I think it works in general, too.
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I felt really good about our project today… and Marissa’s cobbler.
An Incomplete List of Ideas for Short Stories
-The woman who lives on Hemenway (Mirror Lady)
-People who get money to be centerpieces at parties
-Person who bumps into people on the sidewalk just to hear “Sorry”
-Fractals
-Blood transferring
-That time Kent (my brother) punched himself in the face to get out of a math test
Around the streets they go, pushing their archival load: low-sodium seltzer water, kosher hot dogs, low-cholesterol mayo, Perdue chicken breasts, Weight Watchers margarine, four-grain bread, Ben and Jerry’s chocolate ice cream, Paul Newman’s marinara sauce.
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Goddamn, if that doesn’t describe my mom’s grocery cart in the early 90’s…
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Elizabeth Hardwick, New York City: Crash Course
I rarely read anything that makes me feel like I’m walking alongside the author. This is an exception.
I went to Paris when I was 17. I wish I knew then what I do now, as I was the opposite of a flaneur: I fought with my father the entire trip and instead of taking the time to soak in all of the beauty the city had to offer, I wasted all on my energy in being angry at him.
On a more positive note, reading about emerging yourself in Paris reminds me of a story a friend of mine once told: He was extremely excited to visit the city, especially in indulging in a fancy, authentic Parisian meal. Once he got to his hotel, he went for a walk to find a restaurant but the first stretch of establishments he saw were dingy falafel places.
He tells the story very well in person.
Americans consider the sidewalk an anonymous backstage space, whereas for the French it is a stage itself.
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Edmunt White, The Flaneur
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Fat Ram’s Pumpkin Tattoo is a wonderful studio located on Centre Street that wins pretty much every award it possibly can, every year in Boston. (Full disclosure: I was tattooed there and really can’t say enough nice things about the place.)
Looking through pieces that the artists there have made, I think the JP culture is pronounced. I realize that not all of their clients are neighborhood folks, but I have seen many locals walking into the shop. For all intents and purposes, these tattoos are well, sooo Jamaica Plain. The first was done by Alex Dawes and the second was done by Chad.
