I sat down one day to write. A short story I thought. Maybe a script. I had this idea. It was simple. It was about an apartment. A month later I stood up from the spot I had sat in and I had written a 160 page book. I was super proud. Put it away, feeling like there was nothing I couldn't do. And then a year later in January 2015 I dug it up again to read it. It was terrible. I had clearly been wrong. Plenty of things I couldn't do. Well the concept was pretty good. The basic thoughts were on point but my writing was all around and back. But somehow I wrote it so I must be able to fix it I thought. So I sat down and began to re-read. re-write. re-read. re-write. Until the concept and basic thoughts were no longer just a concept and basic thoughts but a story. A book with now 180 pages. It isn't Shakespeare or Faulkner. But simply a story I felt like writing so I wrote it.
Excerpt from The Apartment:
"I couldn't think about whether I had made a mistake or not. I would never be able to take any of it back. I let Sara's call go to voicemail.“Lisa, its me. Pick up. It's been a month. I need a little lifeline. Also call me. I found a place. For us. It's an apartment in Brooklyn, a brownstone, my friend Jane is moving to Vermont or some shit, so she offered me the place. She offered us the place. We have a few days to decide. Its thursday today. I know its soon, but it's a great spot, you'd love it! Think about it. Is it too soon? Talk to me. k. Bye. Love you.” Part of me wanted to say thank you but no thank you, I'm not ready. But I knew I couldn't hide on Caroline's couch forever and I knew that I couldn't go back to what had been. After a few hours of trying not to think about all theses random and frightening thoughts that were running through my brain. I picked up the phone. “Sara, it's me. I'm in.”
Looking for an editor- so keep your ears and eyes open. All recommendation truly appreciated. (Who wouldn't want to be the editor of a best selling novel!)