“He kissed my mitten. “Then we’ll get you to New York,” he said. He described Manhattan as an epicenter of creativity, a midnight tar-paved island where the young artists of the world go to pursue themselves. Listening, growing warmer, I peered up through the tent’s mesh roof at faraway stars, faint glitter, giddy.” StarsCreativityNew YorkNew York CityMidnightArtistsManhattanCampingArtists LifeTent Book:Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir Source: Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir
“Yet as our North Bay strolls grew longer, sometimes wandering felt like pacing, adrift. I had no direction, only a romantic wish: to become a professional writer. But whatever terrain existed between my body and a body of work I might create seemed mysterious and vast, unknown. Most days, the sky was satin, markless blue. But below, fog hung like a suspended field of snow that never melted, the boundless dampness muting San Francisco’s lights. And the path to that summit of composing even one novel was invisible.” CreativityDreamsAmbitionWriterSan FranciscoNovel WritingWanderingAdriftStrollDirectionless Book:Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir Source: Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir
“I felt lit up, as if someone had reached into my heart and flipped an inner switch, turning me on, brighter.” InspirationCreativityCreativeAmbitionInspiredInner LightBrightTurned On Book:Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir Source: Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir