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Friday, March 8, 2013

4:29 P.M. @ NY Public Library and All Is Well

Hello from spacious third-floor North Hall, where you can plug in your laptop and get online free. I had longstanding plans to meet my friend Celia in the city for lunch, and am joining H., Fig and family from Florida in the West Village for supper, so brought my laptop to work here for a few hours.

Have to do a story pitch that requires research.

Then, more writing. 

I look at H. every day and admire him. The way he gets up, pulls on his tan corduroys and a flannel shirt, and reports to work, slogging out words, sentences, paragraphs, pages, chapters of his new book at home, or the Montclair Public Library or Starbucks. He pushes through, fills the coffee cup, sits down and does it. I would like to be more like him in that regard.

“A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.”  --John Milton, Areopagitica, published 1644

That quote was on a threshold I just walked under here. I bet my Mom walked under it, too, when she worked here as a young woman. I like feeling connected to her--and her friend Alice--in this library. There's something magical about it. I long to know more about my mother and her life. 

And I would like her to know more about me and mine. I can visualize her looking over my shoulder.

She is wearing a long 1940s skirt and a white blouse. She has pretty dark curls. That's all for now.

 


 

 

 






2 comments:

  1. The Mysterious "H"March 8, 2013 at 5:30 PM

    Alice, when you sit yourself down to write, nobody is more productive, nobody can write a more graceful sentence, nobody is more observant, nobody has a better memory of life's little details--nobody writes better than you!

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