Last night, walking home, it was foggy in Brooklyn – just like it was when I’d walk home in San Francisco, which is the setting of Pharamcology, which just came out today. Well, this morning. I’m up early as I just gave birth. Kind of like that.
The city is moving in on me. That fog – makes the streets smell a certain way and sticks the tires to the cement just right. The world seems different today. The book is out of me and there’s nothing more I can really do but just wait. Reactions are going to come either way – that’s just how it goes. How it all is.
But that fog – I’ve never seen it like that in Brooklyn before – must be because of the energy of the launch, though that’s kind of insane to think such things – like the universe has any time to notice that a new book is coming into the world. Well, it just might. Perhaps reading is one of the ways we can connect deep into the soil and allow for existence as it should be.
This, now, is the sublime time. The time before reviews and before sales start to matter at all. This is the moment when you can just sit with your cup of coffee and look out over the buildings and trees that aren’t all there anymore and just reflect. Just wonder. Just ingest. Just, be. Writer and book.
That fog though – I remember it so. It allowed me to talk with my grandparents who have been gone for so long – They came back in that thickness and we talked as I walked up Dekalb Avenue then turned left of Vanderbilt. Each one of them spoke to me and we went over family history. My grandfather on my father’s side seemed particularly proud because I was carrying on his last name – There were times when he thought he would be the last.
In the fog these things can happen. Thought about though high inclines of San Francisco and how hard it was to walk up after a long day of work, or how lonely they were to walk down after a heartbreak or two. That’s how that city goes.
If I could, and I kind of wish I could, I’d jump on plane and fly out for a cup of espresso at Cafe’ Trieste and just – watching the stillness of the world out there – trapped by fog and memories of how it used to be. New York, well, there is no stillness here – not usually – but last night there was that moment. Perhaps it was there just to slow me down a bit and make sure I didn’t run away with my mind. How could I though?
I’m supposed to keep my head during all of this. Right now is the perfect time and the perfect amount of light – the time when it should be to write it down and do those morning exercises I tell my students to do and still must keep up myself.
Today, there is no doubt I’ll be checking sales and peeking into reviews, but I must be careful not to jump in too much. Though, of course, there is no helping myself there. So I’ll exist now, here in this moment, for as long as it takes. Staying in the fog and relaxing myself in memory. That’s what those books allow for – the relaxation of memory. It’s time for such things – to believe in such things. I do.