A writer's life is basically always self-quarantine
It has been a long time. I've never gone so long without blogging. I miss it so. Really. I even had a dream last night that my mom asked me if I was ever going to blog again and she never asks in real life.And I've received sweet, kind messages:
I also worry when I don't post, especially after the ol' cancer situation. People are thinking the worst.But the truth is very very different.First, I got a book deal! update from the future... it is called Dear Paris and it is already a best seller... squealSecond, I got a book DEADLINE!Third, I did get the flu and a cold, which didn't help. No COVID-19s over here. Just regular old germs from toddler toys and winter life.But now the book deal is signed, the book is in the publisher's hands, and I'm well enough to bleach everything in sight. So with singed nostril hairs, I bring you some Paris Letters from the last few months. More are in the shop.
Our super model is looking into the middle distance, thinking very deep thoughts like, "This dress is itchy," and "I'm always cold."And from November...
This letter is about looking for all the evidence of Paris being designed for horses. All the archways, all the courtyards, all the stables and places to park your horse and wagon. They are all still in Paris. You just have to know what you're looking for. Example, I've been through the Louvre countless times and never realized I was walking through a stable:
Then came December and a cute little romantic moment I had with a stranger over a pepper grinder. That doesn't sound right, but I assure you, it was a cute, innocent moment. Many of these moments can happen in Paris if you walk around with glee, which is often the case with me. Because... PARIS!
January and the transit strike, when you had no choice but to walk around:
This letter talks about how all the major fashion houses created perfumes to basically finance the rest of the show. Does this mean the government should design a scent to fund the pensions? I'm not sure how well that particular eau de toilette would sell.And before I knew it, we were in February. Here's a letter about my sweet friend Vincent on St. Vincent Day.
Speaking of sweet men, March brought another lovely moment with yet another older gentleman in France. This time, the stamp man.
I didn't realize the older gentleman theme, but in Paris there are a lot of older gentlemen, and usually they are the bartenders or cashiers, people with whom one must interact. Anyway, this is a letter about me and my stamp man... the guy who sells me a lot of worthless but pretty stamps.I've listed everything in the shop. All these are in my new book Dear Paris, along with a decade of glorious letters from Paris.
