I know, I know, I broke our little relationship up.
It’s my fault that our Sunday morning writing ritual disappeared, I understand that. Please hear me and try—try please—to remember that during those magical years, you were my favorite writing spot. That will always be true and it will never change. I promise that. It meant something to me. What we had was real. I swear it was real for me.
I looked forward to our little Sunday meetings. Me arriving at 7 or so, shaking the rain or snow off of my coat, joking with your staff, playing your trivia game, ordering my breakfast, going to my favorite spot, setting up my computer and writing for two to three hours. It was so very special to me, and I like to think it was special to you too.
Biggby, you generated creativity. And for a writer, there is nothing that means more than that. You allowed me to breath there and relax, allow my writing to work at its own speed, not kicking me out, not rushing me…. and it all meant a lot to me.
Seriously, a lot. Continue reading