There is something that happens to me every time I see the Indigo Girls play. Right at that part in the middle of a song, right when Amy is getting so lost in her playing of the guitar, or the banjo or the ukulele, that she starts to bend forwards, towards the violinist whose hair
I am not in Ireland today. More than anything I want to be in Ireland and I want to list reasons (excuses?) as to why I am not, but it is enough to just say that I am not. Instead, I am here, in New York City, in a Starbucks at the corner of 103rd
I am in the bank. “Date of birth?” the cashier asks. I tell her and she smiles – an action that transforms her from a bank teller into a real person. “That’s in two days,” she says. “Happy Birthday. Do you have any plans?” I have plans that involve the cinema,
The WiFi didn’t always work. The vinyl seats – the big ones upstairs, the ones like couches – were pretty worn. Some people might call them shabby. Even though the table next to the bathroom was big, you were better off choosing one of the other ones near the front, because the
Last week I went to a book club where they had read my latest novel. I like going to book clubs. I like to talk about my novels. I like the way arguments break out over the characters as if they are real people because to me they are real people. I also like
The first time I made the journey was on the train, one of three Irish girls with pale skin and oversized backpacks. Boarding at Penn Station, we’d been nervous, indecisive about where to sit, moving twice before deciding on the four seater nearest the door so we could watch the bags while we stood between
The first time I heard the word “lezzer” I was playing a game called “Home Truth.” My friends and I played every day for years and that day two of us were hiding in a hedge between two gardens. A boy cycled up the driveway behind us. He was a boy we never asked to
Last month, I turned 40. Having an age that ends with a ‘0’ makes you think – it makes me think. And the collision of this milestone birthday with the publication of my third novel is making me think about writing, and its place in my life. When people ask if I always wanted to
The year I turned 30 I took three months off from my job to write. I’d always wanted to write a novel – I’d talked about it for most of my 20s. But at 30, I was ready to really give it a go. I was ready to write, rather than talk about writing. Now,
I have something else I should be doing right now, a whole list of things in fact. I hadn’t planned on writing a blog post today and certainly not this one. But sometimes things happen that you just need to write about – that I just need to write about – and this is one
