I only discovered how wonderful New York is two years ago. Last year I had the best time exploring the city with one of my friends Natasha who I’d just met while working at an American camp in Maine over the Summer.We hid from the rain in little diners eating fries and drinking milkshakes. We walked everywhere and even though I spent only 3 nights in the city they were the best days of my summer. I can’t wait to go back and hopefully will live there sometime in the future. New York, I’ll be seeing you. 

My Trip:

Stayed at: The Pod Hotel.  http://www.thepodhotel.com/

Ate at: Neil’s Diner on the corner of Lexington and 70th st.

Relaxed at: The Paris Theatre (Cinema), round the corner from the Plaza Hotel.

Shopped at: Bloomingdales, Whole Foods Market, Victoria’s Secret, GAP, American Eagle Outfitters, various Vintage stores and M&M’s World.

Visited: NYC Public Library, Union Square, Magnolia Bakery, Central Park, plus a host of locations on the Sex & The City Tour.

So I take a famous first sentence and then write for 20 minutes. This first sentence comes from Ruth Rendell’s The Crocodile Bird. Enjoy! And please send me feedback if you have any comments! Thanks.

The world began to fall apart at nine in the evening. For it was at nine o’clock that my boyfriend of eight years told me he was leaving me. It was not that another woman had stolen him from me, a country had. When Mark had gone to New York for a meeting, he returned to Cornwall a completely different man. He no longer loved the hamlet that we lived in and our Friday evenings spent in the local pub chatting to neighbours. He wanted out and it he hadn’t even considered that I might want to go with him.

‘I’ve been offered a contract in New York as soon as my current one is up in June.’ He said. ‘I know it’s only two months away but I feel like I really need to do this. Make a clean break from this town and find myself a better career in a thriving city.’

Though his first words had been a complete shock it was the next few that killed me.

‘We’ve had a good run of it but I just don’t think I can handle a relationship at the moment. I need to focus on my career. And anyway you’re not a ‘new york’ kind of person. It just wouldn’t work.’

My reality was becoming a dream, or more accurately a nightmare. I felt like I was swimming up above what was happening and was looking down from a different perspective as if someone else was living this scene. I couldn’t fee anything but numbness. I’d seen this moment countless times in movies. The charming guy leaves the girl for better things and she’s left sobbing on the sofa eating ice-cream and watching Titanic. I had never believed this would happen to me. Although I guess every woman says that.

‘So will it be okay if I stay here till I leave?’ ‘It would just be impossible to rent somewhere for such a short period of time’ Mark said. I knew that if I said yes I would get more time to try and change his mind. I could remind him of the great times we’d had travelling through India together after we’d finished university, and of the countless Sunday mornings spent reading the papers and drinking coffee on the beach, huddled under blankets. And yet I knew that even if I tried every trick in the book he would still be getting on the plane and leaving in less than eight weeks time. I was not that he had forgotten these things, they just didn’t matter to him. He didn’t care and as I realised this I stopped loving him.

‘No. I don’t think that’s gonna work.’ I could barely recognise the words as they came out of my mouth. My friends always knew they could count on me but sometimes my mother thought I was taken advantage of. Her nickname for me had been ‘say yes, Susie’ because of my inability to say ‘no’. But now at this moment in time I was feeling liberated as I spoke.

‘Urgh, what really? You sure I can’t stay Susie?’ It seemed that even Mark was floored by my response. ‘Yes I’m sure. In fact I’d like you out of here by tomorrow morning. I’m sure Ben would let you stay for a while.’ And adding the cherry on the top, ‘And you can stay on the couch tonight.’

Sorry there was no post yesterday! Had no chance to do one and I was feeling uninspired anyway. In case you haven’t read my previous posts I am challenging myself to write a short piece of fiction starting from a famous first sentence. And I stop after twenty minutes. So here’s today’s attempt using the first lines from Middle Passage by Charles Johnson.

Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I’ve come to learn, is women. However for me it was not so much women but the lack of women in my life. Having spent my youth on the Greek island of Santorini, it was expected that I would marry one of the local girls from the town. I had had a few girlfriends over the years but after I turned eighteen the interest in me seemed to die down. In fact it was stone cold dead. As the tourist industry waned, the small family businesses suffered and so many relocated to Athens and Patras, and the daughters followed. I put my energy into working hard in the harbour. I spent many hours sitting in my boat, the ‘eleutheria’, with my best friend Christos while we fished for salmon that we could the sell to nearby restaurants. But as the years went by I become a lonely man and by 27 I decided things needed to change. I was sad to leave Santorini, the island where six generations of the ­­­­­Anastas family had lived and died. I didn’t know where I would go but I knew I would miss the white washed walls contrasted against the dazzling azure sea.  I packed up my things into a small canvas bag and headed to my boat. I had stocked up on a few essentials, some wine, and a variety of vegetables that I could eat with whatever fish I caught on my travels. Though it would be a lonely life for a while I couldn’t contain my excitement. Somewhere out there was a future for me. There was no time to hesitate. After kissing my mother and shaking my father’s hand goodbye I left the dock and headed out. The white walls faded into the distance till I could see nothing but sea and the sun.

My next entry begins with Muriel Spark’s first sentence from The Driver’s Seat.

‘And the material doesn’t stain’, the salesgirl says. ‘Perfect’, I reply. ‘I’ll take it.’ As the salesgirl rings it up on the till I breathe a sigh of relief. You see I’d been looking for something like this for a long time, it was a requirement for, what you might call my hobby. It had started after my mother moved in with me. She was elderly but still kept involving herself in my life. I couldn’t attempt to leave the house without her screaming down the stairs, ‘Edwin! Where do you think you’re going?’ Every night she lay on the chaise longue with a book, constantly begging me to get her a little sherry or to fetch her a snack of cheese and grapes. So after three months of this hell it was only right that I should put an end to it. The body was easy to chop up but my problem was in how I might dispose of it. There she lay in pieces on my favourite Persian rug, thinking that it would have been a much better idea to do it in the kitchen. A nice, easy-wipe surface you see.

A few weeks later, enjoying the freedom of living alone again I met a lovely Italian girl called Mariella. She was Rubenesque with long jet-black hair that cascaded down her back. She would wear red lipstick, leaving marks on anything her lips touched. Including my expensive white Egyptian cotton sheets. And because of this she didn’t last long either.

So this brings me back to my shopping expedition for I decided that if this was to become a regular event I should invest in the proper material to assist me. Mariella’s body had been a problem as her downfall had occurred while standing on my sheepskin rug in the hall, a gift from my aunt Lady Beekstrom. I couldn’t bear to keep disposing of these luxurious items that I held so dear to my heart for unfortunately, as you may know, blood is a substance that is almost impossible to remove. I left the shop please with my purchase and glad that it would save any more items from being damaged. I hurried home so that I might have time to prepare for my brother’s arrival since he was staying with me for the weekend and he was the most frightful perfectionist.

So my newest entry as part of my Summer Fiction Project. This time using the first sentence from The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath which is one of my favourite books. If you haven’t read it I would definitely recommend it! Anyway here’s the story…

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York. I’d just finished high school and had three months before I began at Columbia University. Time stopped having any meaning. I no longer had any class work and I still hadn’t chosen my major yet. I was free. Free of all society’s constraints but only for this small period of time.

Mamma Jane had begged me to stay on at the house in Hartford, Connecticut till the term officially began but the place was suffocating me. I no longer found any happiness in the small town charm that I had enjoyed as a child, roaming around by myself and feeling completely safe. I hated how I couldn’t leave the house without running into somebody I knew from high school and having to make the usual small talk about my plans for the summer, especially since I didn’t have any.

So here I was, living in a small hostel near Times Square. I had hoped to move into my dorm early but of course they were already occupied with the international students for Columbia Summer School. It was not the first time I’d visited New York City. I had been a few times before to see an over-rated show on Broadway or to go for a celebratory family dinner but to me it felt like the first time. Never before had I taken in the elements of the city; the salty air as you passed a pretzel cart and the hot burst of steam as you walked over an air vent. Everything was alive, buzzing and never slowing down for a moment.

I spent my lazy summer days walking everywhere. That’s another great thing about the city, you can walk everywhere and anywhere and no one thinks it’s strange. Trisha, a friend from high school had told me about the time her sister was walking in Los Angeles and the police stopped her because they thought she was a hooker. You see – no one walks in LA. I picked up snacks from little Jewish delicatessens and occasionally treated myself to an ice cream from a stand in Central Park. I always chose strawberry eating it as quickly as I could; the sticky sweet cream running down the cone and onto my fingers. It was on one of these days, I can’t remember which as the days seem to blur into each other, that I met Geoff. I was sitting on a park bench near the statue of Alice when he asked me my name. At first I ignored him, thinking perhaps he was a homeless man. You wouldn’t believe how many homeless people I’ve encountered here. I stood up to leave but before I went I saw his face. He was a thin dorky looking guy, pathetic looking, you know the type.

The first sentence is taken from Anne Tyler’s novel, Back When We Were Grown Ups.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person. Or at least for a time she believed that she had. It was quite by accident that Constance had tripped down an escalator and by the time she reached the bottom she was no longer herself. An ambulance was called and they rushed her to hospital though all the while she was completely unconscious. After the usual blood tests, MRI and CAT scans she was taken to the operating room. 

Twenty two days, eight hours and seventeen minutes later she finally awoke. Surveying the room she could not determine where she was. There was a strong smell of bleach and everything was white. Was this a hospital? She found she could not move though by stretching her fingers she could reach the button to call the nurse.

A large, round, middle-aged woman entered. She was plump with a red face that made her look as if she’d just run a marathon. As she approached Constance realised she was actually much younger than she’d thought. ‘Hello dearie! I’m Emily. How you feeling?’ She spoke with a Yorkshire accent. ‘You had us worried for the while. Me and the other nurses been taking it in turns to come and sit with you. I came yesterday and sat with you while I did some crotchet. Do you like crotchet?’ Constance was finding her manner thoroughly irritating but her throat was too dry for her to speak. She indicated that she would like some water. ‘Oh of course. How silly of me!’ She wobbled over to get the jug and yet continued to blabber on, waving the jug around in her hand as she spoke. ‘The doctor should be in soon and will come and check on you.’ ‘I bet you won’t believe how long you’ve been asleep! Oh I wish I had the luxury to stay in bed all day! Much nicer than working long 20 hour shifts especially when the weather’s been so lovely. There’s been a hose pipe ban on recently so my lovely petunias have been wilting a little. You like to garden? Everyone tells me I’ve got green fingers…’ She continued on in this manner till she was called to the nurse’s station.

‘Thank god’, thought Constance. ‘Will somebody just tell me what has happened to me. And why does the name on my wristband say ‘Constance Billiard’? They must have made a mistake. My name is…’ But it was at this point that Constance stopped for she had no idea what her name was.

This time I start with the first sentence from City of Glass by Paul Auster. 

Here we go…

It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not. His wife Dorothy had thought nothing of it. The man on the line did not ask for him and so she believed it was not important. But Daniel had heard the name before. ‘Maxwell Peaks’; It stirred in him a feeling of uneasiness, it was something he had longed to forget and yet now it was staring him straight in the face. Though his wife did not know it Daniel had been placed in the Witness Protection Program almost seventeen years ago. His past now seemed to be spilling into his meticulously crafted future.

He had not dared to face up to the fact that there was a problem. Daniel tried to distract himself from going over and over the facts and yet he couldn’t. He tried to recall the voice on the on the other line. It was raspy, harsh and yet most definitely female. It was one evening a week later that he called his emergency number. Even this was written nowhere in the house, he had been ordered to learn it and never tell anyone about it. His wife was out for the night and he wanted to report it without her getting suspicious. The man on the other end of the line asked him for a code. CARTER.23.28.94. There was a click on the line and he was redirected till he heard a familiar voice, he described the event in as much detail as he could. He hadn’t heard Jonathan’s voice once in those 17 years and it was strange to hear it once again. Once Daniel was finished with his story, Jonathan spoke up. ‘Yes, I’m sorry to say that I was expecting a call from you. Our intelligence has ascertained that the man you helped us to convict has been released from prison on early parole.’ ‘Though we do not believe he has any information related to your location we have a strong sense that he intends to find you.’ Daniel, who had been drinking a glass of red wine, choked a little at these words. ‘How could this be happening after all these years’. Daniel was stunned; he felt a mixture of rage and fear. ‘Daniel, you still there?’ He reassured him he was and begged him to continue. ‘I know this may worry you but we’re going to put a tap on your phone so we can record anything that comes through. We’ll also place an agent near the house but I’m afraid there is nothing else we can do at this point. All I can say it that we’ll be watching and keeping you abreast of any developments.’ ‘And if the woman calls again, I’d ask that you keep her on the line for as along as possible. It’s the only way we’ll get a full identification.’ Daniel breathed deeply. ‘And I know this is hard but you will have to tell Dorothy. She needs to know for her own safety.’ Though all the information was difficult to hear it was this that made Daniel go cold. How would he ever tell her about his past and the things he had done.

Today’s story was a bit of struggle. Partly because I knew the first sentence which is from Ford Maddox Ford’s The Good Soldier. I found it hard to remove the sentence from the story which I know so clearly. Anyway…not my best work but enjoy!

This is the saddest story I have ever heard. It was recounted to me on a sultry summer night in Manhattan. She had hopped on the bar stool next to mine. Her face was tear stained and her name was Martha. It was only by chance that our paths crossed that night but I’m glad they did. She ordered a strong martini with an olive and then she turned to look at me. Her eyes took in every aspect of mine. It was as if she was assessing my face for signs of kindness, working out if she could confide in me. We spoke for hours that night, never moving from our place at the bar till the place eventually closed.  We wandered down Lexington Avenue, past the 24-hour grocery shops and Chinese restaurants, gazing into the windows of department stores, which had closed up for the night, the conversation never wavering.

Her story was not unusual. She had moved here from England, looking to get away from a past, though this she did not elaborate on, and hoping to get a small apartment and a decent job. She recounted facts about her life. The friends she had been sad to leave and the family she doubted could afford to visit. The week she arrived she had met someone, a highflying businessman. They had what you might call a whirlwind romance and he had asked her to stay with him since she was living in a tiny, roach infested hovel. His name was Jeremy Sacks and he was a native New Yorker. He showed her the city, they visited museums and sat in cosy diners drinking iced coffees and learning everything they could about each other. She had never known anyone quite like him. One day they had arranged to meet for lunch at a little sandwich bar by his office but he never turned up. The date was the 11^th September 2001.