“True freedom can be lonely…but it’s also sweet.”
The Land Share
Forwarding Address
The brass bell above the letter box rang for the first time today. Arati had installed it a week ago. She ran out to meet the postman, but caught only a glimpse of his khaki-clad back, as he peddled away furiously on his bottle-green bicycle with rusty fenders. Her heart raced as she unlatched the wooden letter box. She broke into a smile seeing the postcard—pale-yellow in colour, fourteen-by-nine centimetres in size (she knew this by heart), one of the four corners curling up slightly. It had been four months since she last received one of these. Bapa’s handwriting had become squigglier, but it was still legible.
How I Write
I lie in bed waiting: sometimes to fall asleep, sometimes to get up and start writing again. I let it out. It meanders and finds its path. It has a mind of its own. I can’t arrest it again. It flows. Sometimes it refuses to go further; then it decides to go deeper, like a whirlpool. Motion has many forms. I let it dig, find the trenches, fill it up and move forward again.
The Tombs
The pack of them had met up on the trails and now sat astride their bikes at the top of the Widowmaker. No one remembered who had named it that and no one so far as they knew had ever died on that short, steep hill. One of the trails that led into the woods was flat and featureless until it wrapped around a monstrous elm tree and plunged down to a dry and rocky creekbed. The change in pitch was so sudden that one’s front wheel often left the ground and both bike and rider seemed to be in freefall until they arrived at the bottom, rubber side down or not.
How I Write
I write sporadically. The work-life-hobby harmony of a restaurateur is prone to disruption. One recent novel was completed in bursts that bordered on the spasmic. It’s currently being ignored by at least a dozen agents; I keep chopping it up and frankensteining it together in the shadows while I wait.
Catherine of Horatio Street
Placed in the West Village, Horatio Street is the heart of the village, uniting the Meatpacking District and Chelsea. A glamorous address among the downtown scene, Horatio Street boasts historic addresses, great shopping, and beautiful scenery. The legendary novelist, critic, and activist James Baldwin lived at 81 Horatio Street, which inspired his pioneering novel Another Country.