A friend recently asked whether I found it easier to write in New Orleans.

Overall, no, I haven’t. I’ve been emotionally upset about the day job, imbalanced in terms of exercise and eating, unsettled about my home. I haven’t been writing regularly or with the level of discipline I had in Seattle. I also get distracted here easily, wandering the quarter, exploring, or out dancing, what have you.


This place inspires me. For example. My main character plays a fiddle. There are fairies in this novel who play fiddles. It’s a big plot point, actually.

Today I decided to take an afternoon walk and I saw this in the window of an art gallery on Royal:

Painted fiddle

A fiddle. Covered in leaves. Or maybe flames.

Seattle inspires me to be good. To be diligent. To take care of myself.

New Orleans inspires me to take that leap of faith. To be an artist. To fill my soul.

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