Beach

…. and something else I do when I’m not writing my novel or writing travel articles or hitting the gym or doing other stuff which I haven’t told you about yet is I go to the beach. Terracina is like this now. Gone is the still, empty, beach of winter: here are the umbrellas, the sunshine,…

Gym

So something I do when I’m not stuffing my face with junk food writing my novel at the office is go to the gym and work out. Yes, you read that correctly; me, who won the 2004 Olympic Gold Medal for Ass-Sitting. Who would always, always, rather be asleep than be awake. Who has coasted…

Office

The office is where I am these days; that is, the 113 year-old bar in the Centro with my laptop and my cell phone and my glass of vibrant orange Crodino. I’ve officially become a great big ball of novel-writing momentum, which is why I’m there and not here with ye would be-pigeon eaters but…

Back To Life As I Now Know It

That is to say, back to Terracina. Back to the looming maga circe, the beach – freshly littered with lean-to beach shacks and beach umbrellas, and the ancient city. Back to the office. Could be a hell of a lot worse.

It’s

It’s three p.m. on a Thursday in St. Stephen’s Green and it’s sunny – so ridiculously sunny for Dublin that everyone’s out and everyone’s in shirtsleeves and everyone’s on the grass and someone, some bold someone, is smoking pot; it floats on by in a sour whiff and Em and I remark on the absolute…

Swift, Stoker, Rushdie, Wilde, Beckett, Me

Five years ago, nearly to the day, I wrote this in my journal: I need to just give up – I’ll never be a writer. what ever made me think I could be one? HOW CAN YOU BE A WRITER IF YOU’RE NOT CREATIVE?????? HOW CAN YOU BE A WRITER IF YOU NEVER WRITE EXCEPT…

Serial Expat Haiku #1

Back, back to auld haunts/ Looking good, Dublin town but/ Where am I again?      

Here

Again. Brick. Brown bread. Pasties. Statues. Mussels. Craic. Graduation Time.

Pregnant

On the platform of the Q train, heading out to Queens. A crush of people; all of us staring down the train tracks. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I think that girl pregnant. I turn to my left and it’s a middle-aged woman; short sandy-colored hair and a soft Eastern European accent. Smiling at me, speaking in…

Love/Hate

Back in New York now; a lengthy layover between the wedding madness in Guatemala and my graduation from Trinity in Dublin. A layover because both far-flung events took space in a short time frame and the trip to Guatemala is, in essence, my trip to the West for the year so why not make the…