Thursday's Children--Inspired by Boston

Thursday's Children is a meme where writers join together to blog about the things that inspire them. Click here to find out more and join the blog hop!

I had another post planned for this week but it's just going to have to wait because a real life villain hurt people I love on Monday afternoon. Physically everyone I know is okay. And their families are okay. But my city is wounded. People are dead. A child is dead, his family injured. And my heart goes with them.


I spent most of Monday night angry. And scared. Because that's what anger always is at its worn and broken heart. But I refuse to spend another week on the couch, staring at the news like I did on September 11, 2001. Or December 14, 2012. Not to say that I'm not horrified and scared and angry and indescribably sad. I am all of those things. But Boston, my city, is a city that fights back. We are, as a dear friend said earlier this week, the city of
Revolution.

There is so much about Boston that inspires me.

Its Unified Spirit. There are lots of jokes about Boston culture. My family pahks our cah in Havahd Yahd. But the jokes stem from the fact that there is an undeniable feel and flavor to the city and its boroughs. We're just a little bit scrappy. Like my mother always says we, "tell it like it is." There is pride in our rich history, spirit fueled by kick-ass sports teams, and fierce loyalty to the artists, athletes, etc who call themselves Bostonian. It's a wicked awesome thing to be a part of, even from a distance. Even when my characters aren't from Boston, they are sprinkled with that spirit, that strength and solidarity. The feistiness and fearlessness. The city itself is my absolute favorite character to write.

On the field at Fenway with dear friend and CP, Dawn

Those Kick-ass Sports Teams I Mentioned. I've been a Red Sox fan since before I started Kindergarten. My grandfather took me to every spring training game growing up, since the Sox trained near my family's home outside Orlando. (We left New England when I was really little.) The first time I saw a game at Fenway Park (against the Yankees no less) I cried. The first time I saw a concert at Fenway...there are no words. I picked up the Celtics while serving as a Ball Girl for the Orlando Magic in elementary school. And once I learned to like football in high school, it was pretty convenient that my school's mascot happened to be the Patriots, also. There's little opportunity to fully appreciate hockey down here in the Dirty South, but I cheer the Bruins on every year. You can take the girl out of Boston, but you can't take the Boston out of the girl. The L.I.'s in my manuscripts are almost always Boston sports fans, and as often as possible the heroines are, too.

The Music that Books Are Made Of. I make soundtracks for each of my characters as I'm brainstorming and pre-writing manuscripts, so that when I dive into the sea of drafting I can use the music to guide me back to shore, to keep me focused on the story and emotions I'm trying to convey. The anti-hero of the manuscript I'm querying is a big Dropkick Murphys fan while my protag is more of an Aerosmith kind of gal. And yes, those boys I mentioned in my first Thursday's Children post do find their way into my playlists every once in a while. But there's so much good ish on the Boston music scene.

Oh the Places We Go. People probably think of a lot of places when someone mentions Boston: The Old North Church, Harvard Yard, the Back Bay, Fenway Park. These are the famous, history-rich places to love about Boston, but there's so much more to be found in the little local spots, too. Mike's Pastry in the North End--home of the best cannolis you will find in America--is one of my favorite places to write sensory details about. The quiet, tree-adorned shops of Newbury Street inspired an entire manuscript. The Frog Pond at Boston Common is a great place to do your writing in the summer, and in the winter it is a wonderland; the stuff all things romantical are made of.

Me and my homegirl Roxi--Boston Public Garden, August 2011

It's been too long since I've been home now. Almost two years. I want to take my family there this summer, and if Jet Blue keeps harassing me by email, I just might cave in and book the flight. Until then, I'm going to write about all the things in Boston that inspire me. I'll let the wonderful, brave, heroic things about my city serve as inspiration because there is so much good there, even in the midst of one of the city's bleakest moments.

If you'd like to help those most affected by Monday's events, please visit The One Fund. This is the charity that has been set up by Boston officials to directly benefit the families who need our support. 

To the monster responsible: May you find yourself in Roxbury in a broken down convertible with the top down at two in the morning. And in the immortal words of Will Hunting and the entire cast of The Departed, "Go Fuck Yourself."

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A Minute, Some Gnocchi, and a Couple of Cats

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry for neglecting you.

A writer in my critique group, whilst kicking my ass about my MS, also gave me the verbal beatdown about neglecting my interwebz. I guess the problem is I typically blog for one of two reasons: One? I'm really fired up about something that pissed me off on Twitter. Two? I'm really pissed off about something else.

The problem is I haven't had much to be pissed about lately. My job situation remains ambivalent, but that's been the status quo so long now that it feels like normal rather than causing me much anxiety. My marriage is fucking fantastic. I cut the yuck off my Twitter timeline this spring, so Twitter has become a happy place, and in the real world, I have some amazing friends that I've been blessed to spend a great deal of time with lately. And after satisfying my wanderlust with a six city mini-tour, my Kids are looping their way back to me later this month.

So here I am, nestled between two of our three cats wondering when I stopped being a dog person. Not much of a blog there. I'm watching The Depahted and missing my city, but I just got back from Boston three weeks ago, and I think I'm still semi-permanently drunk on Mike's Pastry and Saraceno's gnocchi.

I ain't got shit to bitch about. Except maybe Jack Nicholson's piss poor Bostonian accent. So today, I leave you with a promise to blog more often (even if it's a Seinfeld-esque blog about nothing) and a funny...