#125 : WHERE I HIDE OUT IN NEW YORK CITY

I demand solace and beauty.

YYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSS. Hollerrrrrrr, as the streets say, because after protectively “keeping” my work from my most important professional ally for two-and-a-half years, the results are in: my agent loves The New Book. He loves the autofictional world, he loves the weird stuff, he loves everything that I love about it and have toiled so obsessively over, and THAT’S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING. He has also identified the same weaknesses as I have, so we’re working on those pages together. While I wait for his official notes, I’m—suppresses gag reflex while eyes cross—pushing through my own edit of a rough patch of 120 pages again, a mini Fourth Draft, starting Monday, and hopefully I’ll finish that before June. Then, I’m done. I’M FUCKING DONE WITH THIS STAGE. I have to try to sell it. If my agent says, “No, it needs more work”, I’m gonna snap and start gyrating sunburned in lingerie, like Britney on Instagram.

It’s also my agent's job now to suggest a bunch of plot changes that will appeal to publishers most and/or even potentially sell the most copies. I’m taking one major suggestion for a plot change, but that’s all I feel capable of right now, and he knows that. Nothing with books is casual. Renovations on the house you built take months, and sometimes, you just opt not to do them before you put it on the market. We have a few disagreements, but it’s cool. Believe me, when your agent orders you not to touch 280 of the 400 wild pages you gave him, because he loves them so much, that’s FUCKING AWESOME NEWS. He told me straight-up on our call last week: “I was nervous.” And I knew he was! All Byrd knew was how hard I was working, and that I was taking a baby-MFA class/workshop, and reading novels like it was my job.

Speaking of novels, I’m sorry that there wasn’t the usual book review column at the end of April. In my push to hand in my manuscript, I didn’t read much all month except for the completed novels of my NOVEL GENERATOR classmates, for workshop purposes. Taking a year-long class that met Wednesdays from 7-10 PM but required homework throughout the week (hundreds of pages of reading, written feedback) has been rewarding, but draining. Continuing education is awesome, though, and it’s a full tax deduction. What’s cool about my group is that we are all going to keep meeting on Zoom, even though the last session with our teacher, Lynn, was last night.

So, this has been my life. I’m working really, really hard, as I always have. In the old days, I’d party to clear my head, disappearing into nightclubs after writing xoJane or Vice columns or Murder. Now that I’m sober, I’m much more drawn to peaceful places to take breaks—where no one recognizes me or talks to me, either. Here are some of my favorite spots in New York City to recover privately from the grind.