When Annie was here last week, we were wandering around the Montmartre one evening after dinner, delaying going back to my apartment because the night was just so pretty, and as we crossed Rue des Abbesses, we looked back towards Rue Caulaincourt and were both blinded from the sun. The light in this town is unreal, even (or especially) at close to 10 at night. You can make a case that Paris is more beautiful in the rain (and it was overcast and gray here for days, which my moody, writers-block-suffering self secretly loved) but then moments like this occur, and it’s hard to deny how magical and glorious that golden light is. This morning it finally seems like the city has shed the gray, and the sun is pouring into my apartment.
Other Paris Details of Note: Yeah, I said writer’s block. Up until yesterday, when I broke through 60k words, I was having a hell of a time with it. Rule #1: Write every day seemed to be an optional guideline for a while there. I’m certainly still getting out and walking every day, averaging 6 kilometers (oh my god, look at me, thinking in metric) a day, which I am promptly undoing with all the bread products and desserts (hello, Mont Blancs at Angelina) and Camembert. And I’m practicing my French with the locals! And taking a million photos! But when I came back to my apartment and sat at my desk, it was like I’d left the story on a bus stop somewhere; it just wasn’t there. I hadn’t written anything substantial in a week. A week! And then yesterday I somehow got 1500 words down in an afternoon without even trying. My mom reminded me of something my dad always said: “It’s the rests between notes that make the music.” Trying to remember that.