Mr. Biology.

It feels like it's been a really long time since I've posted. I suppose it feels that way because it has. September is here and summer is on its way out and I don't even recall having the chance to say goodbye.

The thing I've come to find is that as a writer you always want to write, but what stops you at times from showing it to others is the fear that it is in fact, at the end of the day, total and complete crap. That very real possibility compounded by living and working in a place that does nothing less than give me a hard time at every street corner, I’ve been halted from torturing my readers with nonsense posts for nearly a month.

And really, after writing for almost three years about this city I've run out of steam – I work too much, I'm tired, drained, poor, and the little things about this thriving metropolis that used to feel so unique, so post-worthy, are now just the annoying and all-too-regular aspects of my everyday life that I'm starting to hate: Has someone shit on subway again? People still haven't learned how to navigate a sidewalk? The only good men in this city are engaged or on social security?

But a writer's work is never done (and you see here after all this time I'm finally referring to myself as a writer. Another thing I've come to find about this city is that everyone wants to proclaim to the world what they are before they even make the effort of actually becoming it, and I'm tired of sitting around waiting while everyone else takes undue recognition. And anyway, just throw a stick in this city and you’ll hit a writer).

I read a quote somewhere by writer Richard Price that made me nod my head in agreement was I got to the end of it. "The only thing I can compare it to is if you're a woman of a certain age and you haven't had a kid yet, and Mr. Biology is tapping you on the shoulder and you're in a panic. You don't want to raise the kid by yourself, but you wanna be married . . . so you rush it, and you wind up in this horrific divorce with a kid . . . I've written - started books - that I never should have started . . . but I was too freaked out about not writing to stop."

I figure I’ve been married and divorced at least five times by now - but like any naive New Yorker who wants to make something of themselves, I’ll keep at it until I find true love.