I began and discarded several posts. These weren’t easy words. I really don’t like the story I wrote. There are much better fiction posts if you click the fiction button or just scroll a bit past the next post. It’s fiction but not a 3WW.
By imposing these Draconian regulations on its own troops, the Army has taken its best soldiers out of the fight and ceded this ground to the enemy.
This is taken from an excellent article in Slate.
When I go to other cities I’m always jealous of their city magazines because they seem to reflect their cities much more than New York reflects New York. And I have noticed the incestuous relationships between writers. Why even try to query a magazine that only prints articles from a chosen few?
Life’s hard enough here. It’s probably the most difficult place to break into publishing. It shouldn’t be.
Traveling Chicawrote a wonderful post on bloggers perceived realities about other bloggers.
The audience was crazed with anticipation in the packed but cozy theater. OK I got that out and can go on.
New York, May, 1979
Later Eugenie would remember bits of the day. It had been a spectacular May. Constant blue skies, low humidity and warm temperatures. That day skies were gray. It rained just enough to make her skin feel soft
Etan Patz had gone missing. There would be posters of him everywhere downtown His six year old innocence stood apart from the posters for clubs and concerts.
Later she would find it interesting that both her personal world, and the larger New York world changed on May 25th in Soho, the warehouse area that had been becoming a different cooler New York.
Eugenie and her boyfriend shared a loft on Spring Street. Lenny was an artist, who played in a rock band, consisting of artists and writers, for fun. That night they were to play at a huge club with a restaurant, The Sweat Shop, on Lower Broadway that was also a communal art gallery with readings. Emerging and established writers read. There were also psychic readings.
Lenny often urged Eugenie to read her stories, but she was content in her role as muse at night, weekends and holidays, and editor at a publishing house during the day. When she had been promoted her boss had told her that he never knew anybody who was so “giddy with anticipation about life’s possibilities.”
It was hard for her not to wake up anticipating a wondrous day . She had the best boyfriend, the best job, the life that her friends craved. She wanted them all to share in her joy. She supposed it was natural that some girls hated her. Some considered her a traitor to the cause.
Eugenie wasn’t sure what cause excluded personal happiness. Her best friends, cousins, Dinah and Delilah weren’t sure either. They were pretty sure that being a feminist didn’t mean being strident, dressing dowdy, not having a social life or living in poverty.
The Sweat Shop was huge, but she spent all day imagining how packed it would become around Midnight. Usually they did everything during the week, but it was to be a surprise birthday party for Dinah. Somehow everybody liked Dinah. She always knew exactly the right thing to do and say. That did drive both Eugenie and Delilah crazy.
Dinah had married a bona fide rock star at nineteen, and the marriage was still strong after almost a decade. Dinah and Byran had introduced her to Lenny seven years ago, the week of her college graduation.
Eugenie had imagined that the first few years after college were going to be spent in cozy apartments packed with too many roommates, a series of “first” jobs, and a string of boyfriends. She hadn’t really thought the later two parts through. Somebody always knew somebody who had a job opening. Her parents had promised they would pay for an MFA at Columbia after she worked a couple of years.
Sometimes she still thought about going back to school but wasn’t sure she wanted an MFA. Lenny’s deconstructionist paintings of Eugenie were selling for more money than they had ever imagined. Together with her parents they owned 20% of The Sweat Shop.
Usually she walked home from her office on Park Avenue South, but that evening she took a packed subway. Nothing ever happened on the double R. It was slow and went from Astoria in Queens to somewhere in Brooklyn. Dinah was standing on the train trying to read an English tea cozy mystery.
It was more interesting than she thought it would be and she continued reading it as she got off the subway at Spring and Broadway.
Eugenie had no sense of foreboding, no warning or anticipation that her cozy life was to be forever altered when a man stuck a knife in her back. He whispered that she shouldn’t scream and she didn’t.
The steps going up were so packed yet she felt like a robot as he kept one arm around her neck as a lover would do, and the other with a knife she could feel on her back.
He took her to a warehouse that was being renovated, pushed her into an almost empty building he had a key to and raped her. When he was through somebody else began. She lost count of the times and the men.
Later her inability to recognize her rapists would almost set them free. She couldn’t identify them physically but she could recognize their voices and their moans.
It was a big case, “the Soho subway rapists,” which wasn’t quite true, but…only The New York Post would identify Eugenie by name. They claimed many people had figured out who she was.
She would never feel that wonderful anticipation again, never feel that her life was to be taken for granted. Eugenie would never read a tea cozy again
Eugenie hated how many people had watched her going up the steps. In newspapers and the packed courtroom they described how strange it was that she went from reading a book, to dropping it, and not claiming it when people tried to give it back to her. They said she went from glowing to pale when a man suddenly put his arms around her body.
They thought that her sudden look of horror was at finding a boyfriend who she was obviously having problems with on the subway steps. She wondered if she had ever seen a woman being attacked and just didn’t realize something was happening.
She wondered and thought many things. Mostly she hated becoming a feminist cause celebree, an icon of sorts.
Later her life would become packed with events, but without the anticipation she felt as if things were just an obligation. She didn’t remember most of that day, but she did remember planning on telling Lenny that the doctor had called and she was pregnant. After that night having a baby was a physical impossiblity and she was too screwed up to think of adopting.
That changed in 1990 when she and Lenny adopted a baby girl from China. She did feel a sense of anticipation each morning when she looked at Gracie. Gracie made life feel cozy and sweet.