Reading through many of the @humansofny stories inspired me to share my NY story or rather, my moving-to-NY story.
We didn’t last as New Yorkers for very long—almost two years—and now, eight years after we officially vacated the city, I still get anxiety thinking about what we went through. The year was 2010, just after Cam and I married. Four months later, in fact. Since my wife, Cam, was based in NYC for her flight attendant position at the time, she was exhausted with constantly commuting from DFW to NY. She wanted to try living in NYC full time. I was totally on board. I’d lived in NY once, and have a passion for food and wine, and crave new experiences (we both do) so why not? Our main problem was that NY was (and is) one of the most expensive, difficult places to live in the entire country. Not only is it pricey, but renting a place in NYC isn’t like other places. You might as well be buying an apartment with all the paperwork you’re required to have, on top of which you need to hire a real estate agent to see available rental. That becomes even more expensive because there’s usually a safety deposit, first and last month’s rent required UP FRONT, plus all the associated agent fees, which is usually equal to a month’s rent ON TOP of everything else. It’s a lot to handle if you’re already living in the city let alone trying to make the cross country move. Lucky for us, we already had an apartment set up. A fellow flight attendant with Cam (I’ll call him “Reggie”) offered to sublet his apartment in Queens to us. Our sublet was set to begin in September, 2010, so we didn’t renew our current DFW lease, packed up our apartment and set up a moving van. Everything was set up and we were excited. Until we got a call. About a week prior to turning the ignition on our moving truck, Reggie calls and reveals to us, “I’m not ready to move yet. Can’t sublet to you. Sorry.” Needless to say that we were shocked. We had to scramble and didn’t know what to do. All options were on the table: do we stay in TX? Could we rent another apartment in NY within a week? Would we still renew our current lease? Our minds were buzzing with questions. Cam flew out to NYC for work and made appointments for possible apartments between trips. She’d call me on work breaks to describe the possibilities and send links to pics of the apartments. Then, by accident, she ran into Reggie at the airport. He felt terrible about our situation and proposed another solution.
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Every now and then you'll come across a restaurant that feels like a contradiction. A taco and sushi fusion place. An Italian restaurant that has more beer selections than wine. Even something like a gastropub seems like a contradiction of terms.
Then you go to a restaurant like Crook's Corner and don't know what to think other than, "Dang, that was delicious!" Crook's Corner is the type of restaurant that I don't think should be as successful as it is because it's kind of a weird experience (and so, so delicious), but it's been in operation for several decades. It's also been hailed as "Holy ground for Southern foodies" by the New York Times and places as one of 38 essential restaurants of the South over on Eater.com I first came to know about it around the Thanksgiving holidays in 2018. It was through a pie recipe. In creating a Thanksgiving meal that year, I wanted to bake an interesting pie, something that I've never made or heard of before, and I found the perfect one in Bill Smith's Atlantic Beach Pie. It's also called the "Oh, My God" pie because it's so dang good. Smith's pie is so deceiving purely due to its simplicity to make (another contradiction). You just need butter, a sleeve of Saltine's, lemons, condensed milk, eggs and sugar, and you're off to the races. Here's a link to the recipe, if you're curious (you will thank me): https://www.npr.org/2013/04/11/176279512/a-north-carolina-pie-that-elicits-an-oh-my-god-response It took another year, though, for me to connect the dots of that amazing pie all the way to Chapel Hill, North Carolina where Crook's Corner is located. And here's where several contradictions can be noticed: it looks more like a diner than a fine-dining restaurant, it's in a small college town, located on the very end of a main avenue and almost facing away from foot traffic as if it wants to stay hidden, and most people don't know a thing about it although it's recognized as a must-dine spot for Southern food. It's a no frills type of experience and very unassuming. The wine list was simple, but had a nice selection with attractive prices. We went with a Morgon since we knew we'd be having a variety of food, both land and sea. For our meal, we dined through Curried Pork Terrine, accompanied by kimchi, mustard and toast, a half dozen oysters with mignonette, Cheese Pork (the southern answer to Schnitzel) atop mash and veggies, and the Crook's Corner take on Shrimp and Grits (a must try). Can you guess what we had for dessert? That's right, the Atlantic Beach Pie. It was every bit as good as I expected and will be a staple dessert in our house for years to come. My wife and I are new to Georgia.
To be fair, it's been just over a year since we made our cross country move from Texas to the South of Atlanta--in a cute town called Newnan--but everything still feels very new to us. We're in a constant state of discovery. And with five- and three-year-old boys in tow at all times, we need to stay busy, whether we're at one of the many beautiful parks around the area or exploring new cities and towns across Georgia. There's so much to do and see in this state and we've loved every second of it. Of course, the city of Savannah has been recommended time and time again and this past weekend, we finally made the four hour drive to the city on the coast. It should suffice to say that it did not disappoint. Well worth every minute of the long drive (even with two impatient young boys asking "how much longer" every few minutes). There's a mystical vibe to the city, with its Colonial architecture and moss-covered boughs of ancient trees sweeping over the sidewalks. You feel as if you're walking among ghosts as you travel to the riverfront, down the steep, historical steps (with signs literally stating: Historic Steps/Use At Own Risk) and cobblestone streets. Only certain sections of Boston, New York and New Orleans made me feel this way; as if you're actually walking through history. Every building, street and park reeks with it. In good ways. The city awed me. One of our favorite aspects of traveling to any new city is the walkability factor. Savannah has this quality in spades. We stayed right across from the riverfront area and didn't use our car until we checked out of our hotel to head home. This city is insanely walkable. There was the "City Market" area, with large sections of street blocked off for pedestrians and lined by cute restaurants and pubs spilling onto the sidewalks with cafe style tables and seating. Or there's the River Walk, lined by the Savannah River on one side and dozens of seafood restaurants and gift shops on the other. There's so much to do, see and eat, but we only afforded two days to the visit, so this is what we did. DAY ONE Not having stopped for lunch during our drive and two o'clock fast approaching, we needed food, so we quickly picked one of the restaurants with a river view. I won't name the restaurant, since the food was just okay and not something I'd necessarily recommend, but the platter of fried oysters and shrimp paired with a couple of local IPAs was good enough that we were satisfied. Afterward, we just walked down the river, saw the old styled Steamboats that offered dinner, lunch and sightseeing tours and had a mid-afternoon dessert at BELOW ZERO where they flash freeze sweet cream mixed with various flavors on a freezing, stainless steel surface. It was definitely style over substance for me. The ice cream was quite good (I ate every bite), but didn't taste any better than many other ice creams. The experience of watching the ice cream made, however, was worth the visit, like a show before dessert. For dinner, we had all sorts of ideas of where we'd like to go, yet, like many things in life with kids, we had to face reality and be serious about where we could truly dine. All the "Must Eat" lists for Savannah, placed The Grey (more on that later), That Olde Pink House, Atlantic and Cotton & Rye toward the top, but we weren't entirely comfortable dining with a five and three year old at those spots. After much deliberation, we finally decided on a restaurant only a couple of blocks off from our hotel, called THE ORDINARY PUB. Yelp reviews placed it as Good for Kids and were almost across-the-board solid for the drinks, atmosphere, and food, so we took the chance on it. Boy, was that a good choice. After finding the spot on Broughton Street, a steep set of stairs took us below ground, making the spot feel like an updated speakeasy. That old world feel was intentional, with iron piping lining the walls and loosely hanging Edison bulbs lighting the dim atmosphere. It was cozy, the type of place I'd want to hang out day to day, like a hipster Cheers. There was a substantial beer-on-tap list, along with an interesting assortment of cocktails, but it was also the type of spot where you feel like you could just tell the bartender your tastes and trust them to produce the perfect drink. Unlike the name, the food was anything but ordinary. Elevated pub grub is the best to describe it, mixing contemporary tastes and new spins on old classics. Like Gumbo over Cheese Grits with delectable sausage stuffed hush puppies or the Short Rib and Kimchi atop bacon fried rice. For a hot summer meal, these were a bit heavy, but we ended up eating every single bit. However good those were, our favorite dish was arguably our appetizer, the Pork Belly Donut Slides, which is exactly what the name suggests: fall apart pork belly sandwiched between glazed donut buns. We also splurged on the upcharge for the side of Gouda sauce. So worth it, as I'm still tasting that perfect marriage of savory and sweet even as I write this a day later. At the end of the meal, instead of dessert, we ordered two more beers TO GO, which is a thing in Savannah. Like New Orleans, you're allowed to carry alcohol on the streets (as long as it's contained in plastic). Perfect for parents on a weekend getaway. I'm sure it can get rowdy at times, with that sort of feature to your city, but for us, it was absolute perfection. We plopped down in Ellis Square, our frothy, bitter IPAs in hand while our boys frolicked in the fountains and played with other kids. It was a perfect toast to the end of a well lived day. DAY TWO A gray colored sky greeted us the next morning. It was raining. Our ideas of leisurely strolling through the rest of the city were washed away, but with so many restaurants within a block or two of our hotel, we made the mad dash for breakfast. On our way to The Ordinary Pub the day before, we'd passed GOOSE FEATHERS, a French-themed cafeteria set-up solely focused on breakfast/lunch food. Everything was very affordable and solid food. We ordered a simple set-up of belgian waffles, eggs and bacon for the boys while we split and Everything Bagel with house-made cream cheese and a "Savannah-style" Eggs Benedict, which was essentially a traditional Eggs Benedict atop a croissant. Given the glowing reviews and recommendations of the brunch spot, I expected superb food, and walked away thinking it was just fine. It was affordable and the food was serviceable and pretty good. Nothing stood out, though, so don't expect fireworks. My wife and I were still recovering from out beers the night before (as well as a shot of whiskey procured from the hotel bar), so more coffee was a necessity. We stopped inside SHUGA GIRL, just across the street from Goose Feathers. I'm glad we did. There was a palpable eighties vibe to the coffee shop, with a mix of green and pink neon signage, gold lined decoration and wicker furniture, yet it was all updated and modern. It was like being inside a really cool, retro movie set. Everything was great. The ladies behind the counter were perfectly helpful and our cappuccinos were the best we'd had in a while. The only downside was the croissant we added to our order on a whim (we're suckers for a good croissant). Not that the locally made pastry was bad by any means, but it just wasn't what we expected--thicker, like a muffin, rather than the crusty, buttery croissants we typically enjoy. By that point, the rains abated a bit and were able to explore. We had a couple of hours before our lunch venue, so we made the trip up to the Colonial Park Cemetery, which is well worth a stroll through to see the fading tombstones, some dating back to our country's inception. The historical mansions along Oglethorpe and Liberty are close by, along with the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist and Flannery O'Connor's childhood home, and important destinations to see. By that point, the highlight of our trip was fast approaching, when we had lunch at THE GREY. Have you every built something up in your mind so much, and for so long, that there was no way that particular thing could ever stand up to your mental picture of it? Whether a movie, a book, a travel experience, or a restaurant, there are often things we build up like in that way. Reality just can't stand up to the Dream. The Grey was that thing for me, but let me tell you, the restaurant EXCEEDED my dream of it. As soon as the sixth season of Chef's Table appeared on Netflix, my wife and I watched it. We love this show and have seen every episode. The first episode of the new season featured Mashama Bailey and The Grey. Her story drew us in and by the end, we were already planning on a visit. Some day. (Fun side note, Mashama actually worked at Prune in New York City, under Gabrielle Hamilton, which is another favorite restaurant of ours.) The restaurant is right on Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard, so you're likely to pass it as you enter the city. It's a striking spot, with gleaming mix of shiny dark blue and gray and a massive neon sign to beckon you inside. A renovated greyhound station from the '30s, the designers certainly honored the original art deco style. Gate numbers from the days as a bus depot still adorn the walls. We lunched in the diner bar section at the front, which is only open for lunch three days out of the week, Friday through Sunday. I highly recommend getting there at the opening bell, 12pm, as we did. There are only three or four booths and fifteen or twenty stools at the sweeping bar, and it filled up FAST. By a quarter after, the place was buzzing, packed. Since we didn't know the next time we'd be there, we treated ourselves to half the menu. We ate through two rounds of Savannah Red Rice Balls, Ricotta Toast, Smoked Fish Dip, Fish & Grits, Big Dog, and an Eggplant Sandwich. It was all exactly what I wanted, new takes on classic Southern cuisine. If there's one restaurant you visit in Savannah, please make it The Grey. All in all, we had a wonderful time exploring Savannah, but two days just wasn't enough, so we're already planning our second visit. I just had a birthday. I'm 38.
It's funny, there was a moment in time (not too long ago) when I thought life was essentially over once you turned thirty, not to mention the ripe, old age of THIRTY-EIGHT. I always held onto silly ideas that I needed to accomplish certain goals by certain ages, and if I didn't achieve those goals, that meant I was a failure. Many of those ideas were born out of comparison, like if Steven Spielberg made his first flick at 26 or Steven King published his first book at 26, then I should do the same. When twenty-six came and went, I'd temporarily feel like I'd failed some kind of abstract challenge, but move on and look out for another icon who found success at a later age. Even now, I'm half-thinking about Madeline L'Engle's declaration that she'd quit writing if she didn't publish by forty, and how she got Wrinkle in Time published at 42, and how I've still got time to "MAKE IT." We're always doing that to ourselves, aren't we? Holding up other people's stories to make ourselves better, than finding another story once that benchmark passes by? I know I do. And the reality is that people accomplish big things at all ages. Some in their twenties, others even earlier and many much later. And it's all okay. I sometimes think of my adult life not even starting until I turned 32. That milestone came along with the knowledge of my wife being pregnant with our first son. Life really cranked up for me. The reality of life's finite quality never became clearer until that moment, and now I've really cranked up the work to achieve those goals. That's not to say that I wasn't "living" prior to 32--I had so many wonderful adventures, travel and work in my twenties--, but I am saying that those abstract goals crashed head-on with the reality that life WILL END. While I only have a certain amount of time to achieve certain things (because I will die at some point), I still must enjoy the moments I'm in. Look to the future, but don't forget about the present. And I often missed out because I dwelled on comparing my life and career with others. Does that make sense? In all my research of authors, directors, or any other visionary, literally the only common aspect I've discovered in almost anyone's story of "making it" is that they never gave up. So, I won't. This is a long way of saying that 38 will be the best year of my life, at least until my next birthday. Never put off your dreams until tomorrow.
No better time than right NOW, no matter the outcome. About two years ago, I quit my job to follow my dreams.
That's the easy way to put it. But the complexity of the event has a ton more nuance than just that. I'm married, with two kids--two rambunctious boys, both under five, more specifically. Life is crazy. We have a mortgage and bills to pay, so it wasn't as simple as just quitting. My wife and I had to come to an agreement, make plans and prepare for the life switch. It's been more or less smooth since, but certainly not easy or simple. With my wife going back to her full-time job, my job became capital "D" Dad and for any stay at home parents out there, you know being a SAHP (sounds like "Sap," funny enough) is incredibly difficult, let alone trying to balance those duties with writing novels. And I'm still following those dreams of publishing. I haven't captured it yet and who knows if it will ever be enough to be a main income. I waited a long time to write my first novel.
Through the years, I'd keep a journal from time to time and started more novels and short stories than I can remember. My main problem was two-fold, in that I believed in two principle writing lies: 1. I needed inspiration. 2. I needed the perfect writing conditions. In virtually every story or movie featuring a writer, there's consistently a cabin in the woods with a typewriter and that lightning bolt of inspiration where they rattle off a novel in a matter of hours. And when they type out "The End," it's just that: The End. No edits, no further rewrites, no more drafts. Boom. The End. Off to an editor and here comes the multi-figure check. When I didn't have a "lightning bolt" of inspiration or that ideal setting to go to, I kept telling myself that I was a failure. I wasn't a real writer. I believed the lies. The reality is that nothing is perfect on a first draft. Writing is rewriting. And writing is the deliberate discipline of stapling your pants to the chair and just DOING IT. You can't do anything with a blank page, but you can do a ton with a 70,000 word draft. It ain't gonna be perfect, but that first draft must exist before the final draft can. And there is no perfect spot to write. For me, my main writing exists inside two hours (from about 1 until around three), when my kids nap or have quiet, personal time. And even though it's "quiet" time, my kids are often running in, interrupting my writing to ask questions or to play for a moment. But it's what I have to do. Even though I have a specific time for writing, a section of the day I've carved for myself, I still write in the margins. Between naps and activities and dropping my boys off at school. When you have the dream, you make it happen, even it's just on the side, in the margins of life. "Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing."
--Benjamin Franklin I think about this quote a ton. The main aspect I dwell on is the single word question that inevitably follows each time I read the quote: HOW? Especially when you see the person behind the quote, Benjamin Franklin. How do you write something WORTH reading or do something WORTH writing? I get hung up on the idea of WORTH. What is worth the time or money (or someone else's for that matter)? And I come back to the idea of what stokes your passion. What is worth it to you? And that part of it has to be honest and true and real, down to your soul. You can lie to others, but you can't lie to yourself, not forever anyway. What's worth it to you? What's worth spending your energy, time and life on? That's what you need to write. Fitness and health have never been primary concerns for me.
I've been lucky to have high metabolism and a relatively lean frame, so up through my twenties, I never focused too closely on what or when I ate. I always stayed on the skinny side. Not so much in my thirties. Since having two kids, I started to notice the pounds add up and extra fat spill over my pants. Over the years, I would join a gym or take up a particular fitness routine, which would last two to three months. It would always end because of something disrupting it--a vacation or getting sick or just telling myself I'd take a short break, but then never returning to it. I found excuses more than excuses found me. Late last year, something clicked for some reason and I've decided to get in the best shape of my life. It was early November, 2018, and I haven't stopped yet and have only added to my routine in different ways. Not that writing was expressly to blame for my bad health, I must say that as a writer, typical writing routines don't help. Like many writers, I spend many hours upon hours sitting down and staring into a computer screen. That type of stasis over long periods of time doesn't get the heart rate going or shed extra pounds. This is what has worked for me. Of course, long walks can be brain fuel. In terms of writing or ideas for your stories, nothing helps more than time at a park, in the sunshine, or a walk away from the buzz of a city. Just immersing yourself in nature is both healthy for you body and food for your mind. More deeply, though, for extra fitness, I've found that going to a gym has always been a barrier I found hard to cross. If I brought the gym home, so to speak, then I'd have one less excuse, right? Right. So, I joined an "online" gym and it's much cheaper than a typical membership. It's called Beachbody and for a year, it's about $8/month, with dozens of videos, different workouts and various regimens taught by different trainers, all dependent upon where you happen to be in your fitness journey. I also purchased a pair of Bowflex adjustable weights so I wouldn't have to shell out thousands on an intricate weight set-up. I found an eating plan that works for me. Diets always struck me as difficult because you're typically denying yourself something: certain foods or amounts. I've been eating low-carb/Keto for about six months and I don't ever feel hungry after meals, although I have to resist certain things like sugar and carbs. All in all, it's the easiest "diet" I've ever tried. Now that summer is here, my wife and I have made it a mission to kayak more. Our boys love the water, its fun to get on a boat and explore, and it's good, free exercise. You're outside, in the elements, basking in sunshine, and we'll often picnic on the water or land on a beach to eat. It's been an awesome journey so far and it's given me purpose and goals outside of the pursuit of publishing. I'm tired.
That was my initial thought upon receiving two more publisher rejections from my agent. I'm tired. So, so tired. Between my first agent experience, which turned out to be very shmagenty, and my current, real agent who does all the things an agent should do (and is great, truly great), my novel has been on submission for about ten-ish months. First round was about four months before I parted ways with the first "shmagent" and now the second round (as I'll call it) has been around six months so far, with each round separated by close to a year. As I've said in a previous post, waiting is so, so hard. It's the hardest part. Sometimes, my agent will reach out with news first, but other times, I'll send a question because I can't wait any longer than a month between news. I don't know if that's good or bad. It just is. Attempting to get published is an exhaustive marathon where you continually run into closing doors, when all you want to do is continue running. But you're also blind. Without any sense of where or how to go. And lobsters with razor sharp claws are chasing you, attempting to push you off a cliff. Maybe not that last part, but the prior descriptions are totally apt to the business. Between my full time job as a stay-at-home Dad for two CRAZY BOYS, regular life stuff and attempting to get published, I'm just so damn tired. Tired of being told no, tired of not knowing, tired of not understanding what I can do differently, tired of wondering if the other books I'm writing will stand a chance, tired of getting critiques, tired of self-critiquing. I'm tired. I don't write this for sympathy. Just a need to be honest. All of us--published, unpublished, agented, unagented--should probably be more honest about our journeys. So, I thought I'd share some of my rejections. Be open and honest and all that. Soon after starting on my own writing journey, I discovered a blog by Julie C. Dao, author of Forest of a Thousand Lanterns, wherein she shared many (maybe all) of her publisher rejections to show how subjective the nature of this business is. She had the happy ending that I haven't yet found, but I thought I'd share a few of my rejections so far anyway. This is just a sampling, lifted directly out of the emails, and of course, no names or publishers are mentioned. Maybe it'll help some of you out there. Maybe it's just interesting. I don't know. Take a look, leave a comment, share your stories or rejections. "James does a wonderful job infusing the atmosphere of the story with a sense of mystery and wonder. However, I have to admit that I wasn’t connecting with the voice as strongly as I’d hoped. Given this, I don’t think I’m quite the right editor for this project, so I’m unfortunately going to have to pass." "I loved the writing, but after reading it, I’m afraid I’m not the best fit for books about magicians or traditional magic." "I found the concept to the story a lot of fun and definitely appealing to the middle grade audience, but I just didn’t love the voice enough to see this as a project we could break out on our list." "James Fryar’s bio is a lot of fun, and that same sense of whimsy and passion comes through in the manuscript itself. There’s a lot to admire in the novel’s pages, but ultimately I worry it might be a little too close to our own TITLE OMITTED to be a fit for our list." "James is clearly a strong writer, and the engaging voice drew me in. That said, while I enjoyed much about the read, ultimately the plot didn’t fully click into place for me, and so I suspect that I’m not the right match for the manuscript." "I really enjoyed the high-stakes adventures and getting a glimpse into the all the work that goes into performing magic! Unfortunately, I have another book on my list about a kid magician, and though this is a very different story, I don’t think I can take it on, too." So, there you go. That's where I'm at. Novel's still on submission. There's still hope, blahblahblah, but honestly it's hard to see that at times. |
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