New York Girl (formerly known as Maple Street)

Chapter Ten

I decided to take up the creative writing classes and even went a on mini - spree at Paper-chase to get some new stationery and notepads. I even bought scented post-it notes for the occasion.

'You got talent kiddo, but do you wanna know what your problem is? It's not coming for the heart. It needs to come from the heart. Do you know what I'm saying?'

'Yes, Sir.’

'Good! Now what have you gotta start doing?'

'Writing from the heart?'

'You're a fast learner kid. Now, does anyone else want me to read their work out loud?’

I sat in the corner of the room hoping he wouldn't cast his beady eyes on me. Luckily, he decided to pick on one of the more mature students of the class.  A guy called Horatio. He reeked of tobacco and every time he walked past me, my stomach somersaulted from the stench.

Brody McClusky was the name of our teacher.

He spoke with a strong Southern American accent. He had moved to New York a few years back to pursue his career as a theatre actor, but that didn't work out and is known for repeating the following 'America's hard to crack kids. You gotta have balls of steel to handle the rejection and the dedication to carry it through. But oh, when you do, boy is it worth it.'

I wanted to ask him what had happened to his balls but I thought I should wait to ask such a personal question.

He decided that teaching creative writing to mature students was good enough and had made a full time career out of it.

Despite the scary monologues and nit picking sessions that Brody called ' constructive criticism' I really liked being a student again. It was only a couple of evenings a week but the plus side was I could learn how to write ‘creatively’. I often found myself wondering if there was another way but to write creatively. I mean, you can't exactly write uncreatively, even at the worst of times.

 At the end of the lesson I bolted out of the classroom and headed out into the cold evening air. Autumn was starting to creep in and as I walked towards the dimly lit coffee shop I noticed red leaves had fallen under the trees. It looked magical. My hands were slightly numb from the cold so I dipped them inside the warmth of my coat.

'Small Cappuccino?' asked the friendly waiter at Purple Java's.

'Yes Please.'

'I will bring it right over.'

Purple Java's was a cosy coffee shop that had become my second home since I started my writing course. They served delicious homemade cakes and the best coffee in all of Manhattan. I claimed residency of the window seat with the spongy chair and a table that could hold books, a laptop and pretty much anything you needed it to.

Feeling my phone buzzing inside my bag, I quickly pressed the green button.

'Hello.'

'It's Rachel.’

'Hey.' I replied, forcing my happy to hear from you voice.

 The connection was really bad and her voice was coming out in broken syllables.

'I will be back from France next week. Have you and Ethan started work on this conversion project yet?'

'We are starting it first thing tomorrow morning.'

'Glad to hear it.’

'How is France?'

'It's great, Listen I have to go but good luck with the project and we will catch up when I get back.'