JOURNAL NO.2

31 Rue Duret, Saturday morning at 11:30 a.m. I’m awoken by the sound of the front door opening, my roommate has just gotten home. I fell asleep on the couch because my bed was taken by Ren. The apartment is filled with girls. Ren and Shanisse in my room, Luna in hers and Emily in hers. 

Since we’ve only been here for two weeks we don’t know much about each other. I must admit its very strange because it feels like we’ve all been friends forever. Ali loves ballet and photography; she’s able to cook and she enjoys it. Her bubbly and fun personality is a perfect match for me. Luna is a writer, inside and out. She feels everything deeply and personally and articulates her feelings and thoughts beautifully. Emily is also a writer, but she’s many other things. She’s smart, extremely smart — in many senses of the word. She prioritizes and plans ahead, she is motivated to get out into the world and see everything for herself. 

I genuinely couldn’t be happier with my roommates. We have a working dynamic. We are open to talking to each other and open to leaving each other alone. We each do our part in the house, cleaning and buying toilet paper, etc,. We have a mutual respect and understanding, one that I have never had before. My last roommate experience was vastly different. I didn’t communicate with any of my roommates. Nobody cleaned up after themselves. Girls were buying toilet paper and keeping it in their room rather that in the bathroom for everyone to use. 

Then there’s the other girls. Shanisse and Ren are the two girls I don’t live with that I’m closest to. Shanisse is vibrant in her thoughts and her personality. It’s clear that she knows what she feels and thinks and is not afraid to show it to anyone. From her sunglasses to her shoes, she expresses herself through style and voice. Ren is a little different. Like Ali, she’s a dancer. She knows how to give advice and how to empathize with how anyone is feeling. I felt like I could tell her anything the first time I met her. She’s intelligent and well rounded — it may not seem like it but she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

Back to Saturday morning. Shortly after I woke up, everyone else did. We gathered in the living room and talked about how our nights went. After a detailed description from everyone, we decided we were hungry. Shanisse, Ren, Luna and I ventured downstairs to find something to eat. 

There was nothing I wanted more than a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich from the deli up the street from my house at home, but obviously that wasn’t gonna happen. We walked over to the bakery and I decided a baguette with ham and cheese would be good enough for me. The others weren’t satisfied at the bakery so they continued on to the supermarket. 

Walking in separate directions, I was thinking about what the girls were like 3 years ago. How much they’ve grown and learned. When did they realize who they wanted to be, are they even happy with who they are today? But then I realized none of that really matters right now. What matters right now is who they are and who I am and how we work together. And how we work together is good; it’s actually perfect. 

I went upstairs and started eating my sandwich. They arrived soon after I did. Stuffing our faces with baguette, tabouli, salad, chips, iced tea and Madeline's nobody spoke a word until they were full. Too lazy to shower and too lazy to clean up, we sat around the table complaining about our headaches and our homework. 

It felt like we’d done this 500 times together and we’d do it 500 more. It was the most comfortable I had been with new people in the longest time in my life. 

JOURNAL NO.1

Since my arrival in Paris about two weeks ago, I’ve had an extremely difficult time putting my words to paper. I expected that once I got here words and thoughts would be flowing through my head like water flowing through a stream. The problem is that there are so many of them that it’s becoming near impossible to write them out. 

A big reason why I came here was for inspiration. Back in New York I noticed that my writing was beginning to go nowhere. I would start a piece, be unable to complete it and then start another. Leaving what felt like hundreds of stories left alone that would never blossom into more. But once I started rereading  A Moveable Feast, I remembered something. In the first chapter of his memoir Hemingway wrote, “Maybe away from Paris I could write about Paris as in Paris I could write about Michigan” (59-60). 

Similar to the saying, “You never know what you’ve got till it’s gone”, what Hemingway is noting seems to ring almost unbelievably true to me. I think that the troubles I faced writing in New York came up because I hadn’t had a chance to get away. I was stuck there and I then became stuck with my writing. I haven't tired to write about New York since I got here, because I was too determined to write about Paris. I think, however, like Hemingway I must take a step back and write about New York away from New York and Paris away from Paris. 

This strategy doesn’t necessarily have to be the one and only way I write for the next five months — I just feel like I have to try it out that way I can get passed this feeling of confinement within my writing. 

I haven’t read any Hemingway in about four years. I fell in love with his writing when I was a freshman in high school, after reading The Sun Also Rises and The Old Man and the Sea. My English teacher saw that I couldn’t put either book down, and gave me her copy of A Moveable Feast. Since that time, though, I have barely touched or thought about Hemingway’s work. Rereading A Moveable Feast at my age now and physically being in Paris, his words seem even more relevant and important to me as a writer and a foreigner living in this amazing city. 

Ever since I first encountered Hemingway, I’ve loved his work and I always will. This past semester I had to read Gertrude Stein’s The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. To my disappointment I didn’t finish reading it because I just didn't like it much. Stein’s style of writing just isn’t my personal favorite and her language didn’t captivate or motivate me to continue reading. The excerpt assigned to us for this class had a similar affect on me, however, some of the things she was saying seemed to make a lot of sense. They actually caught my attention and made me think — so I hope to reread The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas and hopefully I will enjoy it just a little more. 

As I stare out of the window in my living room in Paris, I think about all of the possibilities that are waiting for me out there. Possibilities for my writing, my life, my personal growth and my education. I want to know this city like I know my own — New York City. I want to know the people here like I know the people there. The past couple weeks have shown be that both of these feats won’t be extremely difficult to achieve. 

I think about the many true sentences that will come to my mind and help me begin a story that I know I’ll finish. I plan to learn from Hemingway and all other expatriate authors that have spent time in Paris. But I mean really learn. I want to take something from their writing, something that will help me to shape my own personal style and voice. At times that sounds like the easiest thing I could possibly do and at other times it sounds like the hardest. Its always difficult to distinguish between learning and copying. I don’t want to copy any expatriate authors’ voice and style exactly. I just want to take from it something I can incorporate into my own style/voice. 

Writing this blog entry has helped me realize why I’ve been struggling so much to write since I arrived in Paris. I wrote it a little earlier in this piece, but again, it’s because there are so many different thoughts and words and ideas going through my head that I can’t decide on one. I can’t decide on what story seems to be the most true or the most inviting to me. Its almost easier to write something when you have one specific idea or thought and are just trying to expand on it, compared to when you’re trying to chose one idea out of eighty that are racing through your mind. 

But I think I also have to focus on writing about somewhere or something else — not Paris I mean. I think once I’m able to start, work on and finish one story about something completely unrelated to Paris and my time here, I’ll be back in the zone and ready to write anything. Who really knows though? 

This whole struggle might be for a good reason — maybe writing isn’t something that I am as excited about as I thought. Since September I’ve been having problems writing. I couldn't finish anything in New York. And now I can’t even start something. That’s a scary thought, though.

I’m a writer and I always have been. In any situation that I’ve faced; good, bad, scary, happy, funny, etc., the first thing I need to do in order to fully understand and wrap my head around it is write a story. The story doesn’t necessarily have to be exactly what the situation was, but based off of it somehow. I need to write to get through hard times and figure out how I really feel. Since I haven’t really been able to write for about four months, I’m scared to find out the reason why. I’m scared that it’s for a big and important reason that I’m just too stubborn to allow myself to realize. Writing this isn’t even really helping me.

But maybe this is just the beginning, you know, acknowledging that there’s a reason why I’m have such a hard time. I feel like there’s no way for me or anyone to rush the process of getting passed this problem. I just have to let things unfold and push myself to keep writing and get through it on my own. If that doesn’t work I guess I’ll need to take a step back. Away from my notebook and away from my computer. Just bask in my thoughts and sort them out until one thought turns into an idea that I can write out. 

I have no doubt in my mind that taking this class and taking the Urban Walking Tours class will help me in more ways then I can imagine. And being here in Paris won’t hurt either. Its about patience, timing, and effortlessness. The harder one tries, the faster one fails. 

Now I know I have to start with one true sentence and write about Paris when I’m away from Paris. Let’s see how that works out.