Leaving

Time to see the old place again. 

It’s rather sad that I’m leaving just before the Blacknet series of post are over.   To my chagrin, the series was uneven, but like any good uneven thing, it ends in a rather bizarre note that reminds that the whole phenomenon of west coast science fiction writers were never in comparison to the schools of fiction that come from the other side of the country.  Those few guys are still around, let’s just say that they are as good as they have ever been, and that I might one or two of those guys on a relatively frequent basis from now on.

            Yes I’m writing this as I wait for a plane at the LAX airport to JFK.  Five years later is a long time to be angered at the old town, and Los Angeles treated me well enough to become a truly nice place that was more than just Hollywood, and the horrible people that habit it.  This was different.

            But the reality was that I was still running away.  I was still running from the idea of falling into tears every day after finishing writing.  Because writing is what she was good at.  And what she wrote was about life.   The life in the five boroughs, with its loud Greek restaurants, vintage stores, dive bars, and coffee shops.  That’s what she cared because that place saw her born, and saw her live.  And now? Now I just continue.  I don’t move on.  I just go forward.