New York Before Dawn

Writing a book is strange work. You compile hours and hours over the course of a year, maybe a year and a half, and throughout that entire time you barely have anything to show for it. You can give “sneak peaks” out or show people your progress in other ways, but that isn’t exactly real. An outline is not a book. A chapter is not a book. A summary is not a book. A book is a book and that is all. A year, a year and a half, and all that time your life is constantly moving past.

I woke up at 5 this morning after some nightmares and began to feel panicky that after all of this work my book wasn’t going to be any good, which is a common fear, or that certain scenes weren’t playing out right, or that my rewrites would never end. Rather than sit around with those thoughts for company I went and walked around in a misty pre-dawn New York and snapped some pictures. That always clears my head (you can click on any for a larger view).

Writing is very strange work…

…and it makes you wander about alone…

…through the empty New York morning.


  1. Erica-Kristina says:

    absolutely gorgeous Joe!