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Writing historical fiction: sometime journal of a New York City novelist

A walk at night in my NYC neighborhood

I just went out for a breath of air, and there isn't much. It's still 82 degrees at 11:00 pm. I love my neighborhood at night! Lights shimmer from the old brownstones on side streets and the trees before them are heavy and still. The young, bearded Greek orthodox priest in his cassock was standing outside his church a few blocks away talking to some men. People were walking dogs. Through this strolled one novelist (me) thinking of her books and saying prayers here and there. And then just as I was nearly home a breeze came up and blew past me. Everyday the weather forecast says thunderstorms but they do not come.

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