Obsessed for Zane

The weekend before my New York trip, I went on a last minute jaunt to Memphis with my very old friend, Shayla Kersten (she’ll love that!). The impetus for the trip was something that happened only a few nights before that weekend. I had just lain down to sleep, was starting to drift off, when I opened my eyes and looked at the mirror over my dresser.

An idea flashed into my mind, and of course, sleep was out of the question for the next few hours as I furiously scribbled down notes for a new urban fantasy book.

As I wrote my notes, played with titles, and thought about the heroine whose voice was starting to talk to me (it was really late, okay?), I realized I needed a special city to set the stage for the story. Someplace near water, someplace reminiscent of New Orleans, but not, since I’ve already got one series going in the Crescent City.

Memphis was perfect–and close enough for a last minute trip to fill my senses with setting and maybe shake out a few more plot points.

Since Shayla lives near me, and lived in Memphis during one of her earlier incarnations, I sent her an email to invite her along. She loved the idea and was eager to tag along. Next, I contacted the Romance Writer’s of America chapter located in Memphis for their recommendations for spooky locales, and we were set.

For the next few days, I’ll share pictures and stories of our adventures. So, stay tuned. You know, my adventures never travel in a straight line and take me to some wierd places. I’m not sure if I’m attracted to wierdness or vice versa, but at least my life is never boring. 😆

Obsessed for Zane

Well, I left New York a week ago and made it all the way to Chicago before the trouble started. “Low ceilings” the American Airlines rep said when Myla and I asked about our first cancelled flight.

We hunkered down, got ourselves put on standby for the next flight, and hoped. Chicago’s airport isn’t a fun place to hang out. There aren’t many places to sit comfortably for long periods–we could only drag our meals out a Chili’s for so long before the waitress gave us pointed stares to tell us others were waiting for our seats.

When our second flight was cancelled, we started to worry we wouldn’t make it out at all, but there was one last flight at 9:30 PM. We knew if we didn’t get on that flight that we’d have to sleep in the airport. But since we’d been up since O-dark-thirty that morning anyway, we didn’t last. Just before I nodded off, I looked across at Myla, and this is what I saw.

Well…I fell asleep. Imagine my surprise when I got home and saw this picture of myself. The question is, what the hell was I dreaming about?

Steady as it goes! If I keep it up, I’ll actually meet my deadline!
Current WIP: Obsessed for Zane

This proves I’m that wierd writer person. I didn’t get to any of the landmark sites, but did manage to take pictures at midnight from my hotel room window of that accident in the street below my highrise room. It happened the night before we left. We’d just gotten into bed. Myla bitched about the noise from the streets–honking, sirens. I said it was all “white noise” and wouldn’t have a problem getting some Z’s, when I heard a loud sound that wasn’t part of the normal city serenade.

When I hurried to the window and drew up the blinds, I saw a real-life drama, straight out of a TV show, happening below me. One of those kamikaze-taxi’s got nailed by a city bus and careened into a lightpole.

Of course, the first thing I did was reach for the camera and imagine myself in the thick of things as the driver was hovered over by bystanders, then EMTs, and then finally carried away by an ambulance. I really don’t think he was hurt that bad. He managed to get out of the car before anyone arrived, then sat back inside when he got woozy. (Yeah, I could tell from 12 stories up–remember, what I don’t know for sure I make up–I’m a writer).

Progress! Obsessed for Zane

This was the view from one of the windows of my hotel room. The conference was held in the Affinia Manhattan on 7th Avenue. The marquee for Madison Square Gardens is on the left. The colorful lights of Times Square are at the end of the street. I loved the hotel. The rooms were spacious and included kitchenettes–great for storing cheesecake and leftovers.

Other than Times Square, I didn’t get pictures of the sights most tourists HAVE to take when they go to New York. Although this was my fourth trip, I still haven’t been to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island or the Empire State Building–and ESB was only four blocks away, and I could see it in the distance pretty much everywhere I walked! Next time, I’ll do the toursist thing, if only to get the pictures everyone’s supposed to take.

My pictures were of friends, an accident that occurred on the street below my hotel room window (more about that later!), and the subway. I even forgot to take pictures of my editors!!

But this first photo of the traffic jam was pretty much a theme. See that sea of yellow cabs? I think I know every driver. Not a one of them is born in New York, but every one of them is certifiably insane. They drive like kamikazes with a death wish. Myla strapped her seat belt on and bleated strangled screams as they dashed in and out of lanes and stomped their brakes to avoid bumpers and bodies. I treated our taxi adventures like amusement park rides and was thrilled with every honk, swear word, and profane gesture. I laughed wildly. Syliva Day’s taxi crashed on her way to see an editor, and I can tell you honestly I was disappointed it wasn’t me. Wierd, I know, and yes, Sylvia is fine–thank God.

But that’s just me. I find adventure in the oddest things. Take the rickshaws. In New York, when you can’t find a “real” taxi, you can take these tiny bicycle-pulled rickshaws. They’re even more fun than the taxis because they weave in and out without all the metal between you and the rest of the motorized traffic.

I convinced Myla to take one. She squealed; we both laughed hilariously, mostly because we felt super-sorry for the skinny dude who had to stand on his pedals to get our fat asses uphill. Don’t worry, he received a very generous tip.

Lastly, there’s the subway. Whoever said that New Yorkers are rude, never travelled with us. After Kate Duffy (an editor at Kensington) kindly showed us where and how to catch one, we had no problems. And when we needed help figuring out where we were and how to get to the next place, there were plenty of natives ready to help. There’s nothing like having a woman shout at the top of her lungs from the end of the next car down, “It’s your stop!!” She was very worried we’d miss our street. We even opened our purses to a man who looked homeless, but who showed us how to buy a subway card and swipe it at the turnstiles. I wish I had a picture of me looking fabulous, but after a day of schlepping it around a windy New York, I look pretty ragged–but doesn’t the subway look cool?