Hello.

Okay, so I know that I haven't exactly posted anything meaningful in a while...It's National Novel Writing Month (write 50k words in 30 days). I love this month every year, but I just kind of want it to end so I can go back to working on my first book and then maybe take some time off in the spring to work exclusively on shorter satirical and humor pieces. That's the plan. We'll see how things go.

But I do want to share some of what I've been doing for the past three weeks, so here is a small chapter from the book I'm writing this month. Indeed, it is the companion novel to Letters to Mom. Enjoy!

Dear mom,
Everything looked weird on the streets, but I couldn't hear anything. I couldn't hear the cars as they whizzed by on the city streets. I couldn't hear the people as their feet hit the sidewalk. I couldn't hear music. I couldn't hear voices. All I could hear was the same sentence over and over, playing like a broken record on the record player that was my conscious mind. Your father has cancer. Your father has cancer. Your father has cancer. What if he dies? What if he leaves me and Isaac all alone in this cruel, cruel world? Who will accept me if he doesn't? I just kept walking. I kept walking through the rain, through the crowds. I had no clue where I was going.. I just wanted to walk, and keep walking. I dug my hands into my pockets and realized I'd forgotten my cell phone. I started to cry. Tears flowed down my cheek, but they became indistinguishable with the rain. Is that what I am, mom? Am I indistinguishable in this world? Does anyone really notice me? Isaac does, but he snapped at me. He yelled at me when he knew my father was sick. How could he do that to me? I still love him. I still need him. I don't know what to do now. I ran away and I don't know where to go. I can't go back there, not right now. I can't go to Sadie's. There's no trains right now. I can't go to Peter's. Who else is there? I thought maybe I should just keep walking. Walk through the city, through Connecticut and Massachusetts and Maine. Through Canada and over the top of the planet. I wonder what it's like to stand on the top of the world. I guess it doesn't feel any different than the ground I'm standing on now. And it's cold up there. Very cold. I'm drunk. I can feel the alcohol buzzing in my mind. How many glasses of wine did I have? Does it really even matter? I guess it doesn't. I continue to walk down Broadway. At least I think it's Broadway. Is it Fifth Avenue? Avenue of the Americas? Fuck, do I even know where I am at this point? I guess not. Oh wait, it's Broadway. I just keep walking, and occasionally I make sure no cars are coming before I cross the street. I can afford to take my chances. What does it even matter anymore. I pass through Union Square Park. Stumble is a actually a better way to describe how I'm moving through the paths and shadows in the dark. I have no coat. It's very cold. And it's raining. I'm getting very wet. The water Is just pouring off of me. Right now, I wish I was absorbent and I dissolved with the rain, morphing into a puddle within seconds and slipping through the sewers like the discards no one else wants. I just want to shrink away. I don't want anyone to look for me. I can feel the liquor, drowning my mind. What if I walk all the way to Central Park? Then, what? Do I turn back? Where do I go next? I don't even know what's in the financial district. I could easily get lost within its numerous streets. I just keep walking. As I walk through the rain, I look up tat the high rises around me. They seem to tower over me, endlessly more significant than I. I'm hopelessly insignificant. I start to look at the numbered streets now, slowly increasing as I move closer and closer to Times Square. The lights are blinding. I don't like them. I want them all to shut off. I head through Times Square and I can just see the trees of Central Park. But when I reach the entrance, I'm very unfulfilled. The Park makes me think of Valentine's day. Isaac. My ring. The proposal. The wedding. I don't want to think about that all right now. I'm drunk. I can feel the liquor. I just want to scream, scream forever and ever. Would anyone notice? Would anyone care? I turn back, but head west to avoid Times Square. I don't want to be there. I'm walking through the village. I don't know what time it is, but I think it's getting pretty late. Is this what Holden Caulfield felt like? Is this what it's like to feel all alone? Like no one is going to be there to catch you when you fall? Is Isaac still standing there with the net? Or did he leave? I'm scared to look. I just keep walking. What else is there to do. I walk through the village and I begin to get lost. I don't recognize any of the street names. I'm lost. I'm writing this all down underneath a building scaffolding in Battery Park on a piece of paper from my pocket, mom. I'm lost. I'm alone. I'm running out of room to write. Are you worried about me, mom? Do you care? I walk through the Financial District (I think that's where I am) and the buildings get really tall again. Fuck. I'm really cold and wet. Finally, I run out of room. I'm standing at a fence. I can see Brooklyn. I can see New Jersey. I can see Staten Island. All of their lights, taunting me in the distance. I don't know how to get back to the apartment. It's raining. I don't have a map. What do I do? I just sit down and I begin to cry. I start to think. I start to remember. I miss Isaac. Why did I ever leave, mom? What was the point of leaving? Was there any? I'm a fool, mom. I'm a real fool. What am I doing anyway? Is there any reason to this madness. I try to remember my way back, but all of the streets, they look the same. I found some scaffolding and I sat under it. I started to write you this letter. I miss Isaac. I miss his smell, his touch, the sounds he make that you only notice when you truly love someone. I miss the way he kisses me, tenderly and softly. I way it feels when he's on top of me, loving me, charming me. The way it feels to be under his weight, to be the only thing supporting me. His hands. The way they feel on me. The way it feels when he starts to unbutton my shirt. The way it feels when his hands are in my hair. The way it feels to just be comfortable with someone to the point where you will let them do anything they want to you. I miss kissing him back. I miss his smell, the faint scent of cigarette smoke and shampoo. The softness of his skin. I don't care if it hurts sometimes when we have sex. It's worth it, isn't it mom? It's all worth it, right? I miss the way it feels to be right next to each other without any layers or boundaries between us. I miss the way it feels to put my hand on his chest and to feel the slight thump, thump of his heart. Heartbeat. It's the only reminder I have that this is all real. It seems like such a dream sometimes. I pinch myself sometimes to see if I'm going to wake up and be back in my miserable life. Why did he snap at me, mom? Why didn't he come over and sit on the couch next to me, to tell me the news? He yelled at me. He yelled. He's never yelled at me mom. I know he's not perfect, I just wasn't expecting it. And oh my god, I feel the liquor in my mind. I can feel it penetrating my nerves, numbing them. Maybe it's a good thing, right. I'm getting sleepy. I'm thirsty. I have to pee. Where can I sleep mom? There's a nice bench over there. The rain is stopping. I stumble over and I lay down on it. What does it matter? I'm already soaking wet. It's not really that comfortable, but right now, I don't really care anyway. I fall asleep. Before I do I think of dad again. Is he okay? Will he be okay? Why didn't he call my cellphone? I want to see him too. I miss seeing him everyday. I love dad. I miss everything about him. I feel guilty that I don't visit him enough. I wish he'd visit more often too. I miss waking up everyday and seeing him at the breakfast nook reading his newspaper and enjoying a cup of coffee. God, please, let him be okay. Don't worry about me, God. Take care of him first. Mom, I love you. I'm really scared.

Lovingly from your son, Eli(jah) Greene

WOOHOO!

This totally has NOTHING to do with my writing, but it put me in an amazing mood, so I figured I'd share. It's my blog anyway. Hahaha... So tonight I won the RENT lottery in NYC. Amazing show and I love the actor who plays Roger in the show. Afterwards, you were able to take a picture with the two lead guys for $20. Worth. Every. Penny. I asked for a hug too. Needless to say, I'm still shaking. Moral of the Story: Just go for it and make it happen.

A Huge THANK YOU

I just wanted to post something because I looked at my blog stats (i'm obsessed with them) and I noticed that I really have a broad international audience. I've gotten views from people in Brazil, Russia, Trinidad and Tobago. Thank you so much! It really put a smile on my face to see, wow, people around the world are looking what I have to say. My only request is that if you see something you like, comment! Please, please, please let me know what you like and what you don't. That puts a smile on my face too. If you feel more comfortable emailing your questions/comments/concerns, email me at thewritingbin@gmail.com