Study In Contrasts

It was a pretty comfortable Eurostar chunnel trip back home to Paris from my Guardian Masterclass in London. Unfortunately, I sat in a 4-seat configuration with three other travelers - two women and a guy - and the guy who sat next to me had ants in his pants. He couldn't sit still and his elbows were constantly jabbing me. He kept dropping his phone on the floor and had to crawl under the table to get it. He jumped up several times to walk the train or go to the bar car. The whiff of his beer breath afterwards was nauseating.

It was raining. I'd had a beautiful couple of days in London, with rare sunshine. But as I made my way to St. Pancras station to catch my train, the rain started coming down. Drops of water spotted the train window and the greenery speeding past me was muffled in fog. All at once, there was a rainbow, but the people sitting with me were oblivious - wrapped up in their French hilarity that I didn't understand and didn't want to.

The women were a study in contrast. One had a smart haircut, was slim, tall and fashionably dressed - black mini-skirt suit, low-scooped neckline and spiked heels. The other was puffy-cheeked and dowdy, with an old-fashioned headband and a pale blue cotton shirt, buttoned almost all the way up. But they laughed as if they were best friends. The rapport seemed contrived, like they had to be friendly because they worked together. But once they got home, I imagined they wouldn't be caught dead together. Dowdy would feed her cat in a 6th-floor walkup in the boredom of the 7th arrondissement. She'd put on flannels and go to bed alone. Sultry would call her boyfriend as soon as she got away from her coworkers and soon fall back into his Egyptian cotton sheets while he pulled down her scoop-neck top to reveal her black and red lace bustier. "Leave your shoes on." he'd whisper.

I snapped a few pictures of the rainbow through the window, not realizing that I also captured the reflection of the two women during a lull in their tiresome conversation. Two hours on a train pretending you like someone can be exhausting, I know. The rainbow arcs boldly behind them - an unpredictable natural phenomenon - unnoticed.

From Paris' Gare du Nord I thought I'd take the bus home. It was a direct shot on the 31 bus. I filed through the tourists at the station, feeling a bit cocky because, unlike them, I know where I'm going. I stood at the bus stop and was somewhat taken aback by a handsome older guy who walked up and waited nearby. He did a double take of me, a rare occurrence. Just two days before, I listened to another woman writer in the Masterclass, reading her story of a middle-aged woman who suddenly realized how invisible she had become to handsome men. I found myself shaking my head in recognition, realizing I had also faded into the woodwork. But this surprising glance from a handsome stranger was life's way of teasing me. Or, maybe I hadn't lost "it" completely.

I glanced up at an approaching bus and saw the 3 in what I assumed was the 31 bus. I boarded, following my handsome man. We sat opposite one another. I no longer had the nerve to continue eye contact. Going past his second glance was a bit too risky for me. I watched as we passed through Pigalle. Tourists, sex workers and peep show barkers competed with each other for my attention. Then, the neighborhoods stopped looking familiar. That's when I looked up and noticed I'd taken the wrong bus. I got off at the next stop, trying to seem like I still knew where I was going. The handsome man and the bus faded into the night.

There was a Metro stop right beside me. I boarded the train with a sigh. I could have been home by now, feeding my neighbor's cat then going to bed, alone, in my flannels. Instead, I sat in the glaring fluorescent light, bothered a bit by the loud hissing of the train and the siren that sounds before the train's doors close. In front of me was another odd couple. Two men. They were also talking, so I imagined they were together. One was a dark, long-haired guy, reminding me of George Harrison on the cover of his album, Beware of Darkness. The other man was extraordinary. Asian. Ancient. Glasses. He had a white Fu Man Chu beard that curled up impossibly at the ends. His Paris-style tourist beret sat on his head like a school girl's beanie. His bags were carefully packed and stationed in front of him. His striped umbrella stood upright inside a hidden slot of his suitcase. It matched the fabric of the Metro seats, but not the man who owned it.

At the next stop, George Harrison got off the train, his blue backpack slung over his shoulder, his white bag full of something - God knows what - no longer in view. So, they weren't together after all. Maybe George was just fascinated with Mr. Fu Man Chu and struck up a momentary conversation. I preferred their conversation. It was more authetic than the two women on the Eurostar.

My stop was next. I so wanted to see Mr. Fu Man Chu stand up and leave the train. I wanted to see if he wore a long black dress or matching black pants with a button-up coat, like in the gold rush days of San Francisco's China Town. Somehow, it would have made him more real to me. It was like he was a vision, from another place and time. But he remained where he was, an ancient wizard in this modern contrivance called The Metro.

I stepped off the train, this time knowing where I was going. He stayed behind, not even worried about becoming invisible in his middle age. I envied him. I have a feeling he knows where he's going even when he's in an unfamiliar place. But I think, more importantly, he knows who he is.

Reading List From My Guardian Masters Novel Writing Class

Somewhere in the vicinity of 290 of my blog fans (actually, only one), asked me for the reading list from my Guardian Masters Novel Writing Class.

So... here are some that we studied; others were mentioned by teachers or students:

Analysis Paralysis: The Guardian Master Class on Novel Writing

In my last post, I gave you the back story of how I wound up taking a Guardian Master Class on novel writing. If you haven't read it yet, you should, or you won't get any of my jokes in this post. (You still might not get the jokes, but it won't be your fault.)

Now that you know about my nonexistent sex life...

Sex With Writers, Comma

Back in the late 80's, my friend Dana and I used to dream about being writers. We were roommates and co-workers, stuck in corporate hell together. But living in Laguna Beach, California was a kind of salve to our wounds. She'd jog or play volleyball on Main beach. I'd sit on the terrace of some beach-side restaurant and smell the ocean and become deeply sad, taking in the vastness of it all. This was my überintellectual way of avoiding any form of exercise. I also hate sand.

The Lies of Connards and Courtiers

I went with two friends Monday night to La Java to see an improv troop perform: LA TAVERNE MÜNCHAUSEN Joutes verbieuses et improvisades. It was amazing, even though I couldn't understand a word they were saying, since it was all in French. Well, maybe I got ten words. I laughed a couple of times, so I must have understood some of it. Of course, nobody else was laughing at that exact moment, so... Hmm.

The building is a bit run down but it was built in 1923 and beneath the peeling paint it still has that great 20's style. If Edith Piaf and Maurice Chevalier (Tank heben fahr leetle girlz...) were willing to sing there, it's good enough for me. Here's an English-language review of the place where there's a great shot of the outside of the building.

Arizona Rain

I've been combing through all my writing in preparation for a writing workshop April 9th and 10th. I found this piece I'd written in 2002, when I was in a relationship with an artist. It was a relationship that was wonderful for five years and then imploded when a deeper commitment was required. It's a shame, because it was the most peaceful time of my life.

Jurassic Jeeves and the Mâcon Delta

I set the alarm on my laptop to gently awaken me, at 5am on December 23rd, with Ry Cooder's African Dream. I vowed to close the laptop by 9pm on December 22nd, in order to get enough sleep so that 5am wouldn't arrive like an unwanted telegram. I had a train to catch by 6:40 and didn't want to miss it.

I lay there in the dark, staring into the void. My body wanted to sleep but my mind wouldn't agree. It was time to re-open my laptop and turn to Bertie Wooster for solace and sleep.

I Admit I'm Powerless Over Neighbor Noise and Ask My Higher Power To Help Me Find A New Apartment

Lately, I've been living my life with earplugs inserted. I wear them so much that I have forgotten they were in and wondered, of a groggy morning, why I couldn't hear myself peeing. Yesterday, I almost stepped into the shower with them. On the days when I don't go to school and stay home to work on my book, I never take the earplugs out.

The Normandy Chronicles: Day Five: Seamen, Baggywinkles and Le Havre's Sensual Inlet

Based on my photos, Galadriel and I were good girls on the fifth day of our Normandy chateau inspection trip. On this day, I have no food or wine porn pics, which means we must have been very serious. Of course, that's probably because it was the last day, so we had to "catch up" on all the places we didn't get around to seeing because we took so much time taking food and wine porn pics at all the restaurants along the way.

The Normandy Chronicles: Day Four: Domaine Saint Clair Le Donjon - Étretat

As you've been reading in the last few Normandy Chronicles, day 4 on our B&B inspection trip had been long and action-packed, with stormy skies, fabulous lunch and wine, some foxes (Mr., Mrs. & Little Mister) and one American.

Well, I didn't write about the one American we met, because he was totally disinterested in the fact that I was American and instead spoke to Galadriel in French... with a New York accent. He has a B&B in the area and to be fair, he only talked to Galadriel because he wanted to be in her B&B guide (or not get kicked out of it...I'm not sure which). He was all business. But still, it was disconcerting to just follow them around the place (me and the cats) without him at least once saying, "So, where are you from in the states?" I could have fallen off a cliff and he wouldn't have noticed.