Backstory on the Story

Lately, I've been neglecting what I think of as "serious" writing in favor of more journaling, making notes on my phone, and just generally observing people and situations. I mean, this is my first blog post of the new year, for heaven's sake! When this type of writers' block (perhaps it's just laziness...) happens, it's nice to be reminded of the things I have written in the recent past that I am extremely proud of. Below is an excerpt from my second article published in the Abilene Scene Magazine, and I'm thrilled it's finally here and up on the website!

I'm pretty ecstatic about all this. Mad props to Sandi Haynes for this photo.

When I started writing this article, my intention was to simply write about the incredible month I had in Paris last summer. But somehow, it turned into an homage to my hometown, with a few snipits of my semester in London. I wanted to add my stint in Spain too, but by that point, it was as long as War and Peace, basically. On the same note, I wish I could have added in all the lovely people I've met in all my travels and my amazing family and friends at home, but we writers sometimes have to "kill our darlings" to make the story stronger. (I learned that little piece of advice last summer, too.)

The craft of writing amazes me. In this project, I saw the story come alive, and take its own form. I thought it was going to be about one thing, but it turned into something incredibly different.

Here is an excerpt from the article, and please read the whole thing over at the Abilene Scene website!

As my feet dangled below me, 25 feet above the Seine River, I peeked over my knees at the murky surface. Across the river, a guitar player strummed an American song that I had heard before, but I couldn’t remember the name or the lyrics. His audience was a group of 20 people on the steps that climbed to the top of the quai to Rue Saint Jacques. Hovering above us, the bells of Notre Dame struck the late hour and reminded me of my limited time left in the City of Light.

“Please don’t Bogart that wine, Jennabeth,” Andrew called out in his Australian accent. Relinquishing the bottle of Rosé, I tore off another piece of bread and smothered it with the almost-foul smelling Camembert cheese. I chewed the warm bread and thought of an early autumn night years before in Abilene, the air still hot from summer’s lingering breath, when I picnicked on Chick-Fil-A and iced tea in the parking lot of Shotwell Stadium before Friday night’s game. Texas’ obsession with high school football is practiced with the same vigor with which French people practice their cuisine and people watching.

I had been in Paris for a month-long writing workshop with the Paris American Academy, a school I found through none other than Google. I had come to the decision to spend the summer in Paris when, after quitting my job of almost three years, I began to look for an adventurous interlude. Paris seemed like a perfect place to explore while avoiding real life responsibilities and my hometown, which I felt had become increasingly dull over the past year. After reading reviews of the program online, I was convinced that this was the adventure I was looking for, that I would make friends, and that my suitcase was (hopefully) big enough. I set off on a hot afternoon in July to discover what France’s capital city had to offer.