Click here to purchase one of my books. I would love for you to read my trilogy, but I wrote my most recent novel, Twilight in the Quarter, published in November of 2025, to be effectively, a stand alone work. There’s no need to read the first two parts of the trilogy, A Moveable Marfa and The Sommières Sun, to follow it.
I am currently working on a novel about a private detective set in the Fort Lauderdale area and New Orleans. More to come in the future on that!
Follow me on this website and on Instagram at @c_e_hunt or click here.
At the end of The Sommières Sun, my protagonist, Steve Miles, proposes to his girlfriend. As I typed those final words, I wondered was this the end? Was this how the story ended? I wasn’t sure. I knew I wanted to wait a while because frankly, you get sick of a story after many “spirited” conversations with editors and editing it twenty times.
A few readers asked, “Is that it?” Is there more to the story?” “Did they actually get married?” I pondered that for awhile. Then one evening walking around New Orleans, that magnificent city, spoke to me. She said, “Wait, I have something to add to this story, don’t I?”
My answer was, “Of course,” as I was walking in front of The Hotel Monteleone, and it was there that I decided an important scene would take place in the Carousel Bar. A few minutes later, I was sitting in B Mac’s fleshing out a few notes. The thought of featuring my beloved New Orleans prominently in the conclusion the story was an easy conclusion, thus Twilight in the Quarter was born.
The Twilight in the Quarter “epiphany site”
One of the things that I thought about as I walked up St. Louis Street was that New Orleans is a place where a great time can break out at anytime if one is open to it, even on a Monday night or 11:00 on a Saturday morning. It’s a place where almost anything can happen, good or bad, natural or supernatural, but if you have the right attitude, most of the time it will be a good time.
Much of Twilight in the Quarter was written in situ. I was often sitting in the hotel, restaurant, train or bar where a scene happened. That actually goes for many other scenes in the book, even outside New Orleans. For this book, I was not able to return to France, but I lived there for five years and have visited other times and was able to recall some pretty vivid recollections.
I rode the Sunset Limited train to Alpine, Texas and hung out in Marfa, Texas a while and wrote many scenes there. The Marfa Spirit Company, The Sentinel Marfa Coffee shop and venues in and around The Hotel Paisano hosted many writing sessions. Marfa Spirit’s very enjoyable Ranch Waters and Marfa Mules fueled a couple of of my favorite chapters. New Orleans came easy, it was my home.
Marfa Spirit Co, one of my favorite writing spots in Marfa.Hotel Paisano in Marfa“My patio” at the Hotel Paisano another one of my favorite writing spots in MarfaCoffee and writingThe dude with the beard is in the bookThe dude in the pink shirt and overalls should have been…
Writing is so much easier that way. The quirky stuff just happens, and you record it like a journalist almost, with just a little embellishment. My characters were often inspired by real people of combinations of people though most of the story is fiction. A handful of scenes actually happened pretty close to what I witnessed or experienced.
Nothing inspires me like experiencing the scene of a novel.
The Sunset LimitedNight was coming as I wrote.I was dining with a couple from Denmark as we crossed the Pecos. They are in the book.
I loved writing while taking a couple of trips on The Sunset Limited from New Orleans to Marfa (Alpine), especially at night. It is just you, the roomette and endless scenes racing by your window.
Oh, and the bars of New Orleans provided me with an embarrassment of riches over the years I worked on the novel. They are way too many to name and only a few are pictured below.
If it were possible, I should have credited the people of New Orleans as co-authors for much of the story came from relating to folks and the many venues of the city, including Mardi Gras parades, waiting for concerts to start and just checking out at Rousse’s grocery store. However, I did dedicate the book to them.
Only in New Orleans would this be in the lobby of a condo. It in a sense captures the spirit of the city– beautiful, tacky and seductive — in short — wonderful.
I hope you’ll read Twilight in the Quarter. And I hope you find it a fitting end to the trilogy. You find out a lot about my protagonist and maybe while reading it, a little about yourself, for there’s a little Steve Miles in all of us..
As a writer, I reflect, sometimes too much. But I wanted to share something I’ve pondered a great deal.
We face the challenge of balancing living in the past, present, and future. We are told to learn from our experiences. We are told by parents, mentors, and others to plan for the future. We are also told to live in the moment. There are people who seem to be overly good at partially following these instructions, such as people who are trapped in the past. We’ve known people who just live in the moment and face a very uncertain future. And we’ve known the person who mainly lives in the future, seemingly denying themselves enjoyment at every turn.
I’m here to tell you, that people who overly dwell in the past, present, or future are likely either miserable or making those around them miserable (or both). You have to have a balance. After some reflection on this, I believe the balance needs to be something like this–
10% in the past. We must learn from our life experiences and be reflective enough not to repeat mistakes or bad experiences. It is also good to remember the useful hacks we have devised over our lifetimes to make our lives better. There can be a lot of pain and anxiety there if we dwell too much in the past.
60% in the present. It is the only timeframe we can immediately impact. We are somewhat in control of the present. We should seek to maximize our engagement in the present and BE PRESENT. As my writings below will share, you can’t assume there will always be a chance to do something next week, month, or year. Some of us feel guilty about surrendering to the moment. Many of us, myself included, would be well served to tamp down that guilt unless we materially impact the health, welfare, or future of ourselves or those around us. (I know, easier said than done.)
30% in the future. We can also affect the future but in a less direct way. If we can secure a better future with a modest sacrifice now, we’d be unwise not to do so. Let’s not run up the credit cards, take that fourth vacation this year, etc. In other words, some common sense sacrifices are kind of a no-brainer. There is a tension between the present and the future, and it is likely the most difficult challenge for many of us to get right.
Sometimes though, the present and the future can work together. For instance, being low in debt is a gift to our peace of mind in the present and often a windfall for our future. Of course, foregoing that concert and eating out less or buying or renting a smaller place, feels like we are shortchanging the present. That is where our understanding of what is most important to us and our happiness comes in so if we do skimp, we are foregoing the things that matter least to us.
Okay, having said all of this, I am going to make the case for that 60%! And the case that not all of living in the present involves money. Sometimes it is time or something else, such as another person’s feelings.
I’ll illustrate the value of the 60% through a few photos and observations.
I walked by this structure on Tchoupitoulas Street very frequently for years. It was like a old friend. I found it photogenic. I even took some book promo photos there.
A few days ago as I walked by it, I found this–
All gone. It only took the demolition company a few days to erase a century of history and substantially change the fabric of the area where thousands of people live, work and socialize. My friend, the Dixie Machine Welding and Metal Works building built in 1919, was gone forever.
I had visited Steve Martin’s gallery for years. Then suddenly, he told me he was closing. I found the third floor of his gallery to be the most evocative space of the galleries in New Orleans. It was for me, something tangible that connected me to the old history of the Warehouse District before it was re-invented into what it is today. Similar to the ghost railroad tracts one still finds around the area.
It can be a bar or restaurant you like.
Here are a few places lost in a couple of years. (Fortunately, the place on the right has reopened and is still a great place, The Will and The Way on Toulouse in the French Quarter.)
It can even be a tree. This iconic tree (for me at least) in the Central Business District is no more. It recently died.
These are just a few ways my surroundings have changed recently. The point is to give the present its due. That 60% is a lot, don’t skimp!
Give that sunrise, beach or work of art the time your present deserves. Take your time. Live in the present. Enjoy that time with friends, the taste of that wine, the smile of a child or the sounds of a rainy night. Take a breath, be present.
Remember, as Jeremy Novy’s koi fish remind us at the Ogden Museum of Southern Art, things can change so fast. Don’t “overpay” the past or the future.
I’m thrilled to be bringing you soon the final installment in the Steve Miles trilogy. Just as Steve has grown a great deal (mostly) since he received that phone call while he sat on a barstool on that cool, fall evening in a Georgetown bar in A Moveable Marfa, I too have grown a great deal as a writer. If you’ve followed along with me on this journey (and if you have, I’m enormously grateful to you), you may have noticed that my writing has matured, at least I hope you have.
Since completing The Sommières Sun in 2021, I have had a lot of life experiences and spent a lot of quality time in New Orleans and Marfa to seek new inspirations, think through scenes and write. The bulk of Twilight in the Quarter takes place in New Orleans, Marfa and Sommières, France.
I wanted to share some vignettes during the writing of the book. (I have so many great memories of writing the book, there maybe be another blog or two on this topic in the future.)
I had some great creative bursts crossing Texas on the Sunset Limited a couple of times. The train proved to be a great writing environment. I recommend it to fellow writers!
I wrote a chapter or so at the Casita Bar in Marfa (since closed, for now). It was an eclectic environment and called for a few macrobrews. I sat at that table with the pink lamp.
I had a few good writing sessions at the Big Bend Sentinel Coffee House. The dude at the table across from my laptop (second picture) inspired a character who gives Steve some grief as a writer. Twilight the Quarter has a scene here.
My patio at the Hotel Paisano was particularly conducive to writing. I cranked a out chapter and cleaned up a couple of other chapters there.
Marfa Spirits hosted a scene in the book, a couple of writing sessions and a happy hour with friends.
Of course the Hotel Paisano was inspirational in its own right. Here’s a few random pictures I took during my stay. (The cast of “Giant” stayed at the hotel while filming the movie there in 1955.)
I really could go on and on and include a number of writing venues around New Orleans, but I’ll end with the one below. I took these pictures yesterday.
Not only was it a writing venue, an extremely important scene takes place in this bar.
Okay, enough update for now I hope. Back to working with the editor!
I was recently interviewed by “Voyage MIA”, a magazine that “fosters collaboration and support for small businesses, independent artists and entrepreneurs, local institutions and those that make” Miami interesting. When the magazine reached out, I was asked if my work or career had any connections to South Florida. I initially thought the focus on my work was elsewhere, but after I reflected on it, I realized there were a number of South Florida connections to my work. You can see the actual article online http://voyagemia.com/interview/rising-stars-meet-ce-hunt-of-new-orleans/.
I thought I’d post an expanded version of what I said and thought about while responding to the interview questions. It will give you a little insight as to how I became a writer. I also spiced it up with some photos!
Tell our readers some of your backstories.
I always felt like I had a story to tell. I grew up in a modest blue-collar/slightly white-collar neighborhood in the heart of Houston, not very far from downtown. My mom had grown up all across Texas including a number of formative years in West Texas where she attended schools where Spanish was the dominant language. My dad was a product of East Texas but had spent four years all across the Pacific Ocean “island hopping” during World War II. I also had a mischievous uncle or two who filled me with stories as well.
Me as a kid thinking, “Boy, do I have some stories to share with you!”
The story I had to tell at that time was inspired by the values they taught me plus all the cool stories they shared with me of their life experiences along with my being a kid growing up in the heart of Houston. Though I was predominantly of northern European roots (aka very white) I was always very much the minority in the public schools I attended from K-12. It was always easy to pick me out of my school photos! Many of my friends were Mexican American or black. All these experiences enriched me, and I knew I had stories to share, but I wasn’t quite ready. I needed to have more of my own life experiences out “in the world.”
There I am, right in the middle.
I didn’t want to lead a completely “normal” life so I sought another path initially. I was reluctant about going to college. It took some soul searching and spending some time in the military to finally “conform” and go to college. After completing my undergraduate degree from Lamar University in Beaumont, Texas, I worked for the federal government for a while taking Social Security claims.
Upon graduating from Lamar University after “conforming.”
I never really liked the job, but, along with a decent paycheck, it served me well in one respect. It taught me a lot about people and relationships. I had to determine the validity of common law marriages, who was the actual parent of dependents, had a person really retired and things like that. It gave me insights into the lives of people with a wide range of income and educational levels. I was the only Spanish-speaking employee, so I also took claims from some “Marielitos.” That too was educational. It was then that I first started thinking about Florida and its interesting relationship with Cuba.
I finally quit that job because I realized that while the human components fascinated me as a future writer, doing tons of paperwork was not for me. I then completed a graduate degree from Texas A&M University and worked for the Texas A&M Sea Grant Program, doing research on coastal issues. Upon graduation, I resumed a career as a federal bureaucrat but in a very different field. This time in conservation of natural and cultural resources. That was much more to my liking and resulted in my really getting to know conservation issues and the western United States. I was also able to spend five years abroad working in Europe and picked up a fair amount of French and a bit of Italian as well. I had already started writing by this time, but as I traveled in France, England, Italy, Spain, Belgium and Germany my desire to write became overwhelming.
So, did you start writing in Europe?
Let me step back just a bit and also cover some of my influences from South Florida. On my journey to become a writer, I had a lot of inspirations. Somehow, Florida played a key role.
Since high school, I have been a fan of John D. MacDonald. I might not be a writer were it not for the world MacDonald described around Fort Lauderdale in the 1960-1980s. His Travis McGee series opened me up to a world filled with reality, great aspirations, and a lot of shady folks. MacDonald could wonderfully entertain and subtly preach at the same time about the ills of society whether it be about corruption, racial injustice or the need to protect the environment. As much as I wish he were still writing and helping us make sense of the world, I’m glad he is not witnessing the divisive state of politics in Florida today. I highly recommend you start out with “The Deep Blue Good-by” (1964) to get a taste of his excellent work.
From MacDonald, I went on to become a fan of Carl Hiaasen, another incredible writer with Florida roots. He was born in Fort Lauderdale. Like MacDonald, he too uses South Florida-based storytelling to entertain and urge his readers to be more thoughtful on many of the topics about which MacDonald was concerned. Unlike, MacDonald, Hiaasen relies heavily on humor. I recommend you start out with “Tourist Season” (1986) to get a sense of his style. He is one of the funniest writers I have ever read.
Lastly, as a writer, I have been greatly influenced by one other writer with a strong South Florida connection, Ernest Hemingway. He wrote many of his classics in Key West, including “For Whom the Bell Tolls” and “The Green Hills of Africa.” Thanks to the advice of another American writer, John Dos Passos, Hemingway moved to Key West in the late 1920s after having lived in Paris about seven years. I touched on this in my book, “The Sommières Sun.” Hemingway’s work would be greatly influenced by the people and environment of South Florida and Cuba. “The Old Man and the Sea” is regarded by many as one of his best works. “The Sun Also Rises” and “In Our Time” are some of my favorites.
After having acquired some interesting personal experiences and inspired by other writers, I was ready to write! In reality, I had been doing a little writing since high school. In college I wrote a short story about a couple of German explorers in East Africa. Later I wrote “Chez Danger” and “La Vida and the Flame,” my first stabs at novels.
Finally in 2006, I started a novel that I would finally publish, “A Moveable Marfa.” I started it while living right down the road from Marfa in Fort Davis, Texas. I worked hard to synthesize the styles of my three literary influences into a style of my own. I had no Internet or television. All I had was my quiet nights, laptop and radio which could receive three stations. Fortunately, one of the stations was Marfa Public Radio. That station’s original music programming was my nightly companion while I wrote the first half of the book or so.
After a few years in West Texas, I spent five or so years in France. It was there where I wrote the scenes in France and Spain, often sitting in the places I was describing. I like “in situ” or “plein air” writing whenever possible. I like to write scenes when I am sitting in that exact location as much as possible. It just makes my writing seem “truer.” For instance, the scenes in the Dix Bar in Paris in “A Moveable Marfa” were written over a couple of nights sitting in that bar drinking its famous sangria. I wrote the preposterous “leg contest” scene while I sipped wine (perhaps too much?) at a table at Place de l’Odéon not far from the Jardin du Luxembourg. I love those memories.
However, I did not finish “A Moveable Marfa” until January 2020 after having lived in New Orleans for a year or so. New Orleans was the inspirational tipping point that made me feel compelled to start sharing my work with others. I may write more on this in the future, but in New Orleans it is perfectly alright, actually expected, to talk to strangers. These interactions somehow helped me feel comfortable as a storyteller with a voice that people might find interesting. Anyway, “The Sommières Sun” would quickly follow suit being published in April of 2021. I am currently working on the concluding part of the Steve Miles trilogy. It is entitled, “Twilight in the Quarter,” and I anticipate it going to print in 2023.
In all my writing, I stress thoughtfulness and authenticity. I work to entertain my readers and quietly inspire them to grow, be mindful and care about others and their surroundings. I want people to regard my work as original, thoughtful, authentic and enjoyable.
Like all artists, my work is constantly evolving. My style has drifted towards less reliance on humor and more on character development and human interactions. One will be able to see that more fully upon reading “Twilight in the Quarter.” “A Moveable Marfa” used humor more than “The Sommières Sun.”
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way? Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
The ride has been both smooth and not so smooth.
Good writing needs great inspiration and time. (Good coffee and wine doesn’t hurt either). Having a confluence of inspiration and time has at times been a challenge for me. It took fourteen years to write “A Moveable Marfa.” There have been times I just didn’t want to write. There have been times I very much wanted to write, but there just wasn’t time.
Writing a novel isn’t easy, but one thing that has helped smooth the ride in the Steve Miles series is that I really identify with Steve. As the covers of “A Moveable Marfa” and “The Sommières Sun” share, the story is about a guy finding himself. It shares his journey to figure out who he really is. I hope the journey is perceived as thoughtful, humorous and inspirational. So far in the journey, he has navigated the cultural complexity of an artist colony in Marfa, Texas, suffered his very quirky family, explored the crowded but lonely streets of Paris, experienced the second coming of the “Lost Generation,” befriended a very free-spirited Brazilian neighbor, explored the culture of numerous villages in the South of France and experienced a little bit of my favorite American city, New Orleans. A lot of the storyline is inspired by things that have happened to me. Some of it is inspired by things I wish had happened to me.
Steve will get to know New Orleans and have some fascinating encounters there in “Twilight in the Quarter.” As is my typical approach, many of these encounters will be inspired by personal experiences in New Orleans. New Orleans has helped me as a writer. If I ever have writers block, I walk around the corner and plop on a bar stool. The stories, just somehow, start coming to me. It is almost magical.
Yours truly doing one of my favorite things to do in New Orleans, connecting with the amazing people of the city.
As for other challenges? You pour your heart out in your books, and your sales go through very slow periods. It can be hard to keep going at times. However, if you really are a writer, you just keep going. You just have faith if you do your best, the sales will come. Money is nice, but what I most want to do is touch people. I want to entertain them, but most importantly, I want to somehow invite them to think about a range of subjects in a broader, more sensitive way.
Thanks – so what else should our readers know about your work and what you’re currently focused on? I mean, what makes your work different? What’s your niche?
I’ve been asked a few times what my niche is. Well, I wish I could say I’m really known for being a thoughtful, entertaining writer that can weave a story that is very enjoyable yet thought provoking. That is my goal. I’m not that well-known yet. I have a small, lovely cadre of readers that helps me to keep writing. I hope the cadre grows over time, only because I hope to inspire more people to care more, to enjoy life more, and to love more.
From a professional writing standpoint, I am proud that I have authored or co-authored five published books–two novels and three non-fiction and am well into the third novel. I am happy that I have had a few incredible people reach out to say kind words about my novels and even make an effort to meet me. One reader indicated that “A Moveable Marfa” and “The Sommières Sun” helped them get through a challenging period in their life. They said my novels gave them perspective as they dealt with a difficult decision. Hearing that made it feel like my time had been well spent writing.
As for what makes my writing different? That’s for my readers to determine. I hope my work comes off as original and a bit eclectic. I write about spirituality and relationships balancing between the serious and humorous. I try to embrace the notion that we are here for a reason while not totally rejecting the philosophy of absurdism. (Albert Camus is another of my favorite writers.) I also try to weave in commentary on social issues, differences in culture and conservation.
Above all though, I hope my readers find my books an enjoyable journey that they reflect back on from time to time.
Here are a few images from a recent article on my work that appeared in the magazine “Shoutout Miami.” I enjoyed being interviewed, and it gave me a chance to articulate some things I had never shared, at least not in an organized way. It also gave me a chance to talk about my writing, painting and photography and how I used them to accomplish my goal to–
…make peoples’ life richer and also encourage people to take care of their surroundings and preserve places and history to give our lives context and make our lives more enjoyable.
Prologue: Last year on New Year’s Eve, I was walking along Carondolet and had a strange feeling just as I passed the old police station on the corner at Saint Joseph Street. I had a strange feeling, as if I weren’t alone. As I stood there trying to figure it out, a streetcar came by. I snapped this picture and decided to write a short story vaguely inspired by what I was feeling.
I studied the ring the mug left on the wooden bar. I studied the few remaining bubbles fighting their way to the surface. It was almost finished. I wanted this beer done.
I didn’t know what came next though as I sat in the dark bar. The two televisions, open door and neon lights provided some light. It was just me, the twenty-something bartender washing glasses, a couple fawning all over each other in the darkened corner, and a rainy New Orleans at dusk out that propped-open door. A soccer game from somewhere in the world, a muffled version of “Don’t Stop Believing,” and the occasional tires splashing on the street outside provided the soundtrack.
I had just left him for what felt like the last time. It had to be. His eyes, damn his eyes. So sad. Nothing sadder than to see a nice man, a genuinely nice man, cry. He didn’t deserve to be sad. I didn’t like myself for doing that to him.
“Ma’am, you wanna ‘nother?” I peered around to the bartender. Why’d he call me ma’am? I couldn’t be more than five years older than he. What did he see in me? Was I looking that old? I still had my looks, bastard.
“How about a beer and a shot, you know, the special?” Who said that? It dawned on me that I did. I guess a lonely shot and beer was okay. The rain kept coming down.
“Coming up.” He swung into action.
As he presented the drinks on the bar before me he said, “You waiting on someone, or for the rain to end?” He smiled.
“Not sure, really.”
“Pretty woman like you?”
“Kind of you to say. I’m just chilling as they say. Thinking through stuff.”
“Let me know if you need a sounding board. I’m even a law student at Tulane. Cheers.” He winked as he drifted off to serve a customer just coming in out of the rain. The law student bartender seemed a tad flirtatious. I studied myself. I admired my legs. I did look good in this black dress. Simple, not long, not short. I took pride in still “having it.” I noted the rain still coming down.
“Can I sit down?” I turned around to see an attractive man standing to my left. I hadn’t seen him come in. He was about 6’2”. Medium build. A few specks of gray in his dark hair. Handsome strong face.
“Sure, I’m about to shove off.” He smiled but looked a tad confused. I quickly added, “Wait, you’re welcome to have a seat though.”
“Sure?” His smile immediately put me at ease.
“Course.”
The bartender changed the ambient sound. More classic rock, less soccer announcing.
“You live around here?”
“Yes, for now.” He was getting a bit nosey.
“About to move?”
“Not sure. What about you?”
“In town visiting my mom. Grew up here. Metairie. You?” He was maintaining a lot of eye contact. Confident.
“I lived in the Lower Garden growing up.”
As he ordered a drink, he turned to look at me, “Doing okay on drinks?”
“I’m good, but thanks.” I was feeling the shot.
“No worries. Just nice chatting with you. No need to rush off. I figured you were from here. You somehow just got the look.”
I studied the white line around my finger where the ring Doug had given me once sat.
“How do you mean?”
“You know, this city makes some of the most attractive people. Maybe it’s more than just looks, maybe it’s a certain attitude. An openness, confidence, an abandon.”
I smiled at him.
“No. I mean it. It’s really a thing. It’s like an openness to having fun no matter the circumstance. Believe me, people back east aren’t always like that.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. You may have that too, whatever it is.”
We sat quiet for a moment. He even smelled good.
“The rain is slacking off.” I peered into the now damp night awaiting me outside that door.
“Hey, you want to grab dinner somewhere?”
I turned around to look at him and started to say yes, then found myself blurting out, “Not tonight. Sorry. But I’ve enjoyed visiting with you.”
“I’m Wes. Wes Hughes.”
“Millicent.”
“Pleasure meeting you, Millicent.”
“Likewise, Wes.”
“Notice, I said ‘meeting’ you, no need for the evening to end, huh?” He did have that New Orleans air about him. A confidence. I liked it.
I smiled and stood and started putting on my raincoat. Wes arose to help. A gentleman.
“Millicent, can we by any chance see each other again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh?”
“I mean. I’m not sure. It’s complicated.”
“Sure, no worries. Just enjoyed our chat.”
I studied him a second. Nice dimples. His glasses gave him an intellectual look.
“Me too, Wes.” I paused a second, and before I knew it, I blurted out, “Say Wes, what’s your favorite Albert Camus novel?” I felt idiotic right after I said it.
We looked at each other a second. He slowly smiled, and replied, “Well, it’s a tie, The Stranger and The Fall.”
His reply was almost an aphrodisiac. I was almost ready to take this guy to my place right then. I quickly regained my senses.
“Say, what do you do Mr. Hughes, why are you here in town, just visiting?”
“Well, a book signing at Tulane and a bookstore here. Just published a book. Really, I’m a lit professor in New Jersey currently.”
That explained it. “I’m impressed. When’s the signing?”
“Already happened. Leaving in a few days.”
“Well, thanks for making my evening better, Wes.” Not sure why I felt to need to leave. Internally, I was very conflicted. Sometimes, you just defer to your inner voice.
“You too, Millicent.”
I noted his leather satchel on the bar. Crazily, I mused whether it’d smell like leather. So much to like about this guy. Why was I walking away?
“Sure on ‘no’ to dinner?” He added, “I’ll explain my Camus selections.”
I hesitated then replied, “Wes, when do you leave town?”
“Okay, let’s see. Today’s Thursday. I leave Sunday afternoon.”
“Tell you what. Let’s agree to meet back here Saturday at 6:00. If you or I don’t show, no hard feelings. I’d explain more but it’s too complicated and I’m too tired.”
“It’s a date…I hope.” He lifted his eyebrows and smiled.
We shook hands and I was quickly out the door into the damp, cool night. I liked the feel of touching him.
The rain resumed just as I neared where I was staying. My place was close by, just a little further down Saint Joseph Street. I could see flashes of lighting and faint rumblings of thunder toward the river. As I went up the wet stairs into my funky apartment my mind was racing with so many things. How I felt when I touched Wes’ hand. Doug’s smiling eyes when he brought me coffee in the morning.
I had just moved in a couple of weeks before. The place consisted of about a fifteen by twenty-foot room with a tiny bathroom, but the balcony was nice, even if I shared it with another unit. It was a weird place. Seemed like it was just half a building. The red and black bricks looked so old. My window frames were metal and rusted, but somehow lovely. A small, noisy window AC unit was my climate control. My plug-in air freshener was keeping the musty smell a bit in check.
I slipped my shoes off and plopped down on the small loveseat. There was only room for a chair, loveseat, my small bed, and a tiny kitchenette in the corner—a miniature fridge, sink and small cabinet. My other possessions were back at my mom’s house. I didn’t miss them. I felt freer with less stuff. I moved into this apartment on a whim. I just needed space from Doug as soon as possible.
I had lived with Doug for three years.
Three years of my life spent gradually realizing we just couldn’t connect the way I wanted. The way I needed. I’d share an insight I thought powerful, and he’d just give me a quizzical look. I needed more. Even if he’d said, “You’re full of shit!” Anything! I craved a passionate reaction. I had been entertaining self-doubt, thinking I was expecting too much. Were my observations not that profound? Doug was an intelligent guy overall. Very successful. Was I the problem? But over time, I had ultimately had enough. I needed more from my lover. I regretted it took three years.
I looked about my room. Rain was beginning to pelt the two windows on the end of my unit. A flash of lighting streaked across the sky. Just me, my two suitcases of clothes and a few books. I turned on my lamp and picked up my copy of The Sun Also Rises. I was on my third reading of it. I read a page or two then tossed it to the side. I needed to figure out why I was being so haunted by my decision to leave Doug.
I was so restless. Soon I was back in my raincoat and headed down Carondelet Street in the direction of the Ace Hotel. I had texted my friend, Stephanie, to meet me at the hotel. As soon as I walked in the bar, I proceeded to the quieter back rooms, behind the bar.
Stephanie was already seated looking at her phone.
“Hey Steph!”
“Hey girl! How you doing?”
“Been better.”
“Doug?”
“Yep.”
“C’mon girl, we been through all that. You did what you needed to do.”
“I know. Why am I so sad though? Shouldn’t the right thing feel good?”
The waitress put a drink before me.
“I ordered for you, something stiff,” Stephanie said.
“Thank you, Steph.”
“What’s a girlfriend for, huh?”
I looked her in the eye. “Thank you.”
“Okay, Mil you need to go find another man or take a trip or do something.”
“Look, it’s hard. Doug’s a good man. I broke his heart. I fear I broke him period. He’s too good for that.”
“He is a good man. You’re right on that. But…he isn’t good for you. You know that.”
“I know. Been doing a lot of thinking on this. He was good. He was wholesome. He would have been a great husband, great father even. He was safe, you know? He loved me. He almost worshiped me. I now feel so alone. I feel so bad I hurt him.”
“I get it. But, you gotta let him go. Let him meet the right person for him. He deserves that. You know you two had been growing apart a long time. You told me that you had gotten to where you had nothing to talk about.”
The music was getting a bit louder next door. The crowd was getting louder too. Steph reached out and put her hand on mine. I noticed she was dressed up a bit. Very pretty.
“Steph, you’re all dressed up. You ready to go partying or something?”
“I wanted to be ready Mil. You know me. Always ready for some fun.”
“Thanks for meeting me. Being here for me.”
“Let’s go dance. Let’s forget all this relationship bullshit!”
“Maybe in a bit.”
“Steph, why did Doug and I drift apart? It was so good at first.”
“Look, Doug’s a good guy, but you’re an intellectual. You light up when you’re talking to me about books, travel, adventure. You love editing books. It’s how you make your living. You love ideas. You need a man who can keep up with you. Challenge you. Grow from.”
She paused to put some fresh lipstick on and peered over at me, “Shit Mil, you’ve been trying to get him to go to France with you for over a year. Get your ass over to Paris and meet you a Frenchman. You’re hot girl. You’d have a blast in Paris.”
“Maybe. Maybe I could eventually have gotten Doug to start reading more, to want to travel, to explore.”
“Now you’re talking crazy. His passion is Saints’ football and watching movies. Didn’t you tell me he never reads?”
“Not much anymore.”
“Girl, you need to move on!” She paused a second and exclaimed, “Let’s go dance. They’re some cute guys here. Do I need to buy you another damn drink?”
“Wait. What if I give him one more chance, and I tell him what I need from him. Be super clear. If he doesn’t change, then I’m out. I feel so guilty. Did I really give him a chance?”
“You’re crazy. Three years!” Steph looked at me with big eyes and “that” look, waiting for me to agree. I didn’t.
She broke the silence, “You’re wasting your time Mil but suit yourself. Let’s go dance.”
As I walked home that night hearing my heels click on the wet sidewalk, I was resolved to give Doug one last chance. I enjoyed dancing with Steph and whatever guys waded into our dance space. It was fun, but something was missing. My mind raced wondering whether I had ever really told Doug what I needed versus just assuming he’d get it?
As I neared the corner of Saint Joseph Street, I saw a figure standing in a dark, shadowy doorway of the old police station. I got a strange feeling. I walked along the curb to keep my distance. As I went by the shadowy figure, I heard a woman’s voice whisper, “Set him free.”
I didn’t fully process the words until I had rounded the corner onto Saint Joseph. Part of me wanted to just keep going, but another part tugged at me to go back. Who, or what, the hell was she? I froze.
In a few seconds, I mustered the courage to go back to the corner. I slowly peered around the building. The doorway was empty. I looked up and down Carondelet Street. Nobody. I started thinking maybe I was imagining things. My head was buzzing from the loud music and too many drinks. Just then I saw a streetcar turning to come rumbling down Carondelet. I looked again at the doorway. Nothing.
As the streetcar clanged by, there she was: staring at me out the streetcar window. I shivered as our eyes briefly locked. She looked a thousand years old, like a witch, or maybe wisdom personified. I felt very strange. Was any of this real? Had I conjured her?
I shut my eyes hard to try and clear my vision. The streetcar was just a fading, rumbling sound as it passed under the red neon Ace Hotel sign in the distance. Soon all was quiet again. Just me, my buzz, my ringing ears, and the corner. A couple was laughing and staggering down Carondelet in the distance. Soon, even they were gone. All was wet, dark, and quiet, except for the ringing in my ears.
“You’re back?”
I sheepishly smiled at the same bartender from earlier in the evening. “Yeah, I guess so. I was just walking home and saw the light on. Next thing I knew I was sitting here. Same stool even.”
The surreal feeling lingered. The soccer had been replaced with basketball. Muted Hip-hop had replaced the classic rock. The red neon signs were still casting a glow about.
“You did look a little startled when you came in.”
“Yeah, something strange happened out there.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I was just walking down Carondelet and…” I was watching for his reaction.
“And what?”
“Oh, nothing. I think I was just seeing things.” The bartender gave me an all-knowing smile.
He handed me a little pony beer. “Here’s a beer. Help calm ya down.”
“I’m good.”
“Just have a few sips. You still look a bit shaken.”
“Thanks.”
“C’mon…tell me. What happened?”
“I think I was just hearing things.”
The bartender looked at me with his eyebrows lifted and said in a conspiratorial tone, half-whisper like. “Okay, no worries. Some say that corner is haunted. Ain’t the first time I’ve heard stuff like this.”
“Everywhere is haunted in New Orleans!”
“Good point, Millicent.”
“Hey, how do you know my name?
“We bartenders, we hear things.” A wink and that flirtatious smile again.
The music suddenly was turned way down. Brighter lights coming on. The place was thinning out.
“Hey, thanks for the beer. I gotta get home.”
As I got to the door, I called out to the bartender, “Hey, y’all are open Saturday night, right?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” He asked looking over his shoulder at me while washing glasses.
“Good. I’ll see you Saturday.”
“It’s a date, hon.”
I kind of hoped it would be. I was still dreamy about his knowing Camus.
Over the annuls of history, numerous products were successful at one thing but created unanticipated impacts.
Invented in 1885, Coca-Cola made people feel good. It was billed as a “brain tonic and intellectual beverage.” It initially contained cocaine. It was addictive. Cocaine amounts were reduced over the years and eventually eliminated by the late 1920s.
DDT was billed as a miracle insecticide. It was promoted by the government and industry for many applications. It was used by farmers and mosquito control authorities. It was popular because it worked. Over time, thanks to the work of Rachel Carlson and many others, we learned that it was leading to rapid declines of numerous birds, such eagles, pelicans and peregrine falcons. Turns out that DDT persists in the environment for a long time and has many harmful impacts likely to all living creatures. Its use was largely banned in the 1970s. We have seen a significant rebound in these bird populations.
I could list many more products that had to be pulled off the market. You get the point. Something that is really good in some ways can be problematic in others.
Recently, I’ve been applying this concept to our being hyper-connected to the digital realm. Since at least the 1980s, we’ve each year become more reliant, some would say addicted, to the internet and its various products.
Like the products described above, the internet has offered so many benefits. Obviously, we have more data at our fingertips. Some of the data is accurate, some not. It has made so many things we do more efficient. We use far less paper and energy to do many tasks. All in all, it has produced many substantial improvements to our life and perhaps even the environment.
But is it a little like Coca-Cola or DDT in that there are negative impacts? Impacts that are real and perhaps warrant mitigation? Can such potential impacts even be mitigated?
Were this photo taken now, would half the people be staring at their phone? Early 1900’s picture of Camp DA Russell, Marfa, TX — Courtesy Marfa Public Library
I’ve recently been asking myself was I happier pre-internet or post internet? I don’t really know when the pre-internet period was. Personally, I’ve experienced a gradual increase in screen time since the 1980’s. I sense I was happier and felt more connected “pre-internet,” whenever that was. I think I sought out more in person contact and human connections. More walks, more outside, more reading, more hiking, more just sitting around with friends and listening to music and talking. I had more time.
My generation may be the last that can attempt to answer the pre-internet versus post-internet question. Does my generation have a unique responsibility to share our insights?
Has screen time eroded my doing the things listed above? Aren’t those things important to feeding community, feeding one’s soul? Are we now happier? If not, why do we surf more, binge more, post more?
Has this addictive, consumptive technology just snuck up on us so we didn’t note the changes in our world, our community and our personal happiness?
Since humans evolved in a tribal setting, do we need in person contact and support to feel comfortable? In other words, is the virtual world able to give us what we need as a species to thrive? Is it that our virtual world doesn’t meet our habitat and evolutionary needs? Animals in degraded habitat experience stress. It isn’t just happiness; it is health as well. Persistent stress leads to health declines.
But it is not just a question of whether we are as happy and healthy. Has it affected our safety?
I really feel less connected to my countrymen. Now 30 to 40 percent of my countrymen concern me. The digital realm has accelerated that. There are so many people I feel like I have to be careful what I talk about for fear they will shut down. Facebook technologies feed you more of what you have consumed in the past. If you consume content about birds, you get more content about birds. That seems harmless. But if you consume extreme political or hateful content, you may get more, similar extreme or hateful content. That is proving to NOT be harmless. It may be radicalizing people. Since they live in an often virtual, tailor-made world of supporters, it appears to embolden them to act out on fringe theories.
I don’t have answers. I’m just sharing thoughts. One step would be for Facebook and other social media platforms to stop engineering what we are exposed to. Facebook should stop trying to figure out what we want to see, especially for content that will lead to radicalization. We are divided enough as it is!
Food for thought.
I welcome feedback. I may be missing something; I probably am…
Some people seem to just let experiences come and go. Little conscious effort is made to keep a part of what just happened to them. Life is just about experiencing things and that’s it. What’s next?
There’s nothing wrong with that. It is a way to travel “light” through the journey of life. These people can be very pleasurable company. They are experiencing new things, as others are pausing to process, document or reflect.
Those of us who attempt to process or document, however, are often good story tellers. We use the experiences of our lives to develop a personal narrative. That narrative is part of our conscientiousness. As long as we are alive, that narrative is always growing.
These experiences can be most anything, such as a great meal, like the one I enjoyed in Spain in 2013.
The good story tellers (and many writers) try to cling to a memory or two of many experiences–what something smelled like, how a person smiled, the taste of a steak or wine, how a person laughed, or the speckles in a lover’s eyes. The photos above will aid me should I ever write about that magical meal.
Photography can be an enormous gift to writers, especially when writing a scene from the past. (My favorite approach is to write in situ. Think of it as writing en plein air, but that is often not possible.) A well-taken, iconic photo can really open the memory floodgates. Writers can use journals and other tools as well. I find photographs and a few notes in my pocket journal of what I was feeling often works best for me.
By documenting a memory, it gives people something to latch onto and often many others aspects of the memory will flood back. That is a gift for writers, especially writers seeking to deploy what Hemingway termed “true writing” or “knowledge of life” as I discussed my novel, The Sommières Sun.
“Good writing is true writing. If a man is making a story up it will be true in proportion to the amount of knowledge of life that he has and how conscientious he is; so that when he makes something up it is as it would truly be.” ― Ernest Hemingway
I used the memory of my favorite steak place in Paris to create a scene for my protagonist, Steve, and his friend, Beach, to really bond. Food has a magical way of letting people relax and build relationships. I wanted the food to be phenomenal to intensify the bonding experience.
I used a couple of photos I of mine plus a discussion with my daughter to prepare to write this scene. I reflected on how I felt the times I ate at Le Relais de Venise, especially the first time in 2010. The following quotes share a bit of what I wrote.
A few minutes later…
I don’t believe I could have captured this scene without having experienced it, but the photos and conversation enriched the prose a great deal and made it even “truer” writing.
It doesn’t have to be just the big moments. Just capturing a simple scene or two can be so pleasurable as well…
I probably took 100 pictures that night. I will never forget how cold and beautiful Trucadéro was that night in January.
Whether you are a writer, a story teller or a person who just enjoys reliving and reflecting on special moments, capture those moments you value. It is a balance. Obviously, experience the moments too! It is just that a photo here and there and a few notes in a journal can make a big difference.
Many of my friends are changing. They are reading less and watching (or binging) series on Netflix, Amazon or similar services more. I don’t altogether like it. It is making my world a bit less interesting.
First of all, I feel a bit of pressure to watch these series in order to maintain cultural touchstones. After I watch a series, they strike me almost like mindlessly eating a bag of potato chips. I enjoy it immensely at the time, but feel a little sick afterward. Now, that’s an overstatement. I don’t actually feel sick after watching a series (normally). What really bothers me is how much less interesting my discussions are with friends about these series versus discussing a book.
Why do I find the discussion less rich? Maybe it has something do with that old adage, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” Maybe through the use of pictures, actually moving pictures, the viewer inserts less of herself into her perception of the story.
Reflect on this passage just a bit. We’ll come back to it.
Think about it like art. I find paintings that look almost like photographs less interesting than paintings that deploy a degree of abstraction. With a degree of abstraction, the viewer projects a bit of themselves into interpreting the subject.
Compare looking at this painting with looking at a photograph of a woman and a glass vase.
Again, think of how much different a discussion would be with a friend concerning this painting versus a photograph. Not to say photography can’t be abstract or interpreted as well. I do love photography, but you get the point.
That is the beauty of reading and books, writers are never able to completely describe a scene. The reader always has to robustly use his imagination to supplement the words on the page.
In a sense, the reader forms a partnership with the writer to visualize what is happening. As a result, when you discuss a book with a friend, your perception will be different than theirs. You are comparing your interpretations versus literal scenes that a video series explicitly prepared for your consumption.
When you discuss a book with a friend, you are in a sense, discussing a bit of yourself with them. Your experiences, your imagination, colored and helped shape your perception of what happened. That’s generally less true when you discuss video productions.
Okay, to illustrate, think about what you envisioned from the above passage at the start of this post. Did you see anything like this?
Probably not exactly. But that gives us a glimpse of why discussing books is so interesting, so rich. We are in a sense discussing ourselves a bit as well.
Of course, writers selfishly want you to read. That’s a big reason why we write. But we also think the world is a more interesting place when you do. It can, just like abstract art, transform the consumption of art away from a spectator sport to a participation sport. I like that.
CE Hunt 