One day many years ago, I began my work day with my journal and favorite pen. I set the timer for 11 minutes and committed to keep my pen writing no matter what, even, and especially, if I didn’t know what to write. This is a trusted practice I’d learned from my good friend and collaborator Nan Seymour. What’s so magical about this writing method is that you never quite know what’s going to come rolling out of your pen onto the page.
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In Nice, we have a broccoli guy.
We have a shoe guy.
We have an apple lady.
We have our favorite croissant guy, our patisserie lady, and a full suite of cafes we frequent where we know the owner and all of the servers.
We have a lady who cuts our dog’s hair and who loves our dog so much that when we take him in for a trim, instead of cringing, his little doggy heart practically bursts his harness from the unfettered glee of being under her spell for the duration of his grooming.
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