Men I Have Loved and Other Fiction

Men become mythology in the mind of a single writer and that mythology turns into stories. And so I was reminded a few days ago when I had an 8 a.m. meeting in Manhattan and, rather than struggling with slush and erratic Q train service, decided to stay overnight at the Edison Hotel on 47th Street off Times Square.

There, in the lobby, I encountered the mural by Charnick, Manhattan through the eyes of a gull painted, as you can see, before the fall of the towers. When he painted this, I was a young girl in the city. Seriously crushing on intense, poetic young narcissists—artists.

Charnick, who used only one name long after Plato and well before Oprah, broke my heart. I tried to possess him by writing a play about him. This is something writers do. We write about things that plague, haunt and entangle us. In the writing, where we are queens of the manor born, we are free to figure things out, and exorcise.

via Men I Have Loved and Other Fiction Ask a New Yorker | Ask a New Yorker – A Cultural Influence.

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