Words fail me . . .

. . . which is an interesting statement, given that I define myself professionally as a writer.

So yes, I flew to New York City with my friend Murphy who promised me that the Nor’easter predicted to follow Hurricane Sandy was just a rumor started by a laid-off meteorologist with a bad attitude.  Not so.

Toto, we’re not in Florida any more!

The Nor’easter sailed in around 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday the 7th — precisely when Christopher and I emerged from the warmth of a rehearsal room in a building on West 37th, planning to hail a cab back to East 46th where we were meeting our Turner.com group (Julie, Doug, and Laura) for dinner.

No cabs.  Just wind and snow and freezing rain.  Trudging uphill through sideways-blowing snow and inches of icy slush, I have never been so freaking cold IN MY ENTIRE LIFE (and I’m from Pennsylvania, remember?)

So it doesn’t sound like words are failing me, you say?  That’s because I haven’t talked yet about the VOX performance on Thursday the 8th.  Here goes: thrilling, stunning exhilarating, splendiferous.  To hear your creation, your characters, your story brought to life is a thrill beyond compare.

Oh, what about Murphy?  I bought him a one-way bus ticket to Saskatchewan and good riddance.


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