Someone on Goodreads wrote of Lunch in Brooklyn, “But where was the fooling around with Neil part??”
This was my first published story, in Sassy, July 1992. It takes place in 11th grade, as the small Quaker school years are coming to a close. The story was built backwards from a note my husband had left me one day, of the “going out, back 5ish” variety, where at the end he scrawled something, which could have been “love” or “later,” I really couldn’t tell. In the context of the note and our relationship, it was insignificant, but what if this were something a boy had written in a girl’s yearbook?
The other day I did a search on the story title and up popped a blog of the same name with a stated (and very much unfulfilled) intention to create a screenplay based on the story. The story was 22 years ago, the blog 10, but who doesn’t like to write something that has been remembered?
Sassy Editor Christina Kelly aka Fallen Princess has 10 of these vintage Sassy Nirvana stickers to give away. Here’s what you can do to win one:
2) Email the link to your review to the Princess along with a mailing address.
The first 10 people who post a review win.
Sassy readers of yesteryear, get on over to Christina Kelly’s blog, Fallen Princess. I did an author Q & A with her!
In addition to Christina’s rants, whims, wit and wisdom, you will also find Andrea, Kim and (I think) Marjorie, fka Margie.
Thanks again, Christina. I am proud to be a “colleague“!
Surrounded by the hulking gray and peach buildings, Downtown Brooklyn’s Family Court and the Metropolitan Transit Authority headquarters, the park feels like one of those abandoned places in a Planet of the Apes movie. It is not a park mothers would take children to. It was built over an underground parking garage. Six lanes of traffic stream by the Adams Street entrance. Inside the park is a playing field with bald dust spots, a row of cherry trees and a privet hedge along the side. We used to come here every day for recess in lower school. You could find treasures in the bushes: broken jewelry, metal watchstraps, chess pieces, screwcaps. There was a sweet smell down there, when you crouched along the edge of the field where the dust met the bushes, rotting cherries, Thunderbird.
NYC, circa 1982