Nov 3, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy

Frankly, My Dear . . . :Five Things Friday
Now that all I can for NOLA is wait for feedback, and given that it’s November, my project of the month is jump starting CENTRAL a la NaNoWriMo. Here it is day three and I’ve only 32 words written, but I think they’re pretty good words.
CENTRAL will be the second in my City Series. You know the drill. It’s really not a series because the characters and storyline are completely different. But using the location as a character is what remains the same. So, I’m affectionately calling it a series, and creating a subgenre I call location mystery. Will the world catch on? Eh. I dunno. But Stephenie Meyer created Renesme and the world thought that was a weird name. Still, she stuck to her guns. So I guess I will too. At least until I hear back from the editor and almost-agent. [Oh, side note: some peeps are asking if there will be a sequel to NOLA. I hadn’t thought about it . . . Until this week. We’ll see if the characters want to come back.]
So. Five Things you may or may not know about Central, the book, and the location:
- The opening line for my next novel. I’ve been around enough writers, and well, the mentor wrote a book called Firsts in Fiction, so I’d best get this right, right? Y’all ready for this?
“Serenity had a thing for cops. And the guys they arrested.”
I can’t say it will stay that way. But so far the pre-reader peeps are liking it. We’ll see.
- Central Park, located on Manhattan Island, is about 843 acres big (over 3.5 miles), and has been the location of over 350 films! The size is larger than some countries. And the movie total? Fuggedaboutit.

Frankly, My Dear . . . : Central Park, NYC
- The Park isn’t just a park. It’s home to the Central Park Zoo, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Tavern on the Green, many playgrounds and ball fields, as well as bridges, walkways, vendors. It’s a city unto itself!

Frankly, My Dear . . . : Central Park, NYC
- There are thousands of songs about New York City, and many of them include reference to Central Park. Two of my favorites are, of course, Sinatra’s “Theme from New York, New York” and Harry Connick, Jr’s “Autumn in New York.” While not exclusive to the Park, these songs embody a great connection to the Big Apple at the best time of year.
- CP was the first public, landscaped park in all the United States. Now that deserves some awards!
And there you have it! Five fun facts about Central, the book and the park!
What’s your favorite part of the park?
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Aug 18, 2012 |
Lately, I’ve been rediscovering lost memories. I’ve been chatting with old friends on Facebook. Looking through old photo albums. Reading old journal entries and blog posts.
I’m not one to reminisce. I’m either in the moment or living for the future. The past is the past. It can’t be changed. And while I have solid childhood memories, I don’t often allow myself the luxury of recalling those favored moments more than once in a great while. This is also because I have a tendency to relive emotions that come with certain memories.
Because of this, I can write amazing character profiles. I associate more than just memories. I associate music and ambiance and flavor and fragrance and sound and texture and feelings. I incorporate entire experiences.
But sometimes, triggers can bring me back to more than I bargained for.
Over ten years ago I was engaged. I shouldn’t have been. But I was a single mom with a young girl. I was lonely, and felt alone. I met a man who showered me with affections. He was not cruel. He was not mean. We just were not a good match. People told us so. We didn’t listen, and after months of dating he proposed. I eventually broke up with him when it was clear we weren’t going to be able to work out some of our more important conflicts. It was the smart thing: to let go. But it was painful. And once again, I felt alone. But more than that: I felt like I deserved to be alone. I’d ignored those who loved me enough to tell me why this wasn’t good. I’d turned my back on the advice of family and friends. I’d asked them to embrace my choice, proclaiming that I knew best.
But I didn’t.
So I deserved to be alone. And hurt.
Or so I thought.
He’d taken me to see the movie “Autumn in New York”. I can’t begin to list the reasons why I love this movie. It’s by no means a classic. It didn’t win any awards. But it had me from the moment the first leaf fell in Central Park to Diana Krall’s “Let’s Fall in Love”. I had the CD soundtrack that I annoyed people with day after day after day. It was, for me, the perfect experience.
And then we broke up. And because I had not just memories but experiences associated with Autumn in New York, I could no longer listen to the music. I never wanted to see the movie. I could never think about someday going to New York.
I just couldn’t.
It pulled at me like sticky spaghetti strings. With any real force, the draw would be broken. I was thankful to live here in the desolate desert where I didn’t have to smell crisp autumn winds or see colored leaves. I could pretend the movie never existed. Because to admit that not only did it exist, but that I liked it, was to admit that I wasn’t perfect. That I longed for something I couldn’t, and shouldn’t, have. It was to admit that I’d failed with my family and friends. And that was the most painful loss of all.
This is the thinking pattern I held to for most major disappointments. I could no longer watch this, hear that, go here, eat there. All because it brought back bad memories. And pain. And shame.
Until eight years later. I just made a decision to change my way of thinking. This part puzzles me, because for all my experience-association, the only thing I remember about this moment is feeling empowered. I’d decided several things in that moment.
I’d decided I wasn’t going to hold on to bad memories. I would recognize them, but no longer let them hold me hostage.
I’d decided I was going to allow myself to remember without experiencing every moment.
I’d decided I wasn’t going to let the memory of a long-ago man dictate how I continued my life without him.
I’d decided it was time to stop avoiding old memories, and instead replace them with new ones.
I’d decided to order the DVD from Amazon.
The next four days were filled with a new excitement for me. It was almost a combination of meeting an old friend and going on a first date. I was finally allowing myself to be me. And to be happy about it.
When the DVD arrived, I wasn’t disappointed. I worried that I’d built it up in my head to be a wonderful theatrical production. It wasn’t. But I already knew that. It was just what I remembered it to be. And it felt good to remember.
Since that moment, I no longer run from my memories. I change them. I don’t let them haunt me and keep me subdued. I make new memories. This is still my town. This is where I live. Work. Love. And have family and the same friends.
I refuse to let an old memory take that from me.
The movie is no longer associated with that man. It’s associated with my love for New York. The restaurant we used to frequent is no longer associated with him. It’s associated with friends and great conversations and possibilities.
Life isn’t something to keep running away from or locked in a closet. It’s something to be treasured, exhibited, and put on display.
Life is something to be proud of. The weaknesses that let others be strong for us. Even the parts that make us stronger for ourselves.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy:
Writing Prompt: Songs
Why I Don’t Go To Carnivals in October
Bunco at Tiffany’s
When I Get to New York
Mojo Movie Review of the Week: Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Nov 5, 2011 |
[For the original article, click here.]
When Writer’s Digest Community offered this weekly prompt, there was no question I would combine my loves of holiday music, Harry Connick Jr, and NYC/Central Park. Take two of your favorite songs, and match up a line from the chorus of one with a line from the chorus of the other. Then, write a scene that starts with the first lyric, and ends with the second.
I hope the location came across clear enough; Central Park in autumn, when the leaves and snow intermingle. I am a romantic, obviously, and I have no problem sharing that.
The two songs I chose were “Autumn in New York” and “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve”. The latter is my all-time favorite holiday song. The former is a dream… so far.
Maybe someday I’ll get there – New York in Autumn. Or winter. Maybe for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
Maybe not.
But that won’t stop me from dreaming of it; and striving for it.
This New Year’s Eve I’ll be working: writing my way to New York City, and every other place I’ve ever wanted to visit. I’ve got to start somewhere, somehow. I choose now to start.
What will you be doing New Year’s Eve?
Sep 3, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
This is another Writer’s Digest Community Writing Prompt from last year.
SONGS: Take two of your favorite songs, and match up a line from the chorus of one with a line from the chorus of the other. Then, write a scene that starts with the first lyric, and ends with the second.
“What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” he asked with a smile; his smile.
“It’s too early to think about that right now.” I tried hard not to fall under his spell. I was certain, however, that my clumsy efforts to avoid his gaze made me look like a fish out of water. A giant, washed-ashore, debilitated, practically dying, fish out of water.
He chuckled as if I were a cute toddler learning to walk. Emotionally, he wasn’t too far off. But I was planets away from letting him discover my reserves. And so I played it off by opening my datebook for evidence.
Datebook. How much more oxymoronic could it be. It was a personal jab, how these bound leather-jacketed pages screamed to be opened to reveal nothing of what they promised. Grocery lists. Doctor appointments. Work assignments. Contact information. Anything and everything. Except dates.
“Here,” I poked. “See? Today’s only – ”
He refused to let me finish. He gently wrapped his strong manhand around my accusatory finger. I’m pretty sure we lit the place up all by ourselves. It was painfully enjoyable.
He sat across from me, playing with my hand atop the café table. Gently pushing and pulling information. So easily, I didn’t even realize I was giving up bits and pieces. So earnestly, I forgot to lie.
“Wait,” I breathed, gripping the table for stability. Wait, I commanded myself.
“What’s wrong?” he leaned forward in his concern.
“You’re making it worse!” I edged my chair back.
“What?” he mock-gasped; knowing full well what I meant. I looked anywhere but at him. If I let go of the table, I would certainly float beyond the neon stars above us in my bliss.
He took my hand again, tethering me to himself. I would not fly away.
“Let’s walk.” It was a gentle command; for he was already rising from his seat, taking his coat and coffee with him. I followed numbly, playing his grown-up game of Simon Says.
He led me over the concrete path, through the intermittent crowds, under the trees raining color upon us. I shivered from the all-consuming experience and he quickly pulled me to the side of the path. Under a dim yellow lamppost, he brought his coat behind me and pulled it around me. I was surrounded by the scent of him. His warm hands soothed the collar around my neck and I shivered all the more, embarrassed that such gentlemanly care could turn me to Jell-O. I knew better than to try to speak.
A red-golden leaf fell between us, startling us both into chuckles. My pent-up, heightened awareness took advantage of my fallen guard; and my body convulsed into a loud symphony of laughter, letting go of all that was in me.
He joined with me, his baritone sound in harmony with my soprano.
A tear of relief sprang to life on my cold cheeks. Still laughing, still holding me close by the collar of his own coat, he raised one hand to tenderly thumb it away. I closed my eyes to avoid showing him inside me; but I felt his presence, his touch. He was not going anywhere.
“Hey.” He whispered. I hesitantly opened my lids to see his breath on the air. He placed a gentle kiss on my lips, and the warmth flooded me, staying even after he withdrew to look at me again.
His smile was new. It was mine. “So, what does your datebook say about tonight?”
I smiled back. “It’s Autumn.” With all it’s joyously colorful experiences. “Autumn in New York.”
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Aug 31, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
When I get to New York
It will be in the fall
When the leaves turn red and gold and yellow
And drop precariously all around.
When the crisp air carries
A promise of change
I will arrive on a train
Through Grand Central Station
And before I even enter the City
I will shop
And eat
And people-watch.
I will take a yellow taxi cab
To Central Park
And run along the paths
Before I buy a bag of roasted nuts
And sit on a green bench
To enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells.
I will think of the movies
And the songs
And the stories
That have filled my head and heart
With such wanderlust
That brings me there.
I will wait until the sun sets
And make my way
To Broadway
Where I will stand on the sidewalk
With arms open wide
And voice lifted high
And people will stare at me
But most will smile and applaud
In understanding.
I will quiet myself as I enter
The theatre
And hum quietly along
As I take it all in
And vicariously live a musical.
I will find a street vendor
For exhaust-flavored hot dogs and coffee
And stroll through the streets
Through the night
Until I find myself
Like Holly Golightly
Looking through early morning windows
At Tiffany’s
And their beautiful blue boxes.
I’ll lay my head on a pillow
At the Plaza
And wake to look over
The City that Never Sleeps.
I’ll walk underground
And ride the metal beasts
Of the Subway
From one end to the other.
I’ll go to Yankee Stadium
And cheer out loud
For my team.
I’ll ride the ferry
To Ellis Island
And remember how this Great Country
Was, is, and will be.
I’ll tread lightly at the Library
And smell pages and pages
Of History
Fantasy, Reality, and Life.
I’ll stroll through the Village
And eat treats unheard of
And pretend I belong in Soho
If just for the day.
I’ll skate at Rockefeller Center
And laugh when I fall down.
When the lights come to life
I’ll find myself exiting
The elevator on top
Of the Empire State Building
And again I’ll sing songs
While holding my breath
As I look over the expanse
And make more dreams
Than I knew I could hold inside me.
I’ll awake with my muses
Flying rapidly about
Onto paper and thoughts
And take myself to the MoMA
To let it all in
And let myself out.
I’ll sit on a bench
And instead of writing
I’ll look around
Until
I’ll close my eyes and see it all
I’ll open my ears and hear whispers
I’ll speak later, when I find my words.
I’ll walk in a daze
Down 34th Street
And find myself
In the miracles of Macy’s
And all it has to offer.
I’ll listen to street musicians
And tap my tennis shoes to the beat
Until my dancing feet
Take me
To Times Square
Where
In the midst of possibly everything
I will finally just stop
And stand there
In awe
Of neon lights
And honking horns
And tourists
Just like me.
I will buy me a keychain
And a statue of the Statue.
Then I will make my way
Home
And write it all out
As bits and pieces
Come back to me
Until
I
Come back
To it.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!