Just off the red-eye, the very smart (and beautiful) Joyce Maynard surprised me with an impromptu coffee invite. It's predictable that she leaves me with much to think about, and still my whirling feels unexpected--novel. This is the no brainer, she tells me as she gathers her things--get everyone who's read HENNY to comment on Amazon. It matters, she tells me as she exits. I collect my things. Head for the bathroom. Toss our garbage. Berate myself for my stupid outfit choice. I know she's heading west toward her day. I go east--home. I imagine her eyes on my city ... the construction on 79th will bug her; she'll enjoy the park. I'm glad I know her. She makes me want to write sixteen things at once.
Damn. It's New York City's turn for Joyce.
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