June 17th, 2024 - Chicago on the Seine
Dear TNY,
I have just returned from a disc golf tournament and read “Chicago on the Seine”.
While I found the writing to be straightforward and worth following from a narrative pacing standpoint, I felt the story didn’t fucking go anywhere. Like, I was engaged enough to chew through this piece, and there were things that piqued my interest, but in the end it wasn’t much of anything at all. There were paths I wanted this to go down. Romy, for one. Or for the guy to stay with the dead lady all night. Or to learn more about his mom’s death, likely through that sleepover. But no.
The biggest sin in this story is that it finished with him watching a family shop in Paris. Like, what a dumb left turn at the end. Why not weave in some of those themes you’d been presenting the whole time? They had places to go, conclusions to reach. But you just left them on the cutting room floor, completely fucking squandered. This ending feels like the author absolutely had a destination in mind and wasn’t going to compromise that, no matter where the story wanted to go on its own.
Disc golf tournaments? Meh. I enjoy watching them on TV at times. Sometimes just the highlights. And it was cool to see a sport where the athletes were so approachable, because they really were just mixed in with everyone and they let you walk the course right next to the athletes while they play. And the athletes met with any number of folks and signed shit and were super nice. I saw a guy who’s worth millions of dollars finish his round with no cameras around, no one following the group, where he signed a bunch of shit and took pictures with tons of people and then sat at a picnic table with two other legends at it and all their families, kids rolling about, right in the middle of the whole thing, not separated or anything. That’s pretty fucking cool and unlike so many other sports. But, truth be told, the thousands of spectators ruined it for me. They rushed everywhere and pushed us out of the way and made it unfun. And, honestly, I’d rather be playing with a small group on an unknown course, just fucking off. Someone asked me how it was and I said, “I like my life, I wouldn’t want to watch someone else live it, so I’d rather be playing than watching, even if it isn’t as good as I could ever do.”
How is everything else? Un fucking known. It’s all up in the air. After some of the worst months in my adult life, a pivotal moment will commence tomorrow (and throughout the following weeks). I have felt worse than I can remember. More depressed. More sad. More upset. Have felt more despair. I think this is the worst patch of feels I have had since the divorce. Because I was so sure. And then detonation. And now I don’t know what will happen. But I know what I want to happen. So I’m clinging to fucking hope like Rose to a broken door. So check in with me later. Maybe I will have more hope!!! Or maybe I’m actually Jack and I’ll just slide right into the cold dark deep. It’s that fucking important to me.
Well, here’s to hope. And manifesting.
Nick
