“Are you wearing my socks?” he asked. Upon closer inspection, he laughed: “You’re wearing two different socks.”
Yiasou!
Stephanie Nikolopoulos is a writer, editor, writing teacher, and speaker based in New York City.
She is the coauthor, with Paul Maher Jr., of "Burning Furiously Beautiful: The True Story of Jack Kerouac's 'On the Road.'"
You can email her at stephanie_701 {@} yahoo.com
Blooms and jewels and grey skies and scaffolding on Fifth Avenue
Happy birthday to Patience and Fortitude! š¦š¦ Today the New York Public Library is celebrating the birthday of their beloved marble lions. Did you know theyāre made out of Tennessee Pink Marble ā just like the gorgeous floors of Grand Central? ā”ļø to see some recent photos I took of them during the blue hour (Swoon! My favorite time of day.) Click on the link in my bio to find out more in my Thomas Insights article.
š Monday.
Over the years, so many women have mothered me. I often joke that my first dog was like Nana in Peter Pan, so carefully guarding me as a baby that my parents had to eventually give away their other dog because she would go after him all the time. Then there was my Pioneer Girl āpal,ā who was assigned to mentor me when I was in elementary school. She was quite different from my own mother. She was a homebody and loved crafting, like I did. Years later she would set me up on a friend date with a woman who has become one of my dearest friends, who in fact now lives in my same building. In undergrad, my suitemateās parents took me in numerous times when it was too far to fly back home to New Jersey from California and immediately treated me like part of the family. When I returned back home to the East Coast and my parents moved overseas, one of my motherās closest friends became not so much a mother to me but a friend. When I got married I gained a mother. She immediately accepted me as family, as her daughter, and it felt surreal and beautiful to realize all that I had gained. None of these people could ever replace my own mother. I talk to my mother every day. She is one of the strongest, most fun, and most thoughtful women I know, and I aim to be more like her. But I want to acknowledge all the women that have stood in the gap. And I want to acknowledge that you donāt have to even be a mother, biologically speaking, to do the hard, selfless, loving act of mothering. Sometimes mothering is taking in someone who has nowhere else to go on a holiday. Sometimes mothering is writing a book that nurtures someone. Sometimes mothering is pushing someone to succeed in their dreams.
āI LOVE HANGINā IN NYC!ā
The other day I was having a conversation with some writers I admire, and during a tangent about other professions, like acting and politics, we agreed that you have to know and prepare for it from the time you are a child. Does the same hold true for writing? I always knew I wanted to work with words, but I never knew where that would take me. I just followed my heart, my desire, my whims ā and I took every opportunity that presented itself, even when the āopportunitiesā were oddball or didnāt seem āworthā the time (hereās looking at you, publications only offering āexposureā) or out of my comfort zone, and worked like the good little daughter of an immigrant (raised with a perfectionistic Protestant work ethic) that I am. Along the way, Iāve edited countless books on dictators, interviewed David Spade, stared blankly at an audience when I suddenly got stage fright halfway through what I was saying, had audience members ask me if they could buy my book after successful readings, been taught by a band member how to get backstage for an interview, product tested yo-yos for a book kit, written about robots and digital twins, had my writing selected for display in an airport, proofread in my dreams on numerous occasions, read Jack Kerouacās poetry at one of the bars he hung out at in his hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts, while jazz legend David Amram played music, written PR for a yodeling show, been interviewed on the radio and tv, been ghosted by media outlets when it came time for them to pay me, seen my studentsā work get published (one of my biggest joys!), read my name in the acknowledgment pages of several books, made amazing writer friends, and paid lots of library fines. You donāt have to have it all figured out. You just have to spread your wings and fly. No matter what happens, youāll get a story out of it! I want to know: what are some of the highs and lows, the weird and awe-inspiring, things youāve experienced in your journey?
Twitter Updates
- #FreeAustinTice twitter.com/MarcATice/statā¦ 9 months ago
- RT @MichaelHyatt: You donāt have to see the end from the beginning. All you have to see is the next step. 9 months ago
- RT @PSLiterary: āYou donāt start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking itās good stuff, and then gradually you geā¦ 11 months ago
- RT @GarySnyderQuote: I am intrigued by the sense that culture itself has a wild edge. As Claude Levi-Strauss remarked years ago, the arts aā¦ 11 months ago
- RT @GarySnyderQuote: National Treasure: Gary Snyder lionsroar.com/national-treasā¦ 1 year ago
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