I would take the whatevers to downtown Manhattan. That was after taking MetroNorth commuter train from Connecticut to Grand Central. The whole enchilada, including some food and diet colas, could run a hundred bucks. And there was no guarantee I would land the assignments I was pitching for.
That's simply what a ghostwriter does who is determined to be positioned as "New York."
Of course, as happened this morning in Manhattan, there would be shut-downs. Sometimes it was the subway, as it was today. Other times it would be MetroNorth. For strap-hangers the experience was especially brutal this morning. It was 90 degrees. The humidity was high.
Two months ago, I, to repurpose Joan Didion's phrase, said Goodbye to All That. Somehow I did a deep courage dive.
I risked losing all business in Manhattan, along with Washington D.C., by relocating to the Southwest. My hunch was that by being here I would gain access, finally, to the market here. That did pan out. Last week I competed for an ongoing ghostwriting assignment in social media. This week I found out I got it.
Yes, so far so good about maintaining Manhattan and D.C. networks. I rise before 6 A.M. to accommodate the East Coast time zone.
But, do I feel schadenfreude that ghostwriters in New York City continue to endure tough traveling conditions?
Not at all.
As one cynical mentor told me, we have to choose our poison. No, earning a living isn't all sweetness and light. For the inconvenience and expense of getting around Manhattan I have exchanged 115-degree heat, dust storms, and where not one person has yet asked me, "What do you do?" The extreme NorthEast Corridor careerism I used to complain about I miss.