I Hated The Hours (et d'autres tristesses)

On the morality of fiction, writing like a pianist, and freedom in art

Everybody keeps telling me how much I love New York. I get it: my social media is full of concerts and visits to museums, the kind of things that actual New Yorkers berate themselves for not doing. There’s nothing like nine years on the Plains to light a fire. But, five months in, I’m still not sure I can bear this city. I love walking a few blocks to t…