Is New York Still the Best Place for Authors, Playwrights, Actors and Artists?

 

She was thirty something, smallish, brunette. Her hair was chin-length, and her eyes were almost too dark to be real. When she came out of the kitchen, I had no idea how or when she materialized — all I knew was she was standing before us, waiting. The overall feeling I picked up from her was boredom, only it was boredom elevated to an art form.

"What do you want?” she asked. She had no pad or pen, just a little white apron that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but that she managed to wear while still looking cool. We were the only people in the diner, probably because it was a few days after Christmas and stormy outside.

My friend replied, “Watcha got?”

“Nothin’,” the waitress responded. It seemed like a preview of what you might find in the city itself; a profound indifference to politeness, small talk and nearly everything else.

I had met the two men sitting with me a few hours before, when they decided we should all go out to eat. Their names were Rafael and Henry, and my college teacher had recommended Rafael highly as a person who could “introduce me to New York” when I moved there.

I couldn’t tell them how nervous I was about moving to the city. Born in Brooklyn, I had grown up mostly in suburban New Jersey. I visited New York many times with my family to see relatives or plays/movies and eat at restaurants. But the idea of living there and trying to make a career of acting seemed like a whole other animal, one I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to ride.

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Photo by Hannah Busing on Unsplash

Frankenstein's Dad Had Nothing on His Mom: Exploring the Fascinations of Author Mary Shelley

As a former camper and counselor-in-training in northern New Jersey, I liked most of the activities offered up to me. One in particular, though, stands out: overnight campfire -- sleepovers and the ghost stories that went with it. 

While they were always fun and I loved hearing and making up ghost stories, none of them compared to the classic TV horror movies I watched when growing up (think Svengoolie). My favorites were the Frankenstein movies, though Dracula and the Wolf Man caught my eye, too.

Then, I learned something about Frankenstein that endeared the movie (and later book) to me even more: the story was created by a young woman who wrote it after being challenged to write a ghost story. She was the only one in her circle who did — at the ripe old age of eighteen.

Her name: Mary Shelley.  She was married to the poet Percy B.  Shelley and had what seems to be a difficult, tempestuous marriage. When I first discovered one of the most enduring horror stories in the world had been created by Shelley, I wanted to learn everything I could about her — and can see I’m not alone here on Medium. Like many of you, I keep trying to figure out why she continues to pique my curiosity.

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Photo by Dad Grass on Unsplash