So I spent a chunk of my weekend in Boston for a friend’s wedding-type thing. Boston reminded me of all the things I love and miss about living in a city, as well as the reasons I love living where I am.
There’s just no winning with me.
Being in Boston – even as briefly as I was – made me realize that a story in my head has been migrating there from NYC. Partly because Boston is much more practical for me to visit both in proximity and in the number of my friends in the area, and partly because the story doesn’t particularly care which city she’s in
Basically, Boston made me think about stories and story settings, and traveling as a writer.
The place that has provided the most setting-fodder?
More than Seattle, or Japan, or Turkey, or anywhere else I’ve been (not counting Maine, because the place I’ve lived most of my life has an unfair advantage in that department), my experiences in Ecuador have directly shaped the greatest number of stories. Weird.
Maybe it’s because I went with a specific story in mind that I knew would be set there.
Or maybe I just need to approach every place I go with an eye to how it could be used as an arena for a kind of magical Fight Club.
I think I’ll try that . . .