A fountain powered out of the middle of it; a thin, maybe fourteen-foot spike that almost looked frozen. Every fluid ounce of water churned the same. I wondered what it would look like inverted; if someone sank some physics-breaking thing into the water so there was just this bore hole in it.
|It would look like this.|
My mind was full of underground tunnels and haunted houses and nightmare stuff, because I'd just gone to see Neil Gaiman.
My favorite writing advise from Neil was as follows.
"What [my narrative voice] does is say to the reader, 'I'm going to take you into dark and scary places and you're going to be frightened, but it will be okay, because I'm holding your hand'. And then I'll take your hand, and lead you off into dark and scary places. And then I'll let go of your hand and run away.
"This is a narrative tecnique."
On my trip to New York I also saw the Guggenheim Museum; navigated trains by myself successfully; had delicious sushi; saw a car parked at the end of a long line of traffic cones with a traffic cone on top of it, as if it was trying really hard to make the other cones not notice; saw a loon diving and an egret and what may have been a grackle; heard a Real Live Journalist Who Writes For Time Magazine use the term "Marty Stu" and just assume everyone knew what it was and that it was a real word; and had pumpkin ice cream.
And that was my city day.