My Daily Bread

On routines

from my writing desk in Paris

Aye man, shout out to Paris. The plan was to come out here and write every day. Proud to say I made it my business to write every day. The act of writing isn’t romantic, it’s work. So a schedule was made, thrown to the wind, and another reborn. Instead of my typical “write sun up to sun down” method, I cruised into something simpler, something more digestible, if you will.

Every morning here I’d wake up, hit the showers, throw on something fly, and walk to Du Pain et des Idées, 34 Rue Yves Toudic. I did this for one reason and one reason only: pastries. Them damn pastries were anointed, especially them Sacristains. I almost hit my ma on text and told her I was in church every day because I was. Bowed my head to the old lady behind the counter and everything; the menu was scripture.

the goods from Du Pain et des Idées

you understand what I’m saying?

After prayer, I’d head back to my Airbnb and write. My host showed me how to work his sound system, so I set up the Jazz radio station on Apple Music and off to it. Whenever I’m stuck, I open HEAVY, read a few pages, and jump back to my writing and revising.

The windows in that Airbnb were on a 90’s Jordan MVP run. Truly the gift that gave every day. The superstars of my stay. My host warned me that being able to see the streets and hear all the noise way down below might be distracting. Listen, where I write in New York is not for the faint of heart. My Paris setup is nothing compared to back home. I’ve been good.

After writing till about noon or 14:00 local time here, I’d stop everything, grab my keys, wallet, passport, and go walking. What does walking entail in Paris? For me it’s been exploring, grabbing a pastry from a boulangerie every 3-4 blocks, window shopping (which transformed into shopping), bookstores, and museums. Always museums.

I learned very quickly that secondhand stores over here are more elevated than the secondhand stores back home. The quality of the clothes in there… top tier. I got some great finds. Also, ran into a Senegalese designer on the street. Shopped with her. She was great. Talked to me about her home. Shared her thinking behind her designs. Gratitude to Deba from Senegal.

Something I’m curious about: My go to move when moving about in a foreign city is to place Apple Airpods in my ear but play no music or podcasts. This method allows me to take the city in without being bothered, not that that stops anyone who’s persistent. That move also gives me the confidence to talk to myself while out in public. Anyone out there like to talk to yourself in public? I can’t be the only one.

Routines. I tell myself the afternoon/evening strolls are just as much a part of the writing as the writing itself. I met some interesting people. Saw a lot of architecture (my favorite). Heard some great stories from Americans and English folks who spoke loud enough for me to hear. Saw a car accident or two. Praised many French men and women for having better English than I have French. Laughed with waiters about meal portions.

All of these things in some form or another I take back to the page, not explicitly, but in some form. I hiked to the top of Arc de Triomphe with an old couple, strangers to me before yesterday. It’s something that happens too often – me meeting strangers on hikes in or outside of historic monuments (an essay for another day).

Alas, I’m going to miss this place when it’s time to go. Memories are something, man, they are precious, they are fleeting. They come and go as they please. If living is writing, then I guess it can be romantic. Not the sitting down to do it though, that’s work.

Be kind to people. Be kind to yourself. Drink some water. Love y’all.

Best,

RW

S/o to Tuvok

late night writing