I don’t believe as much in magic as I once did. Or in signs. Some days, I struggle even to believe in the inherent goodness of people.
When it comes down to it, though, deep within, I still believe in all those things.
I believe life is a day-to-day battle for everyone, some days better than others. That sometimes faith is easy to grasp, and sometimes it is a flimsy ideal that breaks in even the gentlest of grips. That we are all alone, and that none of us are truly alone.
I believe desire is as essential to life as need, even when it goes unmet.
I believe we all must believe in something.
The first time I wrote this story, as a screenplay that never made a finalist list, but was well-received by contest readers, it was a pleasure. Exploring it again as a novel has been catharsis.
I love this story. I love spending time with humanity in its finest moments, even if it’s only in fiction. I love New York at Christmas. I love that each and every random moment of our lives has potential for magic we can’t always see.
That’s what this story is about for me.
But enough with my schmaltz. Here’s the cover -
Based on one of my favorite photographs I have ever taken in New York.