Moths to A Flame

That’s the thing about this city; it attracts writers like moths to a flame.

Legend has it that moths are drawn towards flames because they mistake its light for the moon. They say if you aim for the moon, at least you’ll land among the stars. Except, of course, when you crash into blazing hot light bulbs or burst into flames.

As for me, I have known the city since it was a town, and the town since it was a village. It’s never intended to lure writers in, let alone trap them. Those poor souls, like the moths, always think they’ll find something like a sense of direction or purpose here.

Pardon me, I’m not trying to scare you off. Let’s continue with the tour, shall we?

We’ve seen Metaphor Avenue so that wraps up the entire Figure of Speech Quarter. Sure, it’s the largest and most reputable area. But it gets really crowded in there, sometimes it seems like people assume that’s all there is to the Quarter. South Simile though, doesn't get half the credit it deserves. I like having a smoke there myself from time to time.

Now walking down this treacherous slope and through that dark alley, you’ll come out on the other side to the New Point of View. Some of the buildings there are crooked, others so straight you think you’re crooked.

Watch your step because parts of the pavements are unstable. You can never be sure which stones are unreliable. It’s certainly disorienting for first-timers, but I assure you the plaza gets more magical with each visit. You will learn to see through a new lens and appreciate the quaint glows of these streetlights.

And just around the corner of Rhyme Road over there, which if you ask me has no place in this whole affair. Life is way too short to be thinking of what rhymes with tort. So thank heavens for rhyme machines spitting out words like beans.

Not that beans sprout from machines, mind you. But that proves my point.

Anyway, around that corner is Cliché Market, where items are a dozen a dime. Those sneaky merchants will say it’s a flash sale and offer you ludicrous deals, but remember that everyday here is a sale. So yes, it’s just a gimmick to lure gullible tourists like you. I mean, this city spawns Mary Sues every second.

And when it rains cats and dogs? HA! The smell is… special, indeed. Also, who ever looks in the mirror and ponders over their lustrous blue orbs? Some of us have black orbs.

But hey, I’m not saying don’t touch anything in the market. In fact, lampshaded kebabs are pretty good, and the Chosen One is not all bad either, as long as you wash ‘em nicely. Be picky is all I’m saying.

The trick is to think like a local. The smart locals, anyway. You know how writers are. Coffee, cats, midnight sprints. All your worst nightmares and imaginations come alive right here.

Have I told you about the most unique place in this entire city? No? Let me take you to an overlooked, often misunderstood, spot that might surprise you. It’s just a bit farther off on the outskirts, although not quite outside.

Welcome to Cliffhanger Point. Please, do not lean over the railing.

Believe it or not, people have died here, both accidentally and out of sheer stupidity. While the view is magnificent, never forget the blood, sweat and tears of those who had gallantly explored this area back when it was still the wilderness. I ask that you do not dishonor them.

Alright, we’re almost at the end of our tour. I’ve taken you to the most popular landmarks and shown you the heart of this city. But it is impossible to see everything today.

There are secret doors only you can open on your own, buildings that morph depending on the weather, and a spectacular light bulb joint that pops up when you least expect it. 

What did you say? You don’t care? You’re not a writer?

Haha. That’s what they all say, and look at them now.

Grinding away at their keyboards like those caps have wronged them somehow. Scribbling on swollen notebooks with ballpoint pens permanently glued in their hands. Staring at objects as if their gaze could wring out its essence and paste it on the page. Most ridiculously, running in the rain just to know what it feels like! Let me tell you: misery.

And yet they all say, this city doesn’t tempt them. Mm-hmm, terrible, terrible liars.

Trust me, by the end of this, you will find it impossible to leave. Most likely you’ll end up like them, so caught up in your fantasies and oblivious to the newcomers goggling over you.

Don’t worry, they will stay too.

Yeah, yeah, you realize this entire city is all but one extended metaphor. Yada yada. I know. I’m the tour guide, remember?

Although, have you noticed the little flutters in your heart? That is the satisfaction that only ingenious arrangements of these twenty-six letters can provide. It’s the thrill of the write, my friend. Just part of the gift.

Perhaps you are a writer after all.

Here we are at the climax, as your people would say. Soon you will be consumed by the idea of putting roots here. By the end of the day, the soul of the city will pulsate in your head and keep you up at night. Snapshots of the crooked streets and flea markets will haunt you. Calling you. Begging you to stay.

Your mind might even conjure up Gary Stu, Mary’s brooding fiancé, in which case I advise you to call the Inner Editor up for duty.

Then you will watch concrete crumble into inscrutable letters, and see the words that make up the bones of this city. Most of them will be jumbled and meaningless, but your writer brain will concoct your own meaning. That’s fine too.

My voice will echo in your ears. They will ring and ring with my warning, my premonition, my truth.

Then a horrifying realization will dawn on you: you need to stay in the city, to hell with overstaying your welcome.

I will smile at how easy it is. The city will have done it again.

Like I said, moths to a flame.