Writing My Way Off the Floor

By Laura Carraro

When I moved to Manhattan a few years ago, I was dead set on writing a memoir. Convinced that the change of environment would infuse me with talent and inspiration, I imagined myself eating breakfast with a paperback at the local diner, going home to write, and then closing my laptop at night in time to watch the tugboats move down the Hudson River. I would drink bourbon. Pick up smoking.

I started by dragging a desk into my living room. For many weeks I made sure there...