The Observer has an extensive piece from the weekend about Brooklyn as a writing mecca and its overall renaissance from the ’80s to now. I think it’s the 2,000th piece of its kind I’ve read. But I highlight it because Julia Fierro is quoted. The comments section has some interesting observations, too. Like, since there’s no money being made by most of these writers, how long can this sustain itself? Somebody else said they never felt the need to commune with other writers, even after being published. I go back and forth on these things—admittedly, I think it’s beneficial to dip your toes in a writing community and test it out, just to see where you’re at. But I think I would decamp from Brooklyn in the future if the opportunity presented itself. I often wonder if others feel this way. The suburbs sometimes seem so glorious with the neon of their chain restaurants and B&N at the strip mall. Plus you can drive around by yourself and not be hit with the smells and the sounds, and the vertigo, of the city streets and subways. If you’re a reclusive writer, anyway, you probably don’t need Brooklyn. What’s really truly great about it, and someone says this in their comment, is not the writers, but the people from all over the world who inhabit the borough. You can literally sample Mexico, China, Poland, Russia, the Caribbean, the Middle East and Africa, as you go from neighborhood to neighborhood.