Written by Brenda Nicholas

If you already have your bags packed but have not yet exchanged thousands of dollars for a down payment or lease security than sit down, relax, and listen: you don't have to move to Brooklyn in order to make it as a writer.

These days writers are flocking to Brooklyn like aspiring actors flock to Los Angeles. In all reality, these groups have a scary lot in common: both are forced into poverty, accept demeaning jobs as waiters and telemarketers, or even (gulp) house cleaning, and both groups share that one shot in a million of ever making it "big."

Colson Whitehead wrote an entertaining essay on this topic, written from his firsthand experience as a Brooklyn resident and writer. He offers a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the Brooklyn phenomena, indicating:

"I expect it's like writing in Manhattan, but there aren't as many tourists walking very slowly in front of you when you step out for coffee. It's like writing in Paris, but there are fewer people speaking French."

But should we take his word for it? After all, he is an accomplished writer who, some could argue, has made it "big."

I think Colson touched on the real, symbolic gold-rush to Brooklyn when he talks of community. He admits that even though he's surrounded by his writer friends, "I rarely see them. We're home working." Ah, isn't that the truth? Writers are a solitary crowd. You'd think with all of the internet closeness we all share--we're all just a key tap away--we'd select serene, luxuriously isolated spots (I'm thinking grass huts hidden under sweeping palms) to type our lives away. Yet this is apparently not the case. Instead, we're drawn in our lonely ranks to seek out those of our own kind. It's like this: if you need to borrow an egg to make your comfort pan of 2 a.m. brownies, you want to borrow it from someone as smart and pathetic as yourself.

Excuse me while I pack my bags.