The f#$* am I doing in the afternoon, writing with no food in my belly and a cold cup of coffee? No. This is not how it is done. It is done in the dark of early morning. It is done so early, in fact, I am not yet hungry. And it is, without question or divergence, done with a hot cup of coffee. But it has not gotten me published. It has, however, had me provide excuse after excuse for why I do not write any other time, in any other condition. It has to change.
And so, THIS is what I am doing in the late afternoon after my class has ended and the students have driven me nearer to an aneurism and my morning coffee is borderline spoiled but after a cycle in the microwave was tepid and is now plain old cold. I am writing. I am writing about writing. I am channeling Salvador Elizondo, in hopes someone will channel me someday.
This is a cutting of the shackles, a declaration of independence from my formally dependent self – NO, exhaustion, no hunger, no bright lights that do not help with the ambiance you will not stop me from writing because, dag nabbit, I am the storyteller and I have stories to tell. I will write them, no matter the day, the time, the stressors or company. I am not only the master of my universe but countless others you have stopped me from creating. And create I will. I will write in classrooms on lunch break and in coffee shops late at night. I will write hungry, I will write cold I will write in the rain. Ok perhaps writing in the rain is not so very possible, but you get me. I will write when the dude next door decides his bachata needs to be loud enough to woo the big booty girl that walks down the other block, I will write when my favorite show comes on, I will write when I want to nap, because I have been sleeping on myself for too long, I have stories to tell and I will write them, Sam-I-Am.
Read what I write here.