Don't Call It a Comeback
With so much tragedy occurring, I've been feeling a bit lost. To make sense of the world I usually turn to the page. But recently, what brings me solace and helps me cope hasn't been there for me. I can't write and with that comes an enormous amount of guilt— I'm not doing what I'm suppose to be doing.
Because I tend to obsess over things I pulled a bit away from twitter and Facebook. Seeing racist pigs being retweeted or quoted is physically painful. Reading about families losing their loved ones because of hate makes me so upset that I quickly forget where I am and start to cry. (Note recent meltdowns at the dentist, at work, in the car...) What do you do when you can't write your way out of feelings of despair? Here's what I'm trying to do:
GET BACK TO WRITING LIST
1. Get out! I did exactly the opposite of what I normally do. I said yes to my friends. I hit up the Museum of Latin America and stared at paintings by Judithe Hernandez and Lucia Maya (see above) . The images reminded me of a short story I wrote that will be published in an upcoming Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine.
2. Change it up! I've been waking up at 5am to write for an hour before heading to work. It's a change from my normal schedule of writing at night. That's an hour of looking at my second novel and that's not a bad thing.
3. Read! Read! Read! I've been reading poetry. David Tomas Martinez. Ocean Vuong. Natalie Diaz. Terrance Hayes. Librarians have created this great #BlackLivesMatter booklist. You'll find All American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Monster by Walter Dean Myers as well as poems by Ntozake Shange. And I ordered two novels by Yuri Herrera. Readings saves.
That's it! Baby steps. That's all there is.