Field Notes

The imposter syndrome, the fear of failure, the fear of rejection stopped me before I even started. Escaping was easier, and perhaps it’s necessary for a while. Sooner or later, though, every writer must decide—if not now, when will I write?

While I had (and still have) a lot to learn, at its core, expressing myself through writing has always come intuitively to me, whereas from fifth grade on, I’ve spent countless nights in tears while trying to complete math homework.

I don’t know exactly when Phoebe Bridgers came into my life, whether she showed up on my Spotify daily mixes or if I had Shazamed one of her songs at a cafe. I will always associate her music, her lyrics, with the late southern summer and its transition into fall.

Why is it then that the first time I heard the term “writer of color” (WoC), I didn’t automatically apply this category to myself? Is it because my mother’s side of the family, while possessing their own treasure trove of stories, are as white as Wonder Bread? Or because the un poquito Spanish I can stammer my way through is what I remember from college rather than my childhood home?

You run away. You could turn and stay.
I choose to stay. I can’t give up and won’t because I hear this song and the sounds crash over me like the words did when I first wrote them.

Rituals & Words to Honor the Dead

It is hard to know if, should my love be requited in the way I want, I will lose my jealous streak. If you are reading this and it is bound into a book or published under some sober masthead, then maybe I have my answer.

Reads that keep you swimming!