I started two short stories last week and one of them really has claws in me. I can't help loving it, even though I feel bad about it, as if I should feel more humble. But the style is a style I love and I am writing in a way that makes me happy. The story is probably an old story told over and over again but I'm giving birth to it this time, so something about it is mine. I workshopped it this weekend in the class I took and I was happy to see that the fantastical elements were working. I love writing, I really, really do. Sometimes I think too much about it and make myself crazy. No more crazy, I just have to do it.
I miss Sinaloa.