The difference between abuse and discipline is Care.
I mention this to remind of the torture I’m capable of putting myself through.
In this delicate situation, the torture of completing the draft manuscript of I Blew Up Juarez for final review. Ciara was right; I couldn’t end the book because I didn’t want to let my characters go. How could I let go of these fantastic friends of mine, all whom lived in the deepest crevasses of my maniacal mind, no longer living in the shadowy folds, released for your enjoyment? YOUR enjoyment. My private party, now an open invite.
Never have I cared so much. What I’ve embodied, tasked to do these past 11 months, the immense, intense amount of pressure, all self-inflicted. No one from outside pressing a thumb down on me, oh no, all internal. So in this moment, right after attaching the file and hitting Send to the editor, I’m uncertain how to proceed.
What does one do when she relinquishes her most intimate relationship?
Two months from now they’ll re-emerge, through a third party’s eye. I hope I recognize them. In turn, I hope they remember me.
This was the song playing when I completed the compile. Fitting…