As a writer—ay, sí, mira qué chingón—I’ve discovered something both humbling and infuriating: I find myself completely at a loss for words far more often than I care to admit. It’s not for lack of ideas. Oh no. I have tons of ideas. I keep notes. I keep too many notes. I’m like a hoarder of half-formed brilliance.

I’ll be doing something completely normal—washing dishes, driving down Imperial Avenue, trying to remember why I walked into a room—and suddenly an idea will slam into me with all the elegance of a car cutting you off on Highway 111 with road rage. Boom. Inspiration. So I do the responsible writer thing: I grab my phone (yes, yes, while driving… don’t judge), and I tell Siri to take a note.

Most of the time she listens. Other times I swear she purposely changes what I say just to mess with me—like she’s bored and needs a little chaos in her day. I’ll say, “Siri, remind me to write about that time my brother and I played baseball with a banana,” and she’ll reply with, “Okay. Sending: ‘Buy mayonnaise for Tuesday.’”

Then, on the rare days I pretend to be responsible, I’ll actually pull over and email myself the idea. Technology really can be fun. 

And helpful. 

Yes. Definitely helpful. 

And then I go about my day.

All told, by the end of an average Tuesday, I may have sent myself twenty notes—little breadcrumbs of stories waiting to be followed. I am proud (and slightly terrified) to report that I currently have a couple hundred emails titled “Idea” or “Note to Self” or “OMG write this down.” 

I’ve reviewed approximately… four.

But in all seriousness, this writing thing isn’t easy. Ideas arrive like chismosos with bad timing. Time to write arrives like a comet—rare, beautiful, and gone before you know it. And yet, here we are, chasing words, hoarding voice memos, praying Siri isn’t drunk, and believing that somewhere in the chaos lies the story worth telling.

Because for all the madness, all the notes, all the pulling-over-on-the-side-of-the-road moments… I wouldn’t trade it.

And this particular post? Oh, it started exactly the same way.

Today, while I was elbow-deep in turkey stuffing—pan dulce crumbs on the counter, celery popping under the knife, the whole kitchen smelling like the opening scene of a Thanksgiving novela—this idea about being “at a loss for words” just floated up through the aroma of the turkey roasting in the oven.

There I was, basting like a responsible adult, when my brain suddenly whispered, “Hey… you know what would be great right now? A reflection on how you never know what to say.”

Like—bro. I’m cooking.

And honestly? I don’t even know what to say about that. I really don’t. Inspiration showing up between the thyme and the garlic seasoning like it’s clocking in for a shift? 

How about that?

Sometimes the muse shows up with a pen and notebook. Sometimes she shows up with road rage on Imperial Avenue. And sometimes she shows up covered in butter, smelling like Mom’s kitchen.

How about that, indeed.

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.