Tag: writing

  • I’m in No Hurry

    The day has come.We all knew it was coming.Nothing we could do to stop it. It was… inevitable. No amount of coffee was going to make a difference. Returning to work after a long break is a lot like waking up in a foreign country where you technically speak the language, but everything feels aggressive…

  • Not Typical, But It Works

    I was asked recently about my experience writing a book. It was one of those casual questions that slowly opens a door you didn’t expect. As the conversation unfolded, it inevitably turned to students—specifically, what it takes to get kids to write. That question lingered with me longer than I expected, probably because it pulled…

  • Shelved Dreams

    Shelved Dreams

    Writing a book was a long-held dream of mine—one I carried quietly for years. Not the kind of dream I announced out loud or chased with urgency, but one that lived in the background, tucked away between lesson plans, staff meetings, and stacks of papers waiting to be graded. It was always there, patient and…

  • Experimental Build: Human Edition

    A self-reflective observation made under the supervision of that Guy in the Mirror. There are days when the world goes sideways—days when it feels like the gods themselves are pacing around upstairs, knocking over furniture, arguing about whose turn it is to touch the big red button. Days when everything teeters on the edge of…

  • Me, My Thoughts, and That Morning Cup of Joe

    As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate the morning quite a whole lot more. Not the dramatic, cinematic kind—the kind you see in a travel magazine with the sunlight spilling over mountains—but the ordinary, quiet of a house that hasn’t fully woken up yet. The kind of quiet where the world hasn’t started asking…

  • Author in the Wild: My First Book Signing 

    Author in the Wild: My First Book Signing 

    There’s something a little magical about seeing a dream take shape in front of your eyes. Today, I got to do just that. My very first book signing and meet-and-greet wasn’t just an event—it was a moment I’ll remember for a long time. I feel like I should have one of those “First Time Author”…

  • On Being a Writer (Ay, Sí… Mira Qué Chingón)

    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…

  • Home Alone (Yeah, not that one…)

    Every now and then—usually when I’m sitting around minding my own business, sipping something cold, letting the world drift by—I’ll get hit with one of those memories from way back. No warning. No reason.Just… poof. A moment from my past rolls in like a lazy tumbleweed, makes itself comfortable, and says, “Remember this, dummy?” And…

  • Where Baseball Loved Us Back: Memories Filtered Through a Child’s Eyes

    There’s a certain magic to baseball that no other sport has ever quite managed to touch. Football thunders, basketball dazzles, soccer never stops moving—but baseball? Baseball breathes. It invites you in, lets you linger, gives you space to fall in love with it slowly, inning by inning, summer after summer. It’s the only sport where…

  • The Hierarchy of Everyday Life (According to an Overcaffeinated Educator)

    Or: A Day in the Life of Someone Who Wakes Up Already Tired Let’s be honest: adulthood is basically a group project where nobody knows what’s going on, and the teacher—ironically—is you. And before any of that noble, inspiring educator stuff starts, there’s coffee. Always coffee. The alarm rings. You open one eye. The world…

  • Epic Quests Require Fries: A Charro’s Story

    After our performance at the closing of the Cattle Call Rodeo in Brawley, I rolled up to In-N-Out thinking I’d grab a quick bite. The place looked packed to the gills. Maybe not the best decision I’ve made, but hope is a dangerous thing.  I was still in my green traje de charro—embroidered jacket, gold…

  • I Think My Fence Has a Drinking Problem

    I Think My Fence Has a Drinking Problem

    I was outside grilling, enjoying a cold one, just watching the smoke drift up and pretending I knew exactly what I was doing. I take a sip, and out of the corner of my eye I catch this little glint—light bouncing off something over by the fence. At first I think it’s just a loose…

  • Somehow, I Published a Book (And Survived)

    Somehow, I Published a Book (And Survived)

    Ideas have always shown up unannounced, like they were crashing a party I didn’t even know I was hosting. Some linger politely, evolving over months or years, migrating between my head, notebooks, and random scraps of paper. Others disappear the moment I think I’ve got them figured out, leaving me staring at a blank page…

  • An Invitation Home: Remembering, Celebrating, and Holding On

    An Invitation Home: Remembering, Celebrating, and Holding On

    I’ve known about Día de los Muertos for as long as I can remember. Growing up, it was always there—on the calendar, in the stores, in movies and at school—a colorful annual tradition with marigolds, sugar skulls, and altars filling the reading nook in the library. But only now, with time and perspective, do I…

  • Being me…

    The hardest thing about being me is forgetting how hard it is to be me. I wake, I move, I mend the cracks and call it progress. I joke, I help, I give what’s left and call it love. Some days I remember the weight of it all— and some days I wear it so…