This is where the panic set in.

 

I decided I was going to write with the goal of publishing.

 

But but where the hell do I start.

 

What genre am I going to do this in? Is it through poetry?  A series of essays? Do I write about mami’hood? Organizing from teenage hood to now? My journey as a writer/blogger/journalist? The politics of blogging as a woman of color as tech was rapidly changing? Just the politics? Oh and the puterias – the good, bad and scary? I still journal daily and that’s where all the dirty details are. I have decades of journals. Archives of my lives, movement histories. How the fuck to cobble all those together into something tangible.

 

No pero that’s too much and I needed to focus and chill the fuck out or burn the fuck out.

And I’m not doing this full time. I’m working, mami’ing, and writing. I need to put up or shut up but I also need to be real.

 

So I took some concrete steps that sort of seemed to fall together at the same time.

 

Blogging daily is helping me get into the habit of writing for an audience.

 

I’m grateful to dear friends and loved ones who via social media and in comments have been affirming what I’m doing and also helping me frame it.

 

It doesn’t have to start as one huge project. I am volumes and so I think it’s more important that I write anything than getting stuck on the form.

 

I joined an online course on memoir writing where the outcome is an outline and a chapter or two that will be workshopped.

 

I’m working on a shortish manuscript to submit to Vona and if I get it I’m going damnit. So I have somewhat of a timeline that takes me through the summer.

 

Today I started something like a manuscript – a draft and I have a very loose outline.

 

Today I have 1500 words.

 

It’s s start

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