Writing, walking, losing. And outside, the great-tailed grackle keeps on singing.
Daily sitting down with an unhealthy forward‑leaning posture. That is how I sink into my novel. Until I am over it or until the text is over it.Instead: a walk, ideally ten kilometers, thinking about every single word. Walking, but not to the museum, not to the Rothko Chapel, and not to the oasis. At the kiosk, keeping bad company with a camel and a cowboy. You don’t get them this nicely in Germany. And in the evening: eating pizza and arguing about the rules of Cabo. Seven under or over or both, and also with the seven then? Somewhere there is a compromise. I lose anyway.
Waking up every day and lying down again and sinking and waking up again. Listening then. A squeaking, a chirping from outside. That is the great‑tailed grackle, the internet says. Annoying noises, I say.
Almost done.
I can exhale, soon.
The views expressed in this text are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of the Goethe-Institut.