Excerpt

Nothing is better than the feeling of that zone, that writing zone that writers get into. No more thoughts, just the click of the keys as words spill.

An excerpt from my book:

"When we touch once more, it all begins. I need a few more nights of good sleep before it all begins. As he stood in my hotel room, expectant with heat, my eyes focused on a bracelet he wore of small brown shells. With the very tip of my finger I touched it and saw, in the matte surfaces, us lying body to body, arms wrapped around each other, him inside me. So it’s raw but tender and it’s fated and it’s confundido, confusing, and it’s fractured and it’s humid and I don’t think I’ll be able to do the summer, with its rains washing women down the street, without the immovable touch of a dark-eyed man to keep me from succumbing to the flood. Fractured: my insides broken by the thought of who I was supposed to be. Repaired: he creates out of the shards, the glitter, the heartbreak, the single time I felt the pulsing stab of desire to be pregnant, watching my mother almost die, watching my mother almost die, looking at my dad for the first time, aurora borealis, orgasms so good they make me laugh until l snort, death, miracle, prayer. With hands muscled from cutting meat, sure of touch and somehow not belonging to another, he rebuilds me into a collage."