Inspired by Vee F. Browne’s “How To Be A Southwest Indigenous Writer”.

[image error]

[image error]

Let your desk be your quiet place, a rock garden among the chaos of noise outside.  Let your seat look through smudged window screens onto the witches brew of a lake outside.  Let it be light.  Sit in the sun rays that streak through cathedral style windows.  Lay on your back andlook up at the ceiling and the angled window peeking through the shingles.  Wave at the curious squirrels that step on the glass and can’t seem to figure out why they don’t fall through.  Plant oak trees that will grow years after you are gone.  Let your mornings be filled with rich, black coffee served in porcelain blue paisley coffee cups that your grandmother bought for your mother.  Start your mornings with the toaster dinging that your everything bagel is done.  

[image error]

Set a ‘smart’ book by your plate, even if you don’t open it.  Collect ruby-red and toffee-colored leaves.  Arrange your breakfast as if you were at a restaurant; cup on saucer, food organized decoratively.  Thrive in your aesthetic.  Answer email with the TV off.  Play instrumental music in the background.  If it’s cool, crack open your bedroom window.  Definitely do once the sun has set.  Don’t interrupt the symphony of cicadas that screech outside.  Never doubt yourself.  Turn off every light but your bedside lamp.  Let your spirit echo and fill up every space.  Hear the [image error]creaks of the wood as your house snaps and pops.  But don’t be afraid.  Know that it is singing to you, know that the woods are waiting for you.  Embrace them.  Leave the city behind on your drive home.  Watch as the traffic signals turn from electronic lights, to faded signs, to nothing.  Greet the cows that don’t even look up when you drive by.  Smile.  Edit and edit some more.  But know when it’s good.  Accept your work.  Notice stray barn cats that chase each other in plowed fields.  Smell your mother’s lotion when you come in the house.  Breathe in the scent of wood baking and faint bonfires.  This is your perfume.  Let it mark you as its territory.  Keep your manuscript in a neat pile of white pages and black ink by your side.  Work at the table so the house can chat with you while you work.  Pause to pet your dog who likes to sit on your feet to keep them warm.  Never let your coffee cup go empty.  Watch as your herd of pets drifts off into naps one by one.  Join them if you want.  Don’t feel pressure to create.  Enjoy the organic.

[image error]