Work

So after listening to a recent podcast of Words on a Wire (brought to you by Daniel Chacon and Benjamin Alire Saenz, courtesy of KTEP) and after reading Benjamin Percy's great article, "Get a Job," in the latest issue of Poets & Writers, I've been thinking a lot about what work means not only to the characters I create but also for myself.  Chacon and Saenz discussed how they fit writing into their daily lives, and both claim that writing is not only foundational to their professional careers, but it's also crucial to their overall well-being.  The day is just brighter, bolder, and better when time is set aside for the creative process.

Of course, being a writer, one must write, right?  If not for this, where would these and other academic professionals in the field be?  Certainly not teaching, so it's by no means a stretch to say a writer must write. Yet unlike doctors, lawyers, electricians, baristas and etc., it isn't writing that earns these and so many other writers their paychecks.  They earn their salaries thanks to teaching, and so in a way, writing becomes more of an avocation in the short term.  Of course, saying this to a writer must invite all sorts of passionate invectives.  How dare I say this?  Well, the emphasis is on the short term because writing is a process with long-term (even extremely long-term) benefits, which is a long about way to say that writing isn't earning your daily bread, my friend.  Unlike the doctor who performs the surgery, the lawyer who closes the case, or the electrician who connects your power supply, writers overwhelmingly must rely upon something else in order to pay bills, and so what they invest their passion into becomes a side job, one that requires much more time and effort than the day job.

...which brings this blog to my situation.  I certainly don't survive off of my writing.  I've got to get up five days a week and pull shifts at a coffee shop that sometimes come very close to breaking my spirit.  Sometimes, I look at what my future could be, and it takes a bit of effort to turn away from something that often seems to approach despair-- or if not despair, certainly annoyance, or impatience, or moody silence, or etc.  Does this change anything?  No.  I still have to go to work and pull that check because, like it or not, the only thing I can rely upon these days are those bills showing up in my mailbox.

Point is: like Percy discusses in his essay, work is central to our lives, and by work, I mean the job.  Sure, I love writing, reading, waxing philosophic, etc., and these are certainly present in my day-to-day life, as well, but often I don't do one or the other of these daily.  I have that luxury should I choose it.  Work is work, and it's something that needs to be done roughly five days a week.  You've got to eat, you need shelter: you need to work.  So it's no surprise that the way we look at the world we live in is shaped by what we do to make that money.  Overall, I'm not the most social creature around, and so working in a customer-oriented industry really plays with my mind in interesting ways (from the writer's perspective).  Percy stresses to his readers the importance of playing this up in our fiction because no matter what we're doing, who we are as workers paints our experience and our reactions to this experience even outside of the workplace.

Beyond the page, though, how you work and what you've got to do really plays into your development/evolution as a writer.  I work hard, and I do things other people are unwilling to do because I want my job security ensured in this economy.  When I'm home, though, I think about how much I'd like to really push into my field so that the work I do now can be left in the past a.s.a.p.  Culling these emotions from my working experience, it makes me sit my ass down at the computer and work.  Once again, it's work playing into my future and my goals.  Call it vocation affecting avocation, which certainly describes the function of my writing at this stage.

Anyway, I'll have plenty more to say about work in the future.  I just thought I'd post a few preliminary thoughts today.

On Change and ASARCO

I think that far too many border dwellers fear change.

To spin this in a more positive manner: one of the strengths of the people of the sun is the urge to preserve and respect tradition.  We are people who respect where we came from, and there's no set criteria across the jagged line that separates the United States from Mexico.  We all have different holidays, gestures, iconography, etc. that we grew up enjoying and that we hope to push into the next generation and beyond.  We do things in ways that "outsiders" may see as obsolete or even archaic, but because that is the way it's been done for decades or even centuries, we continue to do so despite technological and cultural "advances."  For instance, a friend of mine who is only a year older than me makes tortillas by hand.  For instance, another friend of mine worships ancient desert gods.  We have prepackaged tortillas available in air conditioned superstores, and we have plastic Eurasian deities cheaply available, but their convenience and "contrivedness" turn us off.

Look the details don't matter.  Whatever it is, tradition rules on the border.  It's tradition in my family to appreciate rock music and play musical instruments.  I certainly honor the former and have honored the latter, although certainly not to the extent that my dad would like.  Others practice some amalgamation of Mexican and American cultural themes, so there's not much tradition that reaches across the board.  It's also tradition, among the younger generations, to smash tradition and create new ones.

Anyway...  In the news today is the imminent destruction of the ASARCO smokestacks and North Park Mall.  The two iconic structures meant something to me in two different eras of my youth.  The smokestacks always meant that I was close to arriving at my grandparents' house, which meant good food and lots of love from my grandma, and pinches and stern looks (along with strong hugs) from my grandpa.  I watched many sunsets grow, glow, and perish behind that stack, and the red blinking lights were always comforting on the nights I slept over.  North Park Mall was typically 90%+ closed down throughout my high school years at Irvin, but I can remember going to Furr's and buying chips and sodas after football practice, walking to the depot to catch a bus home with fellow players.  I remember going to see the first Mortal Kombat movie at the theater and being absurdly excited about it.  I remember the museum that opened and how no one understood why that location was chosen.

So, these two structures are coming down and will never be seen (or leased or occupied) again, and wouldn't you know it-- a lot of people are up in arms.  A lot of people are saying that the city is slowly killing monuments of its own history.  A lot of people are saying that El Paso doesn't care about itself.  It seems like so many people will be heartbroken when their view of the sunset won't feature the 800+ foot tall stack.

I realize how important visual representations are for the cultivation and preservation of memory and of tradition.  It's difficult to convey history to others without them, and memories are aided tremendously with them readily available, and yes, physical presence trumps pictorial representations, but there's a time when change must occur.  There comes a time when the stacks must fall, the land must be cleaned, and the history of pollution must be accounted for-- though I'm about to step over into another issue/perspective that, while valid, isn't necessary when justifying the demolition.

Yes, the land is polluted.  No, I don't believe it ought to be developed for residential or even light commercial purposes.  There are far too many heavy metals in that land.  This doesn't mean that I think we need to invest so much money, time, and emotion into the landmark's preservation.  ASARCO made a lot of money off the hard work of a hard working people, and they dumped a bunch of shit onto our land and heads with impunity.

And what of North Park?  Should we just let it sit there and crumble because people like to look at it for a few moments when they're driving by, or like to know it's there the rare occasion when the place pops into their minds?  Think of what could be built on the land, land that's already developed.  Instead of pushing farther into virgin land, why not focus on the plots left fallow?

And keep your memories, they're important.  Share the stories with others, but don't be afraid to create new memories and new traditions.  Fear of change keeps all of us behind.  Balance is the key.

Convergence

One seemingly unimportant example of why the border region is special can be found near Mt. Cristo Rey in an inconspicuous steel marker.

This is not to be mistaken for the twenty-nine foot tall limestone statue of Jesus Christ on the summit of Mt. Cristo Rey itself.  No, you need to look for a bare, unadorned rod that seems to penetrate the very earth from below.  This the the spot where three states and two nations meet.

My dad pointed it out to me once when I was a kid, and for some reason, it has since become an icon for me.  It's something I'd bring outsiders over to see, a point of pride, a visual example of a hard to define cultural dynamic.

It really does just sit there in the middle of nowhere, in what seems like a vast expanse of inactivity, though that is far from the truth.  The marker itself is like a metaphorical lightning rod, politically.  It's dangerous to explore Mt. Cristo Rey and the surrounding mountains and hills because of bandits, because (some say) of desperate undocumented immigrants that will take your food, water, money, and even your life.  The rod is the point where three very different and often conflicting ideologies collide.

I wanted to share a picture of it, but try as I might on Google, I've pulled up nothing.  Has anyone photographed it?  Does it really sit out there, ignored?  I thought it'd become the rallying point of a desperate tourist industry... Well, prior to 2008, when the cartel wars destroyed Mexico's image and forced tourist boards all across the border to try and distance their cities and towns from their neighbor.

Mt. Cristo Rey still pulls quite the devoted pilgrimage crowd, and will always do so, it seems.  Of course, they do not walk alone.  Security is guaranteed and provided.

When I was a student at UTEP and enrolled in a geology course, my lab class participated in a field trip to the site to see ancient inverted dinosaur footprints and other natural curiosities.  What I took away from the trip the most was the tracks and trails we came across.  These weren't animal trails.  These were the paths that immigrants followed in the United States.  There were discarded clothes, usually heavier items like sweaters, and food wrappers.  Not too many water containers, truth be told.  I found myself distracted from the geological aspects of the area because of the political aspects.

I wonder whether lead and arsenic coat the landscape this far out.  Well, the real question isn't whether but "how much?"

If and when Carol and I settle in El Paso, and if and when the kids come, I will tell them all about the steel marker and how it makes their home special in ways both wonderful and terrible.  I will try not to focus on the latter as much, as we from the border tend to do.  I will teach them not to be self-loathing.  I will show them that the desert is a place of wonder and full of life if only they know how to look for it.

What I Miss: Winter Sunrises and Sunsets

There's nothing quite like a desert sunrise and sunset, but for me, the real thrill are those during the winter months.  There's something about the chill in the air, the urge for a hot cup of coffee, the shimmer of sunlight through the flecks of ice in the air.

Here's one in particular I wanted to show but was unable to due to the photographer's settings: Winter Sunrise in Desert

While Midwestern sunrises and sunsets can be spectacular in their one ways, I've never seen anything like what the desert has to offer.  As for Virginia, there are far too many trees to watch the sun rise or fall.  I feel claustrophobic sometimes.

According to the accompanying text, the photo above was taken during a sandstorm.  Even muted, the sunset speaks towards beauty.  Yes, even with grit and sand in your mouth and nostrils.

I guess I just miss desert winters in general...

Persistence

A romantic relationship between academics is an interesting dynamic.

I've moved across country twice now, but neither move was a result of my own ambitions.  Sure, I settled in in Illinois well enough-- I applied for one MFA program and was accepted.  (Not that I'm bragging.  Ha.)  My life took a turn for the better when I was able to leave my job at Borders for the welcoming halls of academia.  Not only was I able to complete a degree and a book-length manuscript, but I was also able to accrue some valuable teaching experience.  All of this was due to taking the risk of moving without a net, so to speak.

Five years later, here I am in Virginia, having moved and settled in while unemployed.  I was able to find a job and start working within a week of arriving, although the work I do is anything but glamorous.  The difficulty in relocating is finding the time and discipline to get right back into the work you really want to do.  The day job pays bills, but it's not what I'm here for, definitely.  So, I try hard to reignite the writing schedule that I've had to reignite a few times before as soon as possible because if I don't, I won't feel comfortable with myself and my mood will disintegrate quickly.

Persistence.  You know how I know that this writing life is for me, even if my publication output these days could be a lot more productive?  It's the way that I feel when I'm doing the things that move my career forward.  Yes, the writing and even the reading (which is often a good excuse to be lazy about the former sometimes, though critical to the job it really is), but also the revising, printing, cover letter writing, market research, and the walking of the materials to the mailbox.  Everything is a step forward, even those form rejections that say nothing to the hard work you've put into a piece.  Whatever.  Everyone deals with that.

Persistence is the only way forward.  No matter where you find yourself, no matter what you need to do to avoid eviction or defaulting on loans school related or otherwise, do it.  Do it well, and then in your "spare" time, work on that writing career.  Always, always be writing, even when your hands are busy pushing a broom, or pulling a shot of espresso, or typing up documents that bore the hell out of you.  At most, they've got you for 8 or so hours.  The rest of the time is yours.  What will you do with it?

Eatin' Messican tonight

Call me a masochist, but wherever I go, I have to try the Mexican food.  I might be able to keep myself away if I'm only visiting a city, but if I'm moving in, I want to get the gist of what the new place has to offer right away.  The thing is, this was never the case until I moved to Illinois.  In fact, for about a decade, I didn't eat much Mexican food in El Paso unless I was with family.  One day, Carol and I realized that we'd never been to a Mexican restaurant together, and that was a good five years into our relationship.

So what it really is is a test.  I must fancy myself the keeper of authenticity or something.  Either that, or I just really like to be offended.

Illinois: my first experience was at a place called El Toro, about a week or so into my five-year tenure there.  We met up with a friend to watch the World Cup, naturally Mexico was playing that day.  The game went much better than the meal as I suffered through a terribly soggy mess of a burrito. It was ahogado even though they didn't say so, and the sauce was a mess of tomato and oregano and little else.  I was in hell, but something inside me came to life that day.  I would stand up to this insult by seeking out something good, a place I could run to when the craving became too strong to ignore.

The best we could do was a place called Dos Reales.  Their chiles rellenos weren't that soggy, and they didn't drown them in the atrocity that is "cheese dip."  Rellenos are the real test for me, and although this place used poblanos rather than long green chiles, I decided that I was satisfied.  The real test, the one that lets you know whether you can trust the cook, is the bean test.  Dos Reales' beans are stiff enough not to creep all over your plate and seasoned enough not to need a dose of the table salsa, which by the way, is decent.  I eventually tricked myself into thinking it was more than decent until I returned home for a visit and learned how wrong I was.

I also have to give a shout out to places like Qdoba and Chipotle.  Yes, I know that they're fast food chains, but considering the freshness of their ingredients and portion sizes, they're not bad at all.  Pricey, but not bad.  (Anybody reading this who have visited/lived in CU might wonder where El Charro is on the list.  Well, I went a couple of times and loved it.  The problem was the crowds of undergrads.  This is why EC never became a regular on my list.)

Virginia: And now I've come to this.  What can I say?  I think it's strange that the table salsa and chips come with a bowl of some white viscous mess that tastes like seasoned mayonnaise.  I've been to two places and they both had this, so I guess it's a common thing around here.  Also, Carol likes to order horchata, and both of these places used cinnamon syrup in theirs.  There wasn't a single speck of cinnamon in either glass, and I'm appalled.  At the first place (El Tapatio) I had mediocre huevos rancheros, and at the other (La Tolteca) I had decent chile relleno burritos.  Well, they called them such, but reading between the authenticity lines, I had a major gripe.  See, these rellenos lacked batter, which was replaced by a flour tortilla.  Hence, burritos.  I guess.  They tasted good enough-- and they were long green chiles!-- but they were drowned in the atrocious "cheese dip." Tapatio failed the bean test hard, but Tolteca did fairly well.  They needed salsa, though, but at least theirs was more than just tomato and garlic.

Sigh.  I kind of hate myself now.  I feel like I ought to give up and stick to other cuisines.  I don't know where this desire to represent comes from because no one really cares.  These restaurants are the authentic experiences of more people than I like to think, but my experience of "authentic" cuisines other than Mexican is similarly flawed.  Maybe I need to learn to let live.  Then I could grab some... What is the cuisine here?  Seafood?  Not my thing...

I wonder if I could get someone to send me some chiles rellenos from El Paso a.s.a.p...

Moving On... Over.

Last week, after packing up the Penske truck and hooking our Hyundai to the tow dolly, Carol and I headed out of Illinois, out of the Midwest, for the east coast.  It sounds much more exotic than it really is, in so many ways.  We're now living in Williamsburg, VA., in an overpriced condo, for a year.  This marks the second time we've uprooted ourselves, and once again, it is due to the continued educational advancement of the future Dr. Fonseca.  (Look, I settled into a program all my own, too.  I even have a book finished that, so far, nobody wants.  So there, ha ha.)

I know it's going to sound strange, I'm going to sound like a real jerk, but El Pasoans don't do this.  Not really.  I mean, let's be honest, there are a handful of Meccas that simmer in the hearts of los del Chuco: Austin.  Phoenix (maybe not so much anymore...).  California-- well, Southern California.  How many plant themselves in the middle of a prairie, or kiss the salty shores of the east coast?

I sound exactly like I said I would, but check it out: I just signed on for another barista job.  How's that for the high life?  I keep plugging away at these books, I sell coffee and sandwiches, and I wait and see.  How many of you writers are living the "wait and see" lifestyle?  In this economy?  Come on, right?

There's so much to see living this life though, and most of it is really sort of mundane-- like how we drove through the hilly madness that is West Virginia.  Look, of course I had a stereotypical view of what WV is, and although I didn't spend a second trying to get to know the people, the green, misty hills really changed my mind about a lot of things.  I don't think I've ever seen such a lush, gorgeous city as Charleston-- go ahead, Google the city and see.  I thought I was big time coming from El Paso with its Rocky Mountain foothills, but man, what a reality check.  You could lose yourself in all of that green, that mist, that beauty.  (Don't get me wrong, the desert still holds my heart, and it always will.  Nothing beats the rocky majestic, the wonderfully scorched plains...)

What's the point?  Well, I've spent over five years living "elsewhere," and it has done wonders for my writing.  Before I left El Paso, I was hesitant about writing the region.  Seriously, my first attempt at a novel was set in New York City.  I had never been before (I have since, however), but I chose to set the story there because I understood that good books-- nay, great books-- are set in NYC.  I was wrong, damned wrong, but that was my rationale.  Okay, so leaving El Paso wasn't everything, but learning to survive so far from my hometown gave me something that I never had before: perspective.  Maybe not every writer needs it, but I certainly did, and the results are considerable.

And now another year away begins.  It has begun-- hell, life goes on no matter how hard you pump the brakes.  The feel, the atmosphere of this town already feels radically different from Champaign.  The way people live, the different humidity, the spiders I've been forced to kill inside of my apartment-- all of this and more feels nothing like what I lived in the Midwest.  Certainly not what I lived in the desert, on the border.  That's the point, by the way.  I've never been sure about the old advice of living before becoming a writer-- haven't I been living a dynamic, interesting, trying life this whole time?-- but I know that, for me, being away has allowed me to feel closer to what gave me life, where I came from, the important people, places, foods, etc. in my life.

So the exile continues, but as it does, I can feel my worth as a writer, as a person, growing every day.