Writing for Discomfort

I wrote my first book when I was ten years old. It was called Theories of a Childhood. The edition consisted of one copy, which I still have, and although it was a game, that game was a glimpse into the future. Today, no one is surprised by independent editions or the printing of copies on demand: in those ancient times, such decisions were even rarer. I’m glad that I was naive and ignorant enough to dare.

The year after my first book, of which I was the only reader, I published my first short story in the Mexican newspaper La Jornada. The story was pretty bad but crucial because it allowed me to discover my consistency (or foolishness?) in writing and spreading stories.

My first published short story.

Writing became part of my daily routine, and a few years later, when I was thirteen, I sent a novel proposal to a literary award. I’m sure the judges laughed a lot because the manuscript was a mess, but they respected my willful attitude and responded with a letter encouraging me to keep writing (thank you, judges!).

Years later, having more experience as an article writer and columnist, I sent some stories to an editor to be published in his magazine. He did not publish my work but made a fundamental recommendation: Gathering enough material to make a book.

And that’s precisely what I did. I wrote and wrote short stories. I also decided to join a literary workshop my friend Manuel Davila organized to get feedback from other writers.

Months later, the publishing firm Lenguaraz signed my first fiction book, Poor Heterosexual Love, which reached its second edition years later. I almost simultaneously published The Documentary as a Melting Pot—Analysis of Three Classics for an Anthropology of the Image, my first textbook signed with a publishing house (CIESAS/Universidad Veracruzana).

Several years later, I published the textbook “Looking for a partner. Is it too much to ask?” A Study on Representations of Desire on the Internet, under Rio Subterráneo. This book took me to the Guadalajara International Book Fair, a long cherished dream.

Time passed, and I felt that I had a story stuck inside me, like when you eat something without chewing it well, and it gets stuck in your throat. That’s how that amorphous story felt, halfway between imagination and words.

Shortly before the pandemic, I got an invitation from a prestigious publishing house to write a new book, which I did. The project has taken me several months from conception to deployment. I would love to dedicate several years to it, but unfortunately, the publisher cannot wait for me forever.

I think the metaphor of the half-chewed morsel could not be more appropriate: this book has been a pain in the ass at every step.

To begin with, I set out to make a fiction book in a genre I don’t master, about a subject I am not an expert in and aimed at an audience I know little about. In all respects, the project was a challenge. That forced me to get off my butt, investigate, observe, ask questions, sketch, propose, and make mistakes.

I used to write stories at my own pace, on my terms, more as a hobby than a job. This project was different in its fundamentals: I was invited to write a novel I had yet to draft, with definite deadlines and a massive rush.

The most complicated part has been to achieve a fluid work rhythm in which I make partial deliveries of the story that are then revised and fed back to the manuscript in progress as I receive them: this way of working is in one of Dante’s rings of hell, I swear it!

I did desk and field research, and I studied new ways of structuring a plot (new concerning my experience, I mean); I read as much inspirational material as I could, trying to keep up with the ordinary rhythm of my job, personal affairs and travel to break point that concluded when, during a work trip, I beat the shit out of myself and got an ankle fracture.

Sketches for the new book

And after literal and figurative stumbles, I managed to produce a manuscript that still has loose ends and will surely go through further improvements. Owe me because I am my fiercest critic and always owe myself. Still, I WROTE A FUCKING NOVEL, how’s that? I’m not saying the manuscript is good or readers will love it (I’m crossing my fingers, thought), but I created a story from scratch in a fictional universe with fictional characters I saw, heard, and even dreamed about.

I have some lessons I would like to share with you due to this adventure. Take note:

1. In an age of constant distraction and superficiality (if you don’t believe me, read The Shallows by Nicholas Carr and try not to have a stroke), committing to a deep project for months or even years is a luxury and a form of dissidence.
2. The expertise in writing or doing anything else is essential, but that’s not the only thing you need to complete a project. Consistency is also a talent. Cristina Peri Rossi states in one of her short stories that “everything in its instinct is insistent,” and understanding this is crucial for survival. This is true for anyone with a pending thesis dissertation or who has procrastinated on an important, time-consuming project: insist until you get rid of that morsel stuck in your throat. No matter how many years you are behind, give yourself the pleasure of solving that thing you have been putting off and surprise all those who lost faith in your ability to achieve what you have set out to do (starting with you). Take advantage of this time of end and beginning of cycles to gain momentum.
3. The act of creating is not solitary; imagination is a cultural asset. Reach out to others with whom you can share your process to give and receive feedback. That community will help you maintain discipline and improve whatever you are creating. No one wants to look like a fool in this era where people criticize without being asked for their opinion, but purposeful feedback will make you grow. Embrace it!
4. Be as uncomfortable as you can. What is the point if it doesn’t push you to change? Allow yourself to develop new skills and to make new mistakes. Give yourself a chance to get off your butt and get uncomfortable, which is also a privilege in this age that promotes frictionless experiences no matter what.

What major project have you put on hold? How would you feel if you made it happen? Go for it!