Got it!

Research! That’s the key! I can’t believe I even tried to write a book without it. I need to know every detail, every feeling in order to write the greatest American novel (well, not really, but it sounded a very profound and writer-like thing to say).

Ufff, too much work.

Why can’t books be more like blogs? Then I could write a snappy post about how Oncle M grew up in a fabulous, wealthy family, and had the most amazing, incredible, exciting life while I grew up in freaking Caracas listening to Chavez’s rants, suffering daily water and electricity cuts, and F16 dropping bombs in my backyard. 

A lack of skill is a lack of skill is a lack of skill

OK. First attempt to write a book is a total disaster. Imagined that it would be easier to dissimulate lack of skill under layers of early modernist rhythmic gimmicks. Well, it wasn’t. Back to square one.  

A pyramid is a pyramid is a pyramid

Pedaling, pedaling, to make it just to another pyramid, another pyramid…. Oh, screw it. I’m no Gertrude Stein, Gertrude Stein I’m not.  

Sex, drugs and swing music

Well, he did have an interesting life. Sort of. Lived in like 10 different countries. Went to insane parties in La Riviera, boarded with prostitutes, and named himself Prime Minister of Belgium in exile and explored sex, drugs and swing music.

It may not be such a bad idea.

If I’m truly, truly desperate.

Which I am.

Totally.

Choosing your words

“Self-centered? No, darling, narcissistic,” retaliates Uncle M. “When will you stop using run-of-the-mill words? O boring. Developing a fully-fledged narcissistic personality requires a huge investment of time and self love. The least it deserves is a grammatical show of respect."

And then they say we Millennials are self-centered

—Well, you do have an obvious subject to write your book, says Uncle M, looking unusually snug.

—Do I?

—Absolutely.

—And that will be… what?

—I, of course.

And then they say we Millennials are self-centered.

Pity he can’t have a blog or a FaceBook profile. He would spend his time counting “Likes” and leave me alone.

My dad went in search of THE book and never came back

My dad also dreamt of writing books. One was enough, he would say. With one book, all would make sense. One day, he went in search of THE book, and never came back. I would have preferred if it had been a pack of cigarettes. Clichés make me feel warm and cozy.