2. Examine your values.

2. Examine your values.
Maegen Ramirez

You won't hear this mentioned much, but it's important. Why are you writing? (If you answer "I don't have any choice, I've written since I was little. I'm just driven to write" then you should examine not only your values but your weakness for cliché.)
- Thomas Christensen, How to Get a Book Published In 10 not-so-easy steps

Thomas Christensen, I don’t know who the hell you are, or who the hell you think you are, but fair enough.

I write because I’m lodged between two cultural spheres.
Because I never figured out if I was supposed to take the wafer and wash it down with wine or swallow Shabbat soups.
Because neither the crucifix nor the Star of David ever reached out with a loving hand.
Because I’m driven into pen and paper’s arms when Spanish trips clumsily off my tongue.
Because I could’ve penned Angela Chase’s musings much better than “My So-Called Life”’s writers.
Because we’ve all had our very own Jordan Catalanos.
Because I don’t look like Claire Fucking Danes.
Because My Love Song is madder than Sylvia’s.
Because self-deprecation and insecurity only work when they’re fictional.
Because there’re fewer things more beautiful than Truth dressed in Fiction’s clothing when Fiction is posing as Truth.
Because I can’t admit to dropping my clothes and lying back set and ready with the taste of cheap booze on my lips.
Because the women I write can do all those things and still be taken seriously.
Because no one wants to hear about that time Mom got pregnant and Dad had to leave the seminary to marry her.
Because literary revenge tastes and feels like sweet mango juice dripping down my chin.
Because I still haven’t answered the riddle, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
Because Lou Dobbs, Keith Olberman, Ann Coulter and Bill Maher are all full of shit.
Because I’ve yet to hear anyone of any color accurately describe what my experiences have been.
Because passing by the Klassic Koffee Kafe and Kountry Korner on Texas road trips is scarier than crossing the Arizona state line.
Because even if those places never existed, I probably would’ve had to invent them.
Because Ramirez determines what people think I should write.
Because I’ll drink 10 Dixie cups of The Kool-Aid before I’ll write what you tell me to.
Because I’m still arrogant and naïve enough to believe what I’ve just written.
Because death is only a disease and the cure is in my keyboard.
Because you’ll never know what the best machaca in the world tastes like unless I spell it out for you.
Because I’ll never be as good as Faulkner.
Because I’d rather write than “hone my craft”.
Because deep down, really, really, deep down I love honing my craft.
Because it’s going to take a lot more than a man to bring out the stand-back-white-bitch in me.
Because I want people to remember the west side before it became The West Side.
Because I know I can’t have been the only brown girl in Dr. Martens getting my groove on Brit Pop.
Because the nuns didn’t beat me.
Because I gave Lupe a chance and she let me down.
Because I’m through with being angry at Mommy ‘n Daddy.
Because all of the above is too much and yet not enough.
Because sometimes I have to have written in order to understand what I value, smartass.
Because if I didn’t shut the fuck up and return to the white, open spaces I might not have anything to say.