Sometimes I get into a frame of mind where I don't believe I will ever ever post here again.  Then, I WANT to post but I am late for work.  Another day, I believe it is too late for a train of thought to be mantained and the journal is unsavable. Quirks of the brain do that, usually.  Until one day something happens and I have to write here.

Let's start by saying I went to Borders with my friend.  Thankfully she (as all my best friends do) reads. So she helped me out by giving me her 20% discount coupon AND restraining me from adquiring books I already had (But it has a different cover!....look! Gabriel Garcia Marquez's bio in ENGLISH!!) or books she had that I could borrow.  I also went to the Commemorative Acts for the Hundred...erm,  let's call it Nerudacon. Now, that was weird:  the Porta Coeli museum director gave me his e-mail address to talk anytime about it, a poet friend told me that I MUST take her new book jacket picture and another writer agreed for me to interview him. It was a very productive night and the only thing I did was sit in front so I didn't have to talk to people...

I wrote the article about that writer, got a call back from him and he suggested that I talk with another writer who happens to work with Editorial Isla Negra and is publishing a new history book.  At the mention of a normal human being who lives 10 minutes from my house being published by Isla Negra I sped there.  Had a fine talk with this guy about the different literature generations in Puerto Rico and the weird happens again.  He is editing an anthology of the newest of the new writers and he wants ME to submit a story.  Word unseen, don't ask me why. The catch?  Deadline is Monday...