Pocket Writings. I write to be read.

Yesterday, I finished a short story book club cycle at the public library. I love all the weekly events they organize in the libraries of Menorca. If you stay tuned, there’s always something worthwhile. This month was Lucia Berlin’s turn, famous for her story collectionA Manual for Cleaning Women. “I write to be read,” she said.

I loved her way of narrating the everyday. I was also surprised by her life, which blends so much into her stories that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I like that. Discovering writers through their writing, even if it’s not autobiographical (or maybe it is). In this post, I leave you with a piece of my own one that’s not about me (or maybe it is).

Nothing really matters much, does it? I mean really matters. And yet sometimes, suddenly, for barely a second, you’re granted the grace of believing it does, that it matters enormously.

Lucia Berlin

La parra

Era una tarde de verano en la casa de campo de mis abuelos. Estábamos bajo la sombra de la parra, sentados en la mesa de piedra que tanto costaba mover. El sonido de las cigarras era como un ruido blanco de fondo, omnipresente en esa época. Tenía clara mi misión. Les había pedido a mis abuelos que me contaran su historia. Quería tenerla retenida entre tinta y papel para siempre. Era el turno de mi abuelo y mi abuela tejía su última obra de arte y nos escuchaba. Su historia y mis preguntas. Mi abuelo recordaba sin esfuerzo mientras se mecía en su balancín. Y yo, sonreía y escribía sobre la mesa de piedra fría. Mis cabellos todavía mojados, dejaban un rastro de gotas. Algunas caían entre mis pies descalzos y otras arrugaban el papel.

Sometimes, as the years go by, you look back and say, “That was the beginning of…” or “We were so happy back then…” before… after… Or you think, “I’ll be happy when…” “Once I get…” “If we had…” But Hernán knew he was happy now.

Lucia Berlin

See you soon and happy reading!