HAVANA TIMES — For those of us who aren’t professional journalists, the majority here on Havana Times, it takes us a little more time to prepare an article for our readers. Normally, we need a call from inspiration for the article we want to write to come or, at least, the closest thing possible to what we thought it would be.
Sometimes, we spend hours, days – now I’m talking about my case – going over an interesting subject from different angles, which doesn’t really organize itself in our heads, and like a breach baby, is difficult to give birth to. If the worst comes to the worst, it dies before it’s born, and like every good parent we suffer, but we end up accepting it, such is the law of life.
There are people who write more when they are going through sad times or when they find themselves in difficult situations or at one of those crossroads that life so often puts in our path.
Others are the complete opposite. They need peace and harmony and that things are going well at home, to let their imaginations loose when writing on the computer or on paper.
I’m inspired by both things, I write in times of crisis as much as I do when I’m experiencing great happiness. All I need is a little push for my ideas to flow freely and for a small post to be written, although, of course, I’m not always able to move my readers, which is any writer’s greatest wish, professional or not.
It’s 8 AM in the morning. Today is one of those days when I scribble a little bit here and a little bit there. My husband has gone to another province, my two daughters are at school and I’m taking advantage of the tranquility at home.
The blacksmith, a neighbor who wakes everybody up at 6 AM with the piercing noises of his home workshop, is sick – and I’m very sorry for him – but it works in my favor and lets me concentrate in front of my slow and old PC.
I think I’ll be able to finish one more article today – I think and smile, because it’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed this feeling.
I get up to get a second cup of coffee, which works wonders for getting the neurons going, and when I decide to pick up where I left off, a knock at the door stops me.
It must be an annoying neighbor, I think to myself. If I don’t answer, he’ll get bored and go away. I carry on. The person keeps on knocking, but I don’t pay any attention to it.
After many knocks at the door, I have no other choice but to stop and see who it is.
“Fumigation, good day,” an old man says pleasantly with a wink. I have to leave the house for 45 minutes at least. When I sit back down in front of my article, I don’t know what to write anymore…