On repeat soaking my brain while I write.
I’ve been working on a series of stories that revolve around a young Jamaican wannabe cocaine smuggler (Donny) and his still-in-college American girlfriend (Cleo). In the first story, a freak from the LES (White Donkey) who fled to Negril on the eve of Nixon’s first inauguration mentors the hapless couple as they attempt to shepherd a school of square snapper from sea to table over the course of one disastrous week during the late 1990s in Jamaica. The second story follows them in and out of motels along the Mid-Atlantic stretch of the I-95 corridor, and the series ends with Donny and Cleo marooned on Nicaragua’s Mosquito Coast.
I’ll eventually start sharing snippets here and there that will give you a glimpse of the main characters and a better feel for the narrative (and style), but for the time being I’m begging for your patience and more than a little faith that posting shit like this in the mix isn’t purely indulgent process vanity.
mentira, mentira, la mentira…