Me: “Maybe I should scrap this book. I’ve got another I want to write, it seems so clear.”
Chuck P shrugs. “Yeah. They all do in the beginning.”
Yep. Okay. Not scrapped. Working on revisions. With that simple sentence from Chuck, that reminder, I got back to work.
One night when I was barely twenty I went–alone, I think? Maybe with a friend–to see a performance at Cafe Oasis of a Cuban mime troupe. Cafe Oasis, up on NW 23rd, more often hosted open mic poetry, acoustic tunes. It was a narrow venue in an old wooden building with warped floorboards and mismatched ceramic mugs, a small spot for a group traveling from Cuba, but how much stage would mimes need? I didn’t have any idea. I took the bus then walked a ways in the dark. The mimes never showed up though. Cuban mimes, gone missing.