Ximena Restrepo

Hi, I'm Ximena, and I'm supposed to be a writer. 

I say "supposed to be" because this url, my CV, my handshake, it's all a sham.

I do a lot of other work for money. Why? Because writing doesn't pay my bills and it hardly ever has. Except that one time when Catalyst paid my rent on the 1st and I ran out of money shortly after the 15th. 

I've lost count of the number of articles I've written. I try to publish most on my portfolio but really, I feel, what's the point?

I attend writer's meetups, I told the Mac Store guy that my keys are all kinds of screwed up because of how much I use them. Little did he know, when I said "use" I meant, search for things on Pinterest and chat with people online. Also, I clarify things for my students during Spanish class- my real source of income. 

"Oh you meant, 'calor' not 'caliente' " I type, or: "That's imperfect, not preterite" 

Oh, those keys? They get used all right. All day long in ways that are getting me nowhere in my writing career. 

So, how do I continue to introduce myself as a writer? Why do I smile when people compliment an article of mine? I don't know. But, the thing is... I don't think I'm the only one doubting myself every time I start typing.

On How I Do It  (Writing, That Is)

Sometimes I feel like I have a method for writing. I'll think that I can sit down and write an article following steps 1, 2, and 3.  Others, I feel like when anyone has liked something I've written, that I just got lucky. The right thoughts popped out at the right time on the right piece part of the virtual paper and then voila, I published.

I don't brainstorm and map out an article, though I know that's what Mrs. Writing Teacher told me to do in 7th grade. 

I don't edit well enough, "I'm a writer, not an editor!" I tell my friend Sophie. 

But I really enjoy putting a bunch of information together on a page. I love being able to hear someone's story and then writing an article on the passion that brought their project together. What I love more than all that is when anyone, ANYONE tells me they actually went to that place because I was able to portray it well enough.

I'm focused. I can pump out an article like it's on a conveyor belt if I'm excited about it. I will reread once or twice and whatever wasn't caught during those reads, probably won't ever be edited.

I'm witty, I have a voice that is all mine when people meet me they recognize it, they know the girl who's been writing these articles they've read.

I can sit down with a writing task and make it fun. 

But, when did I become a person who only writes about places to visit? Have I no stories of my own left whatsoever? I've been sitting with an idea- write your story- for almost a year and written less than ten pages.

Writers, A Rare Breed

We will give talks on writing. We will write for money. We will apply for writing jobs. I have learned to write academic essays, a thesis, papers, reports, text messages, notifications, edits, notes, and all kinds of other texts.

I can correct grammar, others' and my own. Furthermore, I can tell you how that specific grammatical case is super different in Spanish. I can translate Spanish; the super decorative language of love, into the mega practical language of how-to manuals. 

And I know I'm not the only one who still can't admit to herself she's a writer. Not honestly. Sometimes I think I'm faking it until I make it. Most times, I'm reading Buzzfeed, Fiction, or even The Hustle thinking, "fuck. I'm not quite there yet." 

Reading Zadie Smith made me cry. First, because she can tell the lack of identity I feel as an immigrant better than I can. Second, because she did it at 22.

Why must we compare ourselves to other writers? Why can't we just translate feminism to writerism and support each other? 

Well, sorry to tell you, but this is an incomplete pile of words in which I just confession-style yammered on about what I'm thinking this week. This is not an article or an essay or a letter, or a text, or an academic thesis. I guess I forgot to say I can write just about anything that ends with a dot, dot, dot...