prose
Spanking new notebook (om…)
Begoña MartínezI don’t know if you’re worried, my dear readers, but my holidays this year do not include holidays from writing. Actually, I’m writing so much I’ve just finished a notebook I started last month. There’s a post for patrons only and tell you too in a bit about what I’m working on. I hope you like it…
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Maths taught me how to share my husband
Begoña MartínezWhen his mind is idle, he thinks of her. —What are you thinking about? —Maths. If he’s with her, he loses track of time. —So late to get home, why? —Maths. She wants long periods for herself. —Why are you going away for the weekend? —Maths. —Why are you going to Brazil, again? —Maths. She
Dame un beso cálido
Begoña MartínezUn beso como el primer pie en la arena Un beso como el asiento de atrás, tras la playa Un beso como la cinta de casette que se ha derretido Un beso como un semáforo bajo el sol hace treinta años Un beso como robar una patata frita de la cocina Un beso como tus
I’m Nica: a short note from Niquinohomo, Nicaragua
Begoña MartínezYesterday I visited the birthplace of Sandino in Nicaragua: Niquinohomo. Yo soy del pueblo que un niño en Niquinohomo soñó. Soy del pueblo de Sandino y Benjamín Zeledón —Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo, by Luis Enrique Mejía Godoy (see the complete lyrics and my translation below) Benjamín Zeledón’s fortress —the political prison We
From where I stand
Begoña MartínezI’m an artist first and foremost. But people just want to hear about how I make money. It puzzles me, because don’t make that much. I just save beautiful things. Yet above the frustration of bringing something up and out and not seeing it shine like it did on my mind, I’m thankful. My mind
A bit of a Hobbit
Begoña MartínezI’m a bit of a Hobbit. I like to see things grow, little by little. I like routines (and escaping them: but I find them comfy). I like it when I run out of something and I buy exactly the same one again, I get the impression that I was right the first one. My
The Editing Gaiman Dream
Begoña MartínezWe’re editing together, head to head. It’s a bio, a blurb, maybe something in between. He’s Neil Gaiman, (I know Amanda is behind me, reading something else) and he’s mumbling a bit, as he re-reads the text: words flow until they get stuck. I take it from the place he left off. —I think that what it