This week in my English classes we read a story I had once written and published in a national literary review.   At least part of it.  It’s like 27 pages long.   I called it The Storyteller.  It was part of an anthology of stories and essays I was trying to write about Mexicali.

My students are always asking me about my life in Mexicali.  Well, here they have the chance to read about it.   This story isn’t so much about me, but more about my drunk Mexican neighbor who is always telling me things that make no sense at all.  I think he just likes to play with my head.  Everything true he says is hard to believe.  Every lie he tells me has a seed of truth in it.

So, once I’m through with  my drunk neighbor, I plan to introduce my students to a story from Native American Indian author Leslie Marmon Silko.

I think they will be inspired by Leslie’s stories of her life and her culture.  She, too, has a special skill to blur reality and fiction.   “But People,” I will tell them,  “Don’t wait for your instructor to tell you what to read. The stories are all around you.  Nothing is stopping you from finding them on your own.”