Alan Gutierrez

These last few weeks I’ve retreated from the City of New Orleans. Today I was at Beth’s books, a book store behind the Sound Cafe. I wondered if I could write a book. Could I write about my life and make it an interesting story? I’ve been away from the people of substance who’ve made my life rich and meaningful. It seems that I’ve found myself in the company of seekers. The runaways. People who make me think about Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, the story of an observer of Savannah, Georgia. How many of our resident voyeurs fancy themselves the trusted insider. It occurred to me that the only way for a Michigander to write about New Orleans would be write without explaining and without observing. No exposition. And yet, I can and do write about New Orleans as a New Orleanian, with authority, but not these last few weeks. It tells me that I’ve lost my way. I’ve found my way back to a person that I once was.