PaulStaley1

“Asses and elbows,” that’s what my squad boss will be yelling at us this summer.

I just now, a few hours before writing this biography, reluctantly decided to return to another summer as a hotshot fire fighter. That’s my job title, “hotshot.” We travel all over the western United States to raging infernos, hike to the fires edge, and start digging, cutting, and clearing fire line. A young man’s game. I am not so young anymore, twenty nine to be exact (go ahead scoff) “Old Man Staley” is my nickname.

The hotshot lifestyle is like a sweet seductress, calling me back each summer. You see, one works, slaves, for six months and then, with a bulging wallet, is left to one’s whims for six care-free months. The more responsible hotshots take advantage of this free time. Some go to school, take courses, acquire certificates and work towards their future in the world of fire fighting, some work towards a bachelors, or even gradates degree in related or unrelated fields-- those interested in careers and such.

But I am not one of them. I have been traveling the world, living and breathing foreign cultures, having passionate affairs, breaking hearts, and having my own heart ripped from my chest (It is in Oaxaca, Mexico right now). But I am in a precarious place. I don’t want to be a career hotshot, or a ranger. I am limited in options, have broad sweeping interests, and no bachelors degree. I am pretty good at a lot of things, an expert at nothing. So I am trapped, and have decided to try and write my way through the smoke. My mind is well stoked with ideas and experiences, and I want to learn to convincingly convey stories, and entertain with words. I want to get paid to write!

Check out my strange blog at: http://cafecosecha.blogspot.com/