Literary Logbook
I was born in Chile, in the port of Talcahuano, in whose seas Melville was inspired to create "Moby-Dick." My land was, for many centuries, the last frontier of the Spanish crown and Chile because beyond it, the brave Mapuche people managed to keep at bay the advance of all invaders. Between my adolescence and my university years, I worked in different professions: car caretaker, clown, nightclub bouncer, and trinket seller, professions that I reported for my desire to know other lives and their stories. I played in a punk-rock band, and I was a terrible actor, an athlete who never ran in a competition, the director of my career magazine, and a freelance protest photographer. I wrote verses in different notebooks of finance, accounting, or taxes, which died buried in a mass grave by those who never wanted to recognize them. I graduated as a chartered accountant with the hope of telling stories, and I invented one on my way to the capital, one where I lived in Santiago for almost twenty years, achieving a prosperous professional career in the leading consulting firms in the country, tax fraud investigator, university professor and speaker at conferences. While doing all that, at night, I wrote with the illusion of a chronically ill person who resorts to an unprescribed medicine to heal. I worked as a freelance at the Ministry of Culture and the Arts, I worked in literary workshops with prominent writers and screenwriters such as Marta Blanco, Nona Fernández, and Marcelo Leonart, and I was part of different independent cultural collectives in Santiago, all to be close to art and not go crazy; if anything, I was no longer crazy. After three years, in 2012, I published my first book of short stories "Ciudad Capital" which received an excellent Literary review and was awarded by the Ministry of Education of Chile. I have been invited to Literary Fairs in Santiago, Viña del Mar, San Francisco (CA) and New York.
That guy is me.
Now I write in New York, confusing all my stories with the streets of this indescribable city and discovering new ways to talk about this world that every day inspires me to tell what I see and, by the way, not to forget who I am and where I came from.
Toqué en una banda de punk-rock, fui un pésimo actor, atleta que nunca corrió en una competencia, director de la revista de mi carrera, fotógrafo independiente de protestas. Escribí versos en diferentes cuadernos de finanzas, contabilidad o impuestos, que murieron enterrados en una fosa común por quienes nunca los quisieron reconocer. Egresé de la carrera de contador auditor con la esperanza de contar cuentos, y me inventé uno camino a la capital, uno en donde viví en Santiago por casi veinte años logrando una exitosa carrera profesional en las principales consultoras del país, investigador de fraudes fiscales, profesor universitario y expositor en congresos. Mientras hacia todos eso, por la noches escribía con la ilusión del enfermo crónico que recurre a una medicina no prescrita para sanar. Trabajé de freelance en el Ministerio de las Culturas y las Artes, trabajé en talleres literarios junto a destacados escritores y guionistas como Marta Blanco, Nona Fernández, o Marcelo Leonart, y formé parte en diferentes colectivos culturales independientes de Santiago, todo para estar cerca del arte y no volverme loco; si acaso, ya no lo estaba. Luego de tres años, en el 2012, publiqué mi primer libro de cuentos “Ciudad Capital” que recibió una excelente crítica Literaria y premiado por el Ministerio de Educación de Chile. He sido invitado a Ferias Literarias de Santiago, Viña del Mar, San Francisco (CA) y Nueva York.
Ese tipo soy yo.​
Ahora escribo en New York confundiendo todas mis historias con las calles de ésta indescriptible ciudad descubriendo nuevas formas de hablar sobre este mundo que cada día me inspira a contar lo que veo y, de paso, no olvidar quien soy y de donde he venido.
.jpg)
The city of the invisibles
The City of the Invisibles"...Getting lost in the city is the most reasonable way to get to know it, to feel it, with your feet the streets and potholes as you go, the warm asphalt of summer, the smells that characterize its neighborhoods. Close your eyes and vibrate with the unknown, fear the darkness of an alley and then, taking a deep breath, receive what it gives us, the voices of people who say little or much. Why know the city? Because to know it is to recognize oneself. The Chilean poet Enrique Linh liked to walk the streets of New York, because he said he felt invisible. In my writings invisibility is not necessarily a pleasure that my characters enjoy, it can be a burden that, to their misfortune, they will never leave on the sidewalk...". (Esteban Escalona, Berkeley, San Francisco, CA)​​​
