The publishing date for my book, MAYA BLUE A Memoir of Survival is May 20^th, a month away. I never dreamed there was so much involved in getting PR lined up and scheduling a book tour. Each day, my to-do list grows longer, and I’m forced to slide some of the things on today’s list to the next day and the next. And smack dab in the middle of many of these days, I’m in the recording studio working on the audiobook, but it all needs to get done, regardless of whether I’m exhausted or not. If you could have seen me a moment ago, I was facing my bookcase and bowing from the waist in honor of all the authors who’ve come before me. Simply put, they are warriors, and I draw from their strength and determination. 

My good friend and NYTimes and USA Today bestselling author, Laura Munson, is a week into the book tour for her new book, The Wild Why, and May 19th, she’s coming to interview me at an In Conversation event for one of the three book signings I’m having here in San Antonio. Now I understand why she asked if there was a great local spa where she could spend the day. Laura didn’t use these exact words… she didn’t have to… but I know she’s going there to surrender her body and to put her brain on hold. 

If a day is all Laura needs to recuperate, then she’s stronger than I am, because at that point on my tour, I may be on an IV drip.

I hope each one of you know how much I love, value and appreciate you. Long before I started writing this book, you were my cheerleaders, and because you’ve encouraged me, I thought I’d give you a sneak peek from MAYA BLUE: one of the most terrifying days of my life.

The trail we’re on looks like a green tunnel hollowed out through the middle of the jungle. I know from exploring the jungles in the Yucatán that without foot traffic, it won’t be long before parts of the jungle grow back as though the trail never existed. In places, the canopy arches just above our heads while in other areas the trees are like skyscrapers, too tall for me to see the tops. Sometimes I can see pieces of the sky, but it’s the opposite of Tulum and Sian Ka’an, the Maya words for “the place where the sky was born.” This is not where the sky was born.

The commandos are all wearing boots while I have on my white Keds, still wet from the saltwater on Ambergris Caye. Under my feet I’m aware of the layers and layers of rotting plants, the place in the jungle where dead things go. From experience I know there are snakes in the jungle. Some are harmless while others, like the deadly fer-de-lance, are well-camouflaged, impossible to see until you’re almost on top of them.

The commando behind me has his hand on my back and each time I hesitate to take a step, he shoves me forward. Walking here isn’t easy. The tree roots in our path are sometimes two feet high, and I’m forced to watch every step. I know from exploring the jungle: if you get lost, there’s a chance you may never find your way out.

Hard-Ass and the commando in front of me haven’t stopped since we started walking. I turn to see if Estéban is still behind me. He’s breathing hard, and his face and shirt are wet. With a quick movement, the commando behind me jerks his head up and back—a sign for me to turn around and keep walking. Like Estéban, my shirt is wet and sticking to my skin, and small tendrils of wet hair have plastered themselves to the side of my face.

Overhead, the jungle’s alarm system continues to announce our presence. The loudest warning is the cacophony of howler monkeys, and the sound they make is frightening and unnerving. A combination of wild barking dogs and angry hooting gorillas. Up ahead a large bird screeches, together with lots of high-pitched tweets from smaller birds, and there are rhythmic sounds I can’t identify. They remind me of the rain sticks the Native Americans use to summon rain from the heavens, but rain isn’t the problem here. It’s the other commandos who are waiting for us somewhere up ahead.