My first book, SPANISH SOAP OPERAS, is kind of cute.  Just (self) published, available at Amazon.com, 354 pages for $14.95, I like the cover and I like the way the book looks and feels.  It was long a dream of mine to become a writer, and with that, to be published – mainly, I think, to be read, as opposed to being rich or famous.  I realized pretty earlier on that I didn’t have the gift of literary greatness, nor did I have market instincts. But I did have something to say, and I do feel that I said it about as well as I can.  Getting to this point was quite a lot different than I imagined, but interesting and good in its own way.  In spite of some misgivings about self-publishing – the product, the market and the reputation of it – I think now I am fortunate to be living at this time when there are options to choose from – and for a middle-aged mom who maybe missed the boat on the big career and opportunities for writing programs or networking, it’s pretty good. It can still happen, and it can still be satisfying. 

The process, in retrospect, is a lot like having a baby – the germination, the growth, the nurturing, trying to find out what’s best. The private time, while it’s still inside of you. The pregnant months, while you carry it around, growing larger and more cumbersome, and more uncomfortable, but taking shape, gaining definition. Then, out it comes – with or without professional help, it’s a stressful time of delivery – are you truly prepared? Have you missed anything? Then, out it goes to the public. But there, too, it needs some time, help, support to survive, before it’s more or less established, out there in the world, for better or worse.  Maybe it helps having been a mom; on the other hand, there is often less energy and focus available, and there are also the times that the boys throw pillows at my head trying to get my attention while I was carried away with a passage of writing.

I learned a few things about my writing along the way, and it’s always so easy to see the weaknesses: I don’t have a great gift of language, nor of imagery. If I could, I would like my writing to have more poetry in it.  I’m a “panster” rather than a “plotter” and I have had trouble with meandering plots, with no clear arc of action. The pacing can be slowed down with too many words; many of my scenes are more or less two characters on stage having a dialogue.  My dialogue is not bad; and my characters, while often a stretch, I like to feel grow into their humanity, and by the end have their reasons for what they’ve done. I like issues -  homelessness, substance abuse, prejudice, but have to be careful of being didactic – the over-explainer teacher in me.

What I like most to do, is make a world, with its own people and setting, and its own rules.  And I like a world with problems and diversity – different colors, different ages, different backgrounds.  I like animals in my stories, pets and sometimes pests. And I like children, more or less people, not objects of sympathy or concern – the sentimental children of many American films and novels.  And I like characters who have reasons to confront people unlike themselves, and to react and to question. Most of all, I like stories with characters who will ultimately, whatever their age, grow up a little bit more, and try to make a better world within my fictional world. I’m the god of this little world, and in this little world there is a kind of justice.