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Posted by: Misa @ 1:01 pm
Revisions, revisions, revisions. Who knew they could be so fun? I’m actually enjoying the revisions I’m doing on Living the Vida Lola. They’re due back to my editor on February 15th. Not a lot of time, but I’m not stressed. Maybe because my editor is so easy-going and flexible, and maybe because, as I said, I’m enjoying the process. Here’s what I love about doing revisions:
1. Seeing the manuscript through my editor’s eyes: what works for her and what doesn’t work for her, what insight she has to my characters, and seeing pages and pages with no comments (which I translate to mean, yay, I got that all right!).
2. Revisiting my characters and boosting my writing confidence. When your own book surprises you and you want to keep reading, that has to be good, right?
3. Counting down to the next step of this adventure. Once the revisions for Living the Vida Lola are done, I’m diving into revisions for Dead Girl Walking, the second book in the Lola PI series. And I can’t wait to revisit what happens next in Lola’s life.
What are your thoughts on revisions? Love em? Hate em? Indifferent?
Shirley Jump wrote a very nice column for Romancing the Blog today, December 31, 2007, and I’m adapting it here to reflect my year, both in family and in writing.
My favorite overall memory of 2007: This is a hard one. I have to say it was having our family photographs taken. We’ve never spent a lot of money taking pictures and this year we decided to have nice ones done (since I needed an author photo, as well). It was worth it! Sarah made us all look amazing.
My favorite Writing memory: The phone call from my agent, Holly. I was at work, feeling sick, and she said she had some news that would make me feel better. And then she told me about the offer for 2 books in my Lola P.I. series from St. Martin’s Press. She was right, it did make me feel better!
Something I wish I’d done in 2007: This is another hard one. Really it’s something I wish had happened differently. I wish two of my boys had not been diagnosed with celiac disease. Not possible, but a wish nonetheless.
Something I wish I’d done in my writing career in 2007: I wish I’d written more, but life and work definitely took its toll on spare time. I signed on with an amazing agent who then sold my first two books, so I can’t say I have any regrets, but I do wish I could write more!
Things and/or people I’m grateful for and who impacted my life in 2007:
- I signed on with an amazing agent who then sold my first two books, so Holly Root has had a huge affect on my life.
- Virna de Paul, my amazing critique partner, friend, and Scarlet has taught me how to stay focused, how to continually improve my craft, has challenged me to take on new and invigorating projects ~ chasing heroes and applying to give a workshop at National this year ~ two things I would never have attempted on my own (or thought of, for that matter!).
- Susan Hatler, aka Mountain Girl, my friend, Scarlet, and cyber critique partner continues to inspire me, encourage me, and offers friendship, something that would never had happened were I not aggressive, er, assertive. Plus, her son and my son have the same name.
- My family. I echo every Oscar winner’s sentiment that without my family, I’m nothing. Less than nothing. They are the most important people to me. Plus C. always makes me laugh, no small feat after 17 years.
- Friends: Paige, Kim, Christy, Katie, Gloria, Marilyn (aka mom), Jennifer… These women are the absolute best. They are open and honest and the best friends a girl can have.
As Socrates said, “An unexamined life is not worth living.” It doesn’t take long to reflect on your year and realize the impact people have had on you and your life. I think we tend to cruise along and not think about these things at all, but here’s a great chance to stop and think and acknowledge who and what has been memorable for you in 2007.
Happy New Year and my 2008 bring great happiness to you.
Or two~~ Karin and Patricia, you are both winners! Email me at misa@misaramirez.com so I can get you your prizes. Merry Christmas!
Announcing the winner of Jamie Wood’s contest from yesterday’s Chica Lit Entry… Maureen!!!! You’re the lucky girl! Email Jamie at jamie@jamiewood.com for your free autographed book!! Happy early Christmas!
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As the 12 Days of Chica Lit continues, here’s a preview of Lola P.I. Dolores Cruz, aka Lola, is the heroine of my new mystery series with St. Martin’s Press. The first book, Lola P.I.: Living the Vida Lola, will be out sometime in early 2009. Lola in a Pear Tree will give you a taste of what Lola’s about. Check out tomorrow’s story at Sofia Quintero’s site and find out the winner to the Lola contest there. And be sure to look for the bunuelos recipe at the end of the story!
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And Lola in a Pear Tree
By Misa Ramirez
What was it with me and the Callaghan family? I wondered as I maneuvered my car through the streets of Sacramento. I mean, it was common for Jack Callaghan to take root in my gray matter and not let go, but now it was his cousin, Margo, who was on my mind. The woman who’d once broken my brother’s heart was also the reason I’d snuck out of my flat at the crack of dawn, sacrificing my cozy bed and sweet dreams.
Margo’s phone call the day before had knocked the socks right off of me. I’ll admit at first it was because she made me think of Jack, el guapo. I’d shot countless photographs of him in high school and I still had some of those pictures tucked away in my dresser at home—the ones I’d taken while practicing my surveillance techniques and that showed his hair disheveled, his jeans unbuttoned, and a smolderingly satisfied expression on his face. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been the one to fill him with satisfaction, a fact I still fantasized about correcting.
The nerves in my stomach tumbled. Just talking to Margo on the phone felt disloyal. I mean, the bruja had dumped my brother and was probably single-handedly responsible for creating the charming, commitment-phobic “rogue” Antonio was today. But had disloyalty stopped me from agreeing to meet with her? Creo que no. Of course it hadn’t. She’d asked, I’d agreed, and now here I was–exhausted from rushing through tamale preparations with my mother and paranoid that I’d be spotted by some distant Cruz relative and turned in to my family for betraying Antonio.
Guilt gnawed at my insides, pero Dios mio, I was a P.I. (Okay, technically I was still an intern for Camacho and Associates, but my licensing exam was only weeks away). I couldn’t turn Margo down without hearing what she needed, even if listening to her might doom me to praying a hundred Rosaries. And Rosaries notwithstanding, what was the worst they could do to me for helping the woman who’d caused Tonio six solid months of moping? Deny me tamales?
Anxiety knotted my chest. Could there be anything worse than no tamales at Christmas?
I slammed on the brakes, horrified at my next thought. Buñuelos! Being denied buñuelos would be worse. Argh! For a moment, I gripped the wheel, my stomach urging me to turn the car around and crawl back into bed where I’d be safe, guilt free, and guaranteed a future with fried pastries. What to do, what to do.
Finally, my curiosity made me ease my foot back onto the gas pedal. I’d given my word to Margo, and Lola Cruz’s word was like gold.
When I spotted the address Margo had given me amidst a few houses with twinkling lights and enormous blow-up Santas, I parked . As I stepped outside my car, I heard my name softly echoing through the trees in a hushed whisper: “Lolaaaaaa.” Whipping my head around, I searched for the person behind the haunting sound. The front of the house was quiet. Almost deserted. The street behind me was empty, and the street in front of me was tinged with diffused sunrise.
Get a grip, I told myself. I was a black belt in kung fu. I had a deadly vile of pepper spray in my purse. Besides, it was Noche Buena, not el Dia de los Muertos, for crying out loud.
But my heart still thundered in my chest and my thoughts went kamikaze on me. Had Margo decided to wreak more havoc with my family by partnering up with some disgruntled ex-client? Hadn’t breaking Tonio’s heart and spirit been enough for her?
I slowly crept forward, easing my feet along the uneven sidewalk as I reached into my purse for my pepper spray. “Who’s there?” I whispered with a hiss.
“Lolaaaaaaa.”
My lungs seized and before I knew what my legs were doing, I ran to the nearest tree, threw my arms around the lowest branch, and swung my legs up. My calves scissored around the cold branch and I struggled to swing myself up and over the branch.
“You look like a chimpanzee.”
I inhaled sharply, staring into the empty darkness. It was too early in the morning and the sunrise wasn’t giving off any light. Not even the scattered Christmas lights or the bright star in the sky illuminated the woman talking to me.
“A chimpanzee that’s like a foot off the ground,” the voice said.
I twisted my head to look down, dismayed. I was only three or four feet off the ground. This tree was not the safe haven I’d made it out to be. Heat crept up my neck until I saw a shadowy figure rise from behind some bushes. “Margo Callaghan,” I said with a hiss, “You have some nerve—” I stopped when she stepped closer. Holy Mary, Mother of God, the girl had changed. Her hair had been long and blonde back in high school. Now it was chestnut brown and cropped short. She’d been a waif, too—far skinnier than Antonio’s usual girlfriends– but now she looked, um, curvy, her shoulders and hips visible from behind a bundle of blankets she was carrying.
“It’s been a long time, Lola.” She had a faint smile on her face and was talking to me in a sing-songy whispery voice.
I had the sudden thought that more than Margo’s hair color had changed; visions of straight-jacketed sugar plums danced in my head. “Ten heartbreaking years,” I muttered as I dropped to the ground. “Why were you hiding?” I asked, my loud Cruz voice even louder in the still morning. “You scared me to death!”
“Shhhh!” she hissed.
Before I could even contemplate what to say to her, she turned her back on me and in a flash she threw open the back door to my car, tossed something inside, fiddled around for a few seconds, and then threw herself into the front passenger seat. Now she was gesturing and mouthing at me, a frantic look on her face, urging me to hurry.
I stared at her. I wasn’t sure I wanted to have an extended conversation with Margo Callaghan, let alone drive with the woman. I was not a chauffeur service. But something about her urgency, and the way her gaze flicked nervously to the deserted-looking house, made me rethink my stance. For the right cause, I wasn’t above carting people around town. And suddenly Margo looked like she might have a pretty good cause.
I hightailed it to the car and a minute later we were cruising toward downtown and Margo had finally stopped looking behind her. The silence was killing me. Finally I blurted, “What’s going on?”
“Lola,” she said, her voice huskier than it had been when she’d been whispering, “you’re a life saver. Jack always said you were solid.”
¿Como? Was solid a codeword for stocky, or what? “You’re welcome,” I said, tersely. “So what’s going on? We haven’t heard from you in years—” A sound came from the back seat and my throat closed. It was a sound that was suspiciously similar to a–a baby’s gurgle. “What is that?” I demanded, knowing full-well what the answer was. The bundle of blankets? Oh God, was I involved in a kidnapping? Had my curiosity gotten me wrapped up in a felony?
“Well it’s not like Antonio would have wanted to hear from me. And I’ve been busy,” Margo said, then she added a coo and a shhhh directed to the backseat. “Dolores Cruz, meet Anthony. Anthony,” she said to the baby, “meet Lola.”
Ay carumba, Margo had a baby! Suddenly, I gasped and my foot slipped off the gas pedal. “Did you say Anthony?”
She was facing forward again, her head perfectly still as she stared through the windshield. “He’s six weeks old.”
I didn’t care how old he was. I was still stuck on the little guy’s name. “Anthony?” I repeated.
“My baby.”
My brother’s face flashed behind my eyes. He’d never been a one-woman man, but he’d been lovesick over Margo once upon a time. Holy smokes. My mind whirled. Either this whole thing was a cruel joke and I was part of the set-up or this woman hadn’t really broken my brother’s heart. Maybe—oh, crap—maybe it had been the other way around. If Margo had been the one with the broken heart, it might explain her naming her baby after Antonio.
Coffee. I needed coffee. A nonfat extra hot supersized mocha to be exact.
A café caught my eye. I pulled in, parked, and asked Margo if she wanted anything. She declined, crazy girl, but I needed caffeine, muy pronto. Five minutes later, a steaming cardboard cup of java was burning my palm and I slid back into my car, cranking the heater. Little Anthony, or Tonito, as I had the urge to call the baby, had to stay warm in this frigid Sacramento winter. “Okay, Margo, spill it. What’s going on? Why’d you call me?”
She glanced nervously out the window. Be nervous, I thought grimly. Be very nervous. If I didn’t get some answers muy pronto, I wasn’t sticking around. I was already violating the Vehicle Code by transporting a baby without a car seat. I wasn’t going to the big house for Margo Callaghan.
“There’s this guy—” She fidgeted with the window switch. “Anthony’s father. He was—it was a mistake. He’s been in prison, but I just found out he’s–” She broke off, and I could hear the embarrassment choking her. “I just need to hide for a few hours. He’s bad news.”
My resolve to leave Margo on her own quickly melted. Men. It always came down to a man, didn’t it? The baby gurgled again, sucking in a gulp of air before letting loose with a glass-shattering shriek. “He’s hungry,” Margo said. “We have to go. I have to nurse him.” She turned to me. “I’m sorry, Lola. I didn’t know who else to call.”
I hesitated to ask, but had no choice. “Uh, what about Jack?”
Margo shot me a look–a look I had no idea how to decipher. “He’s on his way. If you can help me until he can get here—”
My stomach knotted. In a few hours, I’d be seeing Jack Callaghan again. Did I have time to shower? Shop for a new outfit? Visit Victoria’s Secret for a new bra?
None of the above. I had time for only one thing: getting Tonito some mama leche. There was only one place to go. Casa de la Cruz was only minutes away and the logical place for refuge. But it was also tamale central with Magdalena Cruz and her son, Antonio, heading the assembly line. “Can’t you feed the baby here?” I asked.
“It’s cold, Lola! Take me to your place. Please. Jack’s going to meet me there.”
Cold. Of course, it was cold! ”Listen, I can take you to my apartment, but Antonio’s there.” I shot a furtive glance at the baby—Tonito—and frowned. “He might not love seeing you and the baby.”
“I’ll hide. I won’t let him see us.” She turned pleading eyes to me. “I promise, Lola. Jack’s on his way. I just couldn’t stay any longer. I couldn’t—” Her voice cracked and she laid a gentle hand on little Anthony. “I couldn’t take a chance.”
Funny, hearing Jack’s name didn’t make me go all warm and fuzzy. A woman and baby in jeopardy topped even him. Loyalty be damned. “Hold on,” I said, hitting the gas. The baby’s crying seeped into my pores—had Antonio and Margo stayed together, that little guy could be my nephew. Even though he wasn’t, I had a soft spot in my heart for him. I would take no chances where he was concerned.
The baby’s crying had grown frantic. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I could sneak them into the house unnoticed. Hard to hide a shrieking baby. But as soon as I pulled up to my parent’s house, the baby grew miraculously silent. ”Ah, m’ijo,” I cooed. “He’s an angel,” I said to Margo. She nodded, and I followed with, “Wait here.” There was only one way to make sure the coast was clear.
The pear tree.
I gulped. I’d climbed the tree a thousand times, but all before I’d hit twenty years old. Now, at twenty-eight, and wearing my favorite jeans and holly-colored cashmere sweater, the idea of climbing fifteen feet into that pear tree only made me grimace. But I sucked in a breath. This was for Tonito. Duty called.
Before I took action, I turned to Margo. “Everything will be fine,” I said. Without thinking, I stretched to reach into the back seat and gently touched the back of my fingers to the baby’s rosy cheek. He smiled up at me, gurgling, and I knew that I’d done the right thing by helping them.
And then, for the second time that morning, I scaled a tree. It took me awhile, and I slipped a couple of times, but finally I was a good twelve feet, maybe more, up from the ground. From my vantage point, I could see inside both the upstairs and the downstairs house. The Christmas tree lights winked and laughter drifted out. I could see my sister, Gracie, at the stove, frying buñuelos. My stomach growled, and my thighs grew an inch just thinking about the fried pastry melting in my mouth. Ay dios, Christmas was deadly to the diet.
A branch poked me in the ribs, and it was like an angel sending me a wake-up call! I looked down and saw little Anthony bundled in Margo’s arms, nuzzling her breast. What was I doing sitting in a tree?! I’d brought Margo to safety, her swaddled babe secure in her arms. It was like I was living a Posada.
The sound of wood splitting jerked me out of my Norman Rockwell painting. Get out of the tree! I shouted to myself just as a snap sounded below me. It was followed by the ominous cracking of wood and a jolt as the branch I clung to started to give. “Ahhhh!”
The baby started to cry, his shrieks drowning out my own scream. Within seconds, every member of the Cruz family had raced outside and was standing on the lawn peering up at me.
With one arm clutching the branch, my body sprawled out along the limb, I sheepishly smiled and gave a tiny wave. “Buenos dias. And, um, happy tamale day.”
“Dios mio, ¿que haces, Dolores?” My mother’s frantic voice, her hand clutched to her chest, brought my shoulders into a shrug. The small movement was enough to shake the branch I clung to precariously. It cracked again.
“Ahhhh!” I screamed as the branch lurched, the wood splitting under my weight. I was a curvy Latina, built the way a real woman should be. Was it my fault that a pear tree couldn’t support me?
“¡Esperate, Lola! ¡Con cuidado!” Gregorio Cruz to the rescue. My father raced to the garage, hopefully looking for the ladder. The branch beneath me cracked and dropped another inch. Hurry, Papi, I willed. I knew I was going to plummet to my death any second.
I tried to inch back, stopping when the limb rocked with the movement. Okay, I’d wait it out. Wasn’t anyone going to call 911? I wouldn’t say no to a fireman rescuing me. I’d offer a buñuelo as a reward.
But no one had whipped out a cell phone to dial emergency. They just stared at me, grinning behind their hands, thinking little Lola Cruz had gotten herself in a bind once again. I could almost hear their thoughts: A private investigator. Loca. “Lola!” Chely, my soon-to-be fifteen year old cousin, stared up at me in awe. “You’re like the partridge.”
“What?” I said, hardly daring to part my lips as I spoke.
“You know,” she said, then broke into song, “On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree.”
“Except I don’t have a true love and I’m not a bird. And what does that even mean, anyway?” I mean really. If, say, Jack gave me something for Christmas, I wouldn’t want the gift to be a partridge in a pear tree. But nobody was listening to me anymore. They had finally noticed Margo and her baby.
I forgot about the true love I didn’t have and held my breath as Antonio walked toward Margo. I craned my neck to see his expression. His goateed face went from solemn to almost happy in the blink of an eye. “Margo?”
Ah, the Christmas spirit was unfolding, and I didn’t care if I went to jail for aiding and abetting a kidnapping. At least I’d be on solid ground.
Margo and Antonio spoke softly, slowly moving away from the group that huddled around them. “Hello?” I said, praying my voice wouldn’t be the catalyst that split the rest of the wood. “Can someone help me here?”
A horn blared from the street, but my attention was split between my brother, and my father who was racing toward me–as fast as a man can race with a ten-foot ladder in his grasp.
Much as I tried not to, I shifted, and the branch started to creak and moan, giving way under my weight. “Hurry, Papi!” He fumbled as he set the ladder up underneath the pear tree. I heard the gate to the yard creak open. Great, I thought, now strangers were coming to watch my humiliation.
The tree groaned, the wood splitting and cracking as I gently swung my leg over, my backside toward the lookie-loos. My feet searched for purchase on the ladder. I found a rung, my father grabbed me around the waist, and the branch finally gave with a threatening snap. It was a close call, but I’d survived. I turned to wave and smile at my family.
And froze. Jack Callaghan stood at the gate looking right at me, his cousin Margo’s baby cradled in his arms. For the briefest moment, his blue eyes seemed to laser into mine. His dimple flared in amusement and heat spread through me–until my father tugged me down the ladder and the spell was broken.
On solid ground again, I was suddenly rushed by members of my family. No! I wanted to see Jack. To say goodbye to Margo and Tonito. Check on Antonio. See Jack. Sure, when I’d been stuck in the tree and needed help, my family had just stared. Now that I wanted space so I could run after Jack, they gathered around me like hungry coyotes. They were full of abrazos and I couldn’t escape a single hug.
When I was finally able to dodge the love, I made a break for the driveway. Antonio stood there, rocking back on his heels, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the empty street. “They’re gone?” I asked, dizzy with disappointment. I’d blown my chance to actually see and speak to Jack close up, and God only knew when I’d have another opportunity.
Antonio nodded as he slowly turned to me.
“She needed help,” I said, feeling like I had to explain.
“She called you?”
“She was scared.”
“Sounds like she got wrapped up with a loser,” he said.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?”
He shrugged and for a moment his jaw seemed to tick. “She’ll be fine. Jack’s taking care of her.” But he stared into the distance as if that still wasn’t quite good enough for him.
The biting cold nipped at my skin and I suddenly longed for Jack’s warmth. He’d held that baby like a natural. He’d driven up from San Luis Obispo to rescue his cousin and his nephew. He was a knight in shining armor, but he’d never be my knight in shining armor.
Antonio wrapped his arm around me and guided me through the gate and back into the house. The rest of the family was already back at work making tamales. At the kitchen table, Antonio picked up a damp corn husk and started spreading a perfect layer of masa on it.
I picked up a buñuelo from the plate and opened my mouth wide to take a bite.
“Lola.”
I looked up to find Antonio grinning at me. “Hmm?”
“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars I can make more tamales than you can.”
I elbowed him in the gut. “You’re on.” I did un poquito salsa step. “Pero I want to go dancing when I win. Deal?”
He slathered another corn husk with masa as I took another bite of buñuelo. “Deal.”
My thoughts drifted. I’d helped a woman and baby in need that morning. Plus, I’d seen Jack Callaghan in person—even if it was from a pear tree—and that had warmed me all over.
“Feliz Navidad,” Antonio said, a wicked grin on his face.
I blushed, wondering if he could read my mind. “Feliz Navidad,” I said, grinning back, visions of sugar plums, and Jack, making it a merry Christmas indeed.
The End
Question of the day: What does Lola keep hidden in her dresser drawer?
Post the answer as a comment for a chance to win two fun books: Emily Griffin’s Something Borrowed and Meg Cabot’s Size 12 Is Not Fat (two fabulous books that must take the place of Living the Vida Lola since it’s not yet available).
Buñuelos (This recipe is straight from my mother-in-law who is a fantastic cook. She told me her recipes, which I recorded into a cookbook for all of her children, and this is one of them.)
4 1/2 cups flour
4 eggs
1 Tablespoon shortening
1 Tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
6 tomatillo casings
1 teaspoon anise seed
1 1/2 cups water
2 cups oil for frying
In a sauce pan, boil the water and the tomatillo casing and anise seeds for 30 minutes. Set aside to cool. Into a large bowl, sift flour, salt, and sugar. In another bowl, break eggs and beat. Set aside. Cut shortening into flour. Mixture should be crumbly. Add beaten eggs to flour and mix.
Drain tomatillo casings and anise seed from liquid by pouring through a sieve. Reserve liquid. Discard casings. Pour liquid into flour mixture and knead until the dough is smiooth and no longer sticky. Add flour as needed. Dough should form a smooth ball. Wrap dough in plastic and let rest in a warm place for 30 minutes to an hour.
Divide dough into golf ball size dumplings. In frying pan, heat oil. Roll dumplings into thin pancake or tortilla-size rounds. (Note: If you fry at this point, you will have a thick, more doughy pastry.) Sit on a chair and cross your legs, placing a dish towel over your knee. Lay the tortilla-sized dough on the towel and gently stretch the dough to make it larger and thinner. Fry this in hot oil, pressing the center and bubbly spots down with a spoon or tongs. Turn and continue to fry until well-browned on both sides. Remove from oil and drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar, or with Buñuelo syrup (recipe following).
Buñuelo Syrup
3 cups dark brown sugar
1 teaspoon anise seeds
5 cinnamon sticks
3 1/2 cups hot water
Place all ingredients in large sauce pan. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Cover and boil for at least 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Syrup will remain liquidy, but will drop off spoon more slowly when it is done. When the mixture is done, spoon onto both sides of Buñuelos . The syrup will settle on the pastry, but will not make it soggy. Enjoy!
Follow the links below to the 12 Days of Chica Lit tour. Each day will offer an original holiday story and prizes!
12.11.07: Mary Castillo, author of Switchcraft
12.12.07: Berta Platas, author of Cinderella Lopez
12.13.07: Mayra Calvani, author of Dark Lullaby
12.14.07: Caridad Pineiro, author of Holiday With a Vampire
12.15.07: Lara Rios, author of Becoming Americana
12.16.07: Caridad Ferrer, author of It’s Not About the Accent
12.17.07: Margo Candela, author of Life Over Easy
12.18.07: Kathy Cano Murillo, author of Crafty Chica’s Art de la Soul
12.19.07: Tracy Montoya, author of Telling Secrets
12.20.07: Jamie Martinez Wood, author of Latino Writers & Journalists and Rogelia’s House of Magic (coming summer 2008)
12.21.07: Misa Ramirez, author of Lola PI: Living the Vida Lola (January 2009 from St. Martin’s Press)
12.22.07: Sofia Quintero, author of Juicy Mangos
12.23.07: Toni Margarita Plummer, author and editor
The 12 Days of Chica Lit Blog Tour is coming!
Although I am not Latina by birth, but rather Latina-by-Marriage, I have been graciously welcomed by a wonderful group of women who are nunca sola. There are too many women to name, but suffice it to say that they are all spectacular people who support each other in true hermana fashion.
The 12 Days of Chica Lit Blog Tour is an opportunity to read holiday-themed short stories by these women,(including me), get fabulous new recipes with each story, and win fun prizes. What could make the holiday season more fun?!
The tour begins on December 11th and will continue through the 23rd. Look for my holiday story, ‘A Very Lola Christmas’, right here on December 21st and be sure to check out all the stories on the tour.
I love discovering fascinating new people. Mayra Calvani is just such a person. I’ve never met Mayra (she lives outside the U.S.), but I was fortunate enough to meet her virtual presence online. She puts together a wonderful newsletter called The Fountain Pen Newsletter that includes author and publishing pro interviews, and more. The newest edition of The Fountain Pen also has an extremely interesting article by Dee Power about how books get into bookstores. Some things I took away from the article are:
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Somewhere around 25 million people in the U.S. count themselves as writers, but only 5% of those people have been published in any forum.
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The five big pusblishers–Random House, Inc., Penguin USA, Simon & Schuster, Time Warner, and HarperCollins–are responsible for 80% of all book sales in America.
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Publisher’s midlist (those books in the mid section of publishers’ catalogs that are considered moderate sellers, but not mega money-makers) is growing smaller which means a tougher road for hopeful first-time authors.
There’s hope between the lines of some of these facts: if you’re one of the lucky 5%, you should be so proud of yourself! And if you’re trying to be one of the 5%, don’t give up!
But where there’s hope, there’s also disappointment. The midlist has traditionally been where brand new author’s land, but if publishers are so focused on the bottom-line, they are less willing to take a risk on someone brand new with no proven track record. That makes the road to becoming one of the 5% even rockier and harder to travel.
Somewhere along the line, we have to remember why we started writing in the first place and get back there. Our motivation to write can’t be breaking in to the elusive publishing business. It has to be the joy and creative fulfillment we get from the process. Afterall, our lives and our pursuits are not like in The Alchemist where the angst and ups and downs of Santiago’s experiences are removed and only the lessons and epiphanies remain. We have to take joy in all of it, the ups that much sweeter because we’ve experienced the downs.
So take the hope from Dee’s article and some of publishing’s harsh facts, don’t be too disheartened. The ecstasy comes after the agony (and before…and during…). Oh, and read Mayra’s newsletter!
Check this out. My recent column at Romancing the Blog was picked up by Reuters. Don’t know how that happens. Or why. But it’s way cool, isn’t it?
The same column was also linked from here. Now, I have no idea who Ted is, and I assume this one was more random since he gets columns from RTB periodically, but still, I think it’s fantabulous to see my column picked up other places.
Does anyone out there know how these things happen? Is it random? Karma? Good luck? Or by design?
This page is fast becoming a news page. It will have all the latest on the down and dirty in my writing life. If you want to know what’s going on with Lola PI, The Chain Tree, and other writing adventures, check back here for the scoop.
If you’re interested in men–and really, who isn’t?–then you’re in luck! A new spot on the information highway will be launching soon. Chasingheroes.com is all about men in romance. Archetypes, to be exact. There will be hero profiles galore, all for your reading pleasure. Together Virna De Paul and Lee Lopez and I hope you will be stopping by frequently to check out Chasingheroes.com. If you have a hero you think is worthy of profiling, leave his name, the book he’s in, and anything else you’d like to share about him in the comments section here.
And check back to see what’s new with me!
The call. The Call. THE CALL! Oh yes, the call came.
It came while I was at work.
It came and I had to sit down and try not to grin from ear to ear.
It came and I wanted to hug my agent through the phone line.
It came and it’s a two book deal with Thomas Dunne Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Press. Wow!
It came and Lola PI will see the light of day. (See, honey, it’s more than a hobby! Now it’s a bona fide career. =)
In July, I received an acceptance letter in the mail from Woman’s World Magazine. They’d accepted my story to be published in October. My kids and I danced around the room. I was going to be published!!!
That was exciting. Thrilling. My story, something I’d written, was going to be seen by people across the country!
The call from my agent about Lola PI was exciting and thrilling to the nth degree. I didn’t dance and jump for joy, but my heart swelled and I felt somehow validated. I really am a good writer and all these years I’ve been working, persevering, making myself write despite the rejections and frustrations and dirty house were finally paying off.
Dreaming about getting ‘The Call’ is not nearly as good as actually getting it. I can only imagine what it will feel like to hold my book in my hands, to see my creation, my characters, my name on the cover.
This is the start of something great. So look for Lola PI, Living the Vida Lola, January ‘09 from St. Martin’s Press. And read an exerpt here.
=) Okay, I’ll stop grinning now.
No, really, I will.
Okay, forget it. I’m going to grin and there’s nothing you can do about it. =))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
More change is coming down the tracks. Here’s what’s happening:
- Stay tuned for information on a new, facinating site that will be taking an indepth look at heroes and what makes them tick. It should be up and running in a month or so! ChasingHeroes.com. Can you think of a better way to spend your time?
- The Lola PI site at LolaPI.com is a new project I will also be working on and this is because…
- I got THE CALL (cheering and silly endless grinning here) and Lola PI, books one and two, are going to be published!! Whoo hoo!!!!
- As part of spinning off into Lola land, this blog, Scarlet Letters, is going to be revamped, maybe into a news/what’s happening section. We’ll see.
Lots going on. Will keep the world posted. =)
So I was thinking about how to write about change and how it’s so good for a person sometimes and all I kept thinking about was Sheryl Crow’s song, A Change. I don’t really understand much of the song lyrics beyond the chorus, but the song still totally represents my life right now. (A change, a change, would do you good…)
Some changes that are doing me good at the moment:
- Teaching again after a too long hiatus has rejuvenated my sense of accomplishment outside of my family and still-developing writing career
- Not cooking dinner every night is good for all of us! Gives me plenty of fodder for character development to watch my own family go through the growing pains of mom going back to work. =)
- Changing from one A+ agent to another A+ agent has given my faith in my writing a shot of new energy.
- Going gluten free isn’t as hard as we initially thought. Found an awesome pumpkin muffin recipe.
- Thinking about adding a recipe page to my site (all Mexican food found in my books ~ chicken mole anyone?)
That’s it for now, but the nice thing about change is that it’s ever-developing.
Now for my question:
- What do you think of the recipe idea? A page with a new recipe every week or so, with a bit of background on which book it’s from, what character loves it, etc. Let me hear your thoughts! =)
JD Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood books… that’s the topic du jour.
Do you like them? Love them? Or not?
I read the first one so far, and I have to say, I’m on the fence. I didn’t love it. I didn’t not like it. It was okay to me. All the elements of a juicy read are there, so I’m not entirely sure what I didn’t love about it. I think it must boil down to the vampire thing. I’m just not a vampire girl. I liked Anne Rice’s early stuff. And I loved Twilight, by Stephenie Meyer. But aside from those two books/series, I don’t read them because they don’t excite me. So maybe that’s it.
What’s your take on the vampire rage in romantic fiction? And why do you like or not like the Black Dagger Brotherhood books? I wanna know.
Today I’m blogging over at Romancing the Blog. Stop on by and check it out.
Piggybacking on the post at RTB, here are the top ten ways change (like a new job, disease, exhaustion, laundry, family, changing agents, constant child bickering, the chauffuer job you didn’t know you signed up for, etc.) can cause chaos in a person’s life.
10 ~ Your son goes to school wearing underwear that’s tinted pink because, while you’ve taught him how to do his own laundry, he hasn’t quite mastered separating colors yet.
9 ~ Frozen fish sticks sound good for dinner.
8 ~ You used to have a good memory. When was that?
7 ~ Pickachu and his doll friends have taken up permanent residence in your family room.
6 ~ Legos dot the carpet, but you’re so tired, you can’t muster up the gumption to compel the guilty party or parties to clean them up.
5 ~ You can’t remember the last time you … The last time you what? (Refer to # 8. My memory is MIA)
4 ~ Coffee for breakfast is the norm, so it’s no wonder you’re dropping those unwanted pounds. That’s a good thing, really. Forget about the jitters. And the lightheadedness.
3 ~ Eight hours of sleep? When did that happen last? (Again, refer to # 8 ~ although the dark circles under the eyes are a clear indicator that it’s been too long)
2 ~ The clean clothes are in a basket on the couch, where they’ve been for a week, and they’re beginning to look just like the basket of dirty clothes still waiting to be washed.
And the number one way you know chaos has hit your life…
1 ~ Damn, I forgot!
That’s okay, you can fill in the blank. How do you know chaos has hit your life?
Piggy backing on my last entry, today I’m revisiting the ‘love requited’ theme in the form of the husband who never ceases to suprise you (or me, in this case), even after 17 years. Love can be shown in so many simple ways. A caress. A shoulder to lean on. Roses on a whim. SCREECHHHHHH…. Wait a second! This is not a romance novel! I’m talking about the everyday gestures that show HE GETS YOU.
It’s so easy to get wrapped up in routine that you begin to wonder if he really DOES get you. A collegue of mine just told me about a fight she and her guy got into about making dinner, cleaning up, and just doing chores. I could totally empathize with her because I feel overwhelmed sometimes by the sheer amount of household responsibility I have. But when my friend told me her stance on equality in the home, I thought to myself, “Wow, I really take this on myself. I’ve created this situation–I’m a monster of my own making.” Okay, maybe my thoughts were not quite so rational, but you get the gist.
So on the way home that night at 5:00, I got a phone call from my guy and at the end of the conversation he asked, “What’s for dinner?” Several thoughts raced through my head at once, including: I’ve been home with the kids for 10 years so this is our routine; how dare he even ask that when we both have worked all day long; what would Olivia say?; I don’t care what we have for dinner as long as I don’t have to make it.
What I said was, “Huh, I don’t know.”
He paused–and I waited, wondering if he’d slip into some version of himself that I didn’t want to see–the whole man/woman gender divide. After a beat, he said, “No problem. I’ll think of something.”
WOW! I probably shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing him, but I was. And I was thrilled. I was back working fulltime and he recognized that things have to change. It was a fantastic ‘honey, I love you so much’ moment.
And it gets better. He made hot dogs and Rice a Roni (yes, the San Francisco treat) and sliced apples. And as we sat down with our kids (ages 4-14), he said, “Mom’s working a lot more hours now and you boys are old enough to each make dinner one night a week.” As my 13 and 14 year old stared, dumbstruck, my husband looked at me and asked, “How does that sound to you? I’ll take a night, too.”
I could have jumped out of my chair and smothered him with kisses! HE GOT ME and understood WHAT I NEEDED. In that moment I knew there was nothing better than love requited because all the build up and anticipation in the world is not going to allow someone to really know you and be your other half.
At that point, my younger son and daughter shouted, ”We want a night!”, so now that’s four of the five weeknights that I won’t cook dinner (although I’ll help the little ones). Our family will be working as a team and that’s so much more meaningful than flowers would be. My husband offered me his shoulder, but also his help and support. He reminded me that he still sees us as a team, and that’s the kind of hero I strive to write about in my books. A guy who gets it. Who gets the heroine.
What about you? Do you have any ‘honey, I love you so much’ moments to share that surprised you?
The act of longing for something will always be more intense than the requiting of it. –Gail Godwin
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I love quotes. They make me think. About random things. I found the above quote, by author Gail Godwin, in a cute little book I have called The Quotable Woman. I recently discovered this book buried on my bookshelf and have no idea where I got it. But I love it!
The act of longing for something will always be more intense than the requiting of it.
Reading those words immediately made me think of romance novels. Longing is at the core of every single one. Once the hero and/or heroine’s longing is over, the book is essentially over. It’s the characters’ journey toward their goal (the hero or the heroine) that keeps a reader turning the pages. We, the readers, long right alongside the characters in the book. We root for them, hoping that they’ll find a way past their obstacles so that they can end the torture and find love.
But why is longing more intense than requiting? I think it’s all about the anticipation. Anticipation of the first kiss. Of making love. Of the the committment. Of spending the rest of your life with the one you love. Falling in love with someone that is unattainable builds and builds until it becomes the center of your thoughts. It’s like climbing the highest mountain and the thing that’s keeps you going is knowing that all the effort will get you to the top and the beautiful view. Love requited is the summit. The place where you have a 360 degree panoramic of the landscape. The unknown is taken away and you can breathe in and enjoy.
Requital is fabulous, but as the old saying goes, in order to know happiness, you must also know sadness. The same applies here. In order to know the magnificance of love, you must first know the lack of it. And the build up to it–the imagination we use that fills in the blanks–is what gives us our framework for knowing love when we have it. And for giving it to our characters.
What does this quote say to you?
I just read Jodi Picoult’s August column in Writer’s Digest and the gist of it is that without failure or struggle along the way, we’d never truly appreciate the deliciousness of success. Everytime I receive a rejection, I remind myself of that very concept. Jodi put it really well: “When at first you don’t succeed,you have two options: slink back into ignominy or come at it again with a vengeance.” Those of you who read my Energizer Bunny post know that I will come at it again with a vengeance, over and over and over again. For as long as it takes.
The bottom line is that our passion for writing, or our drive for success, is what will keep us going. And as Jodi said: “One of the saddest truths in publishing is that good books aren’t always the ones that sell. You can do everything right and still not get a contract. More often, the writers who succeed are the ones who refuse to buckle under the failures that are heaped upon them; who reject the notion that they aren’t as mediocre as industry professionals say they are.”
Now, Jodi says her first full length book never sold. Wow! Even a NYTimes bestseller has a book sitting in the bottom drawer of her desk, never to see the light of day. My first book, a YA time travel about a classroom full of kids, and their teacher, who travel back to the turn of the century at Ellis Island, will never see the light of day, either. It’s a great story. Interesting. Original, as time travels go. But destined to remain where it is. At least for now. I’m also a ‘never say never’ gal.
My first adult book, Living the Vida Lola, however, I am not ready to give up on. Timing is everything, as my agent says, and I know she’s right. We may have missed the window of opportunity for the Latina chicky mystery in the publishing world last yeat, but wait! What about a screenplay? I can see Lola on the small screen. I can hear her sassy, full of attitude character coming alive. She’s Murder She Wrote, only young and hip and Latina and, I’ll say it again, sassy. Why not? This is where I adhere to Jodi Picoult’s philosophy that in order to succeed, you must come at it again with a vengeance. Lola may not be published as a book anytime soon (but she will someday–I have faith), but I’m going to start working the book into a screenplay and give TVland a shot at it. Why? Because I refuse to buckle under the failures that are heaped upon me. I will not give up!!!
Go now. Read the excerpt for Living the Vida Lola, and tell me, do you think it would make a killer TV show or not? Should I add oh so hip paranormal elements to it?- not sure how to do this, but I could!
Oh, and if you have TVland contacts, don’t be afraid to use them…or send them my way!
Can someone help me understand the phenomenon that is ‘AUGUST’? What I mean is, why in the world does the publishing world (supposedly) shut down in August? And is this phenomenon unique to this particular industry, or is it just a well-kept secret in the business world? You can’t tell me that IBM and Intel don’t sell microchips and processors in August. Or that Starbucks isn’t still making coffee bean deals during the ‘hot’ month. I mean, if they weren’t still raking in the beans, it would give some other slick Joe the opportunity to swoop in and threaten the corner coffee house industry as we know it. Surely Starbucks wouldn’t let that happen!
But in the publishing industry, apparently many people get the hell out of Dodge (or NYC, as the case may be). Now don’t get me wrong, I do not like humidity and sweltering heat anymore than the next gal, but to completely shut down? I don’t get it. Michelle Grajowski, owner/agent of 3 Seas Literary Agency, said at the RWA National Conference in Dallas that one of her biggest deals was made in August and that the idea that publishers close their doors during August is just a myth. And yet I know of several literary agencies who don’t submit at all during the ‘hot’ month. Maybe it’s a built in opportunity for them to catch up on their backlog of submissions. Or, since it is the biggest vacation month of the year, maybe the agents just schedule the bulk of their vacation time during that time.
The bottom line, I guess, is that: it is the way it is. (Deep, I know.) I, however, don’t shut down or close my door or go on vacation. I’ll keep writing all through August. What about you? Do you go on hiatus during August like the publishing industry, or do you keep going like the Energizer Bunny? And what’s your take on the August rumors? Is it really a myth?
No matter the venue, making a sale is exciting. I know this for a fact because I just sold my first fiction story last week, and from the screaming and cheering in my kitchen after I’d ripped open the self-addressed stamped envelope and read the acceptance letter, you’d have thought I’d made a three book, 50K deal with a primo publisher.
No kidding. My kids and I were jumping up and down, high-fiving, and generally going crazy, all over a 1000 word short story for Woman’s World magazine. What a thrill to learn that words you’ve written will be read by perhaps over a million people. That’s right, A MILLION PEOPLE. Holy smokes.
Here’s a breakdown of information I learned about Woman’s World Magizine:
- It has a paid circulation of 1,545,233 and comes out weekly.
- It’s the number one selling magazine on newsstands in the
United States…wowza! - 88,886,900 issues were sold in 2005…that’s a heck of a lot of people reading this little weekly. And my story’s going to be in the October 2nd issue!!
Based on my reaction to selling a very short story to Woman’s World, I anticipate an aneurysm when my first book sells. (I’ll keep you posted on the status of my health. =) )
Any published authors out there? How did you react when you made your first sale, either for a short piece of ficiton, a craft or other article, or for a novel?
And for the unpubbed, do you think you’ll be cool as a cucumber or wild like a fiery habanero?