The other day I heard an acquaintance talk about how terrible God is at gift wrapping. Just as on a birthday or at Christmas we may receive a gift, begin to unwrap it, and exclaim, “What the heck is this?” Our faces turn red, our words are stammered as we feel compelled to give thanks, all
I just finished reading the novel, Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn. I have to admit I only closed the book when I absolutely had to get off the train or my eyes shut against my will at night. The book was that good. At the end, I decided I may not like the writer. Wait,
I spent a good part of my Friday writing poetry. I was really happy about what I wrote and decided to share one of my ‘poignant’ pieces with my spouse. Since we’ve talked about poetry being memoir, she looked at me quizzically and asked if what I wrote really happened to me. It had. She
There are seasons for a reason, I suppose. I look around at the barren trees and know for sure that they will be abundant with leaves during the coming Spring. When I garden, I do so in accordance with the higher laws of nature. I won’t sow seeds in December, that is a time for
‘Say what you mean and mean what you say’ is something that I learned a while back. I’m not one of those people that talk just to talk and to hear themselves speak as their chests swell with pride at the sound of their voice. That bores me, annoys me, and, sometimes, almost antagonizes me.
There are some authors who believe that writing is therapy or bloodletting; basically turning it into some form of catharsis or other. We’ve all seen the memes that warn not to piss a writer off because you will be in their next novel or that the writer has opened their veins while writing a particular
November? What happened to October? September is the last time I posted here. I’ve thought about creating a newsletter that would consolidate all the news, events and literary activities that I was involved with during Hispanic Heritage month. I wax and wane about blogging. It’s somehow been great for my novel writing. It helps- just
2014 was my second year joining in as an author at the Brooklyn Book Festival. If you’ve never been there it’s almost impossible to imagine the number of people and books that line the streets. It was almost just as hard for me to believe that I was actually taking part in such a wonderful event.
When is the angst over? Does Joyce Carol Oates wring her hands in secret? Does Stephen King pace before contacting his publisher or during the editing process? Probably not. I dutifully sit with my editor line editing my mystery Do No Harm that is slated to be published by Aignos Publishing Co. in 2015. I admit I
Candle light? Guitar strumming in the background? A glass of fine wine? It would be great if that had been the ambience the first time I read in public. Instead, it was at a bookstore in NYC. Bright lights, empty seats, and my nerves tangled into one complex ball of feverish belly fire. It’s only