Skip to main content

Writing Journey

As a little girl, I made Dick and Jane readers out of yellow scrap paper my dad brought from work. My grandmother helped stitch the books together with a large needle and thread.  For years I begged my parents to change my name from Raquel (which lots of people found difficult to pronounce) to Jane, my little heroine in the first grade text.
When I turned thirteen a godparent gave me a diary, but journaling is a process and my first entries were confessional and exaggerated. When my mother found it, she was appalled at my escapades. Let’s just say my version of what happened between Luis and me behind the garage was well worth being grounded.
Like all true martyrs of the craft, I resorted to “underground publishing.”
Through the years my scribblings modeled poems a la Sylvia Plath or Shakespearean tragic comedies. I blame fluctuating hormones and too many literature classes for that. To my delight, I later discovered Nora Roberts and Janet Evanovich in women’s fiction, and Eve Bunting and Patricia Polacco in children’s literature. It sure beat Dick and Jane.
I have published a few short by-line pieces and even landed a paying job writing a women’s weekly personal column for three and one half years, but it is time to stitch together my own novel with my own voice.
So this is my journey - no more underground publishing; no more writing as a hobby; no more modeling my voice after others.   

Comments

  1. I guess I can say....I knew you when...you and I were in the same Abydos/NJWPT class. Loved your writing then and now! You mentioned Dick and Jane. I,too, remember their crazy adventures with Tip and Mitten...at least I think that's what they were called. Anyway, keep it on writing, girlfriend! ;D

    ReplyDelete
  2. I remember Baby and Spot. I also remember thinking there was something really wrong with these kids because my baby sister had a larger vocab and better syntax. Thanks, Espe.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I love that your post is about "writing" but it's about you! Exciting! Witty! Not DRY! This is a great way to blog about writing... ;-) LOVE! You're an inspiration to me!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dating Challenged

I stink at dating – always have.I sputter.I hyperventilate.I fail miserably every time. I blame a pathetically underdeveloped gene that got little use before I married in my early twenties, then atrophied, gathering dust and rust, until I became single again in my fifties. I decided to use this defect to my advantage when I needed to do some investigative reporting a few years back.While on a newspaper writing assignment on Boomer-aged dating, I sacrificed my dignity and my vanity for the sake of the story (and I got several).

Thank goodness, HoneyBunch saved me from all this when we married.  (He comes up with the best dates.) I’ve decided I will “show you mine if you show me yours.”I will swap dating horror stories with you, but you have to promise to play along. The trick here is to tell about your worst date in 25 words or less.You must keep it clean and you cannot name names. Our little contest will run only this week and before my next blogger posting. Me first: The facts:My mom f…

Happy Breastday to Me!

I gave myself a very special birthday present this year – I had surgery. Before you think it was to increase, decrease, or “lift” something, let me tell you it was not cosmetic (though I could probably use a few nips and tucks at my age; the infinite number of creams I buy OTC are not working their promised magic). About four or five months ago, I discovered a hard lump about the size of a large marble in my left armpit.  I had been feeling small pangs of pain in my left chest for several months, but I figured it was just my turn to dance with heart disease.  Everyone in my immediate family is diabetic and suffers from strokes or heart attacks, so I thought – here we go; my turn. I was going to tell my internist about the pangs during my next visit, so imagine my surprise when I discovered the lump. The Drama Queen in me immediately manifested herself – cancer, I thought.  I have cancer. I searched some more and found that the texture on the left side of my left breast felt different t…

Grandma’s Dining Table

Twenty five years ago my first husband and I bought a new home with four bedrooms and three baths, but my favorite part of the house was the enormous room you walked into from the front door. It had no dividing wall but the design was to use half of it as a formal living and the other half as a formal dining. From the beginning I decided to make it into one huge dining room that would catch the eye when everyone walked in through the front door of my home.   My three children were very young, but I envisioned them grown and married. We counted five at the time, but one day we would grow to eight, maybe more if we factored in grandchildren, so I bought a table that sat a family of twelve.  My husband thought it silly to look that far ahead and convinced me to buy only ten chairs. The room looked magnificent – the long, majestic table, the ten chairs, the buffet, a couple of real ficus, and a few other nice pieces of furniture – I was pleased. The table lasted longer than the marriage, a…