Category: News

Okay, back to work.

Mary

One of my early inspirations is Sylvia Mendoza (far right), author of The Book of Latina Women. Between us is Reyna Grande, author of Across a Hundred Mountains. I should be jealous of her – actually all of these talented women – but they are all so humble and unassuming person that I can’t be that low.

And this is Yvonne Delarosa, who will be co-starring in Shark with James Woods. Isn’t she gorgeous?

By the way, I read in In Style Makeover that your arms will look slimmer in photos if you pose with your hand on your hip. Now that I look at these photos, I shouldn’t give up the gym any time soon

Last night I partied at Catalina Magazine’s Essence of Latina mixer at La Vie L’Orange in West Hollywood. (Thank you to Volvo, Deloitte, Southwest Airlines and Eden Natural Foods for sponsoring the event!)

You know what I love about mixers with Latinas? There’s none of that stand-offishness you encounter at most networking mixers. Latinas seem to greet each other like we’re all related!

So here I am, looking sass-eh with Cathy Areu, founder of Catalina Magazine and author of Latino Wisdom.

The fabulous La Vie manicured and massaged everyone to the sounds of Karina Nuvo (right). Standing between us is Lara Rios, author of Becoming Latina in 10 Easy Steps.

For some reason, Blogger would only allow me to upload these two photos, so I’ll be back with more!

I’m back from spending a week in the charming, fairy-tale cottage in Carmel that I’m fairly sure was haunted. We had two sunny days and in Carmel, a sunny day is a gift from God. Gold drips down from the pines and the ocean is transformed from slate gray to a searing blue. Even though the fog drifts through the trees like ghosts and gangs of racoons are likely to accost you on the street, we try to visit every other year because it is our spiritual home.

We spent a lot of time at the Secret Garden and Pilgrim’s Way bookshop on San Carlos across from the Carmel Art Association. Together with my mother-in-law, I cleared the Buddhist section of all their books.

From all the exertion of walking up and down Carmel’s hilly terrain, we rewarded ourselves with a lot of food. But the best was dinner at Piatti Locali on Sixth and Junipero. We loved the food and our server, Jesse so much that we went twice. The first night, I had chicken risotto which was like comfort food on a gray, chilly night. Ryan had a rich, meaty rigatoni bolognese topped with fresh ricotta cheese. The Little Dude dined on sweet peas and bananas ala Gerber. Grandma insisted that he have a taste of whipped cream from daddy’s chocolate mousse. Eventually we had to restrain her or else we’d never sleep that night.

But what brought Ryan and me back to Piatti’s the second night – grandma went on a date with the Little Dude – was Jesse. He reminded me a lot of my brother in looks and he was so unpretenious and friendly … the kind of person you could invite over for a barbeque with all the kids. When I ordered the veal scallopini, Jesse steered me away from the grilled polenta and towards the garlic mashed potatoes. The light lemon and caper sauce melted on my tongue and the veal was deliciously tender.

Ryan devoured his cannelloni stuffed with ricotta, veal and mushrooms. Conversation pretty much died when the food arrived. Even though we were physically incapable of more food, we enjoyed a creme brullee that had a touch of lemon to lighten the flavor. I’ll be wearing the potatoes, the bread and calamari fritti on my hips for awhile, but if I close my eyes and breathe deeply, I can still taste that meal.

But you wonder, did I get any writing done? Yes, I did. I fought a war with Chapter 12 through five drafts in a space of three days. Many lattes and cinnamon twists were consumed in the process but damn it, chapter 12 bowed to my will. Sigh. Now I have chapter 13 to face. I swear this book will undo all of the hard work I’ve undertaken to get into my size 8 jeans.

Mary

Forget if chick lit is dead or cyclical or whatever … Wonder Woman has a stamp! Wonder Woman has a stamp!

Actually she has two.

We can buy them on Friday and in order to obtain the sacred relics, we have to get a sheet with those other dillweeds like Superman and Plasticman. But I don’t care because Wonder Woman is here fightin’ for our rights in her satin tights!

Best,

Mary C. who wins hands down as the biggest nerd of all time

Did you see the Good Morning America story about the 11-year old kid who runs his lemonade stand while wearing a business suit? Ethan Esparza of Minneapolis, MN was making $5 a day selling lemonade in a t-shirt and shorts. But when his mama told him to switch up to a suit, he started making $30-40 a day.

Well, it got me thinking about the upcoming RWA National Conference in Atlanta and how there are always those poor souls who show up to their pitch appointments in either (a) the historical/western costume, (b) the dress their chick lit character would wear to Pure in Vegas, or (C) the velvet hooded cloak over black jeans and an “I believe in magick” t-shirt. I’m really sorry if this is offensive, but I’m saying this with the hope that you will not be uh, hindered by your fashion choices.

So here it goes. Ahem. Me me me.

When you walk up to the table where your first-choice agent or editor is waiting, do so in an outfit that makes you feel confident, strong and professional. If a business suit does the trick, go for it. But a healthy compromise are jeans, a dressy top and light sweater (hotels are always freezing). As an author, you’re a professional artist/writer/whatever. But you’re not a celebrity or a character. If you don’t believe me, I am promising you that I once talked to an editor about this same phenomena. She said that when someone pitches to her while dressed in pajama bottoms, bunny slippers and her headlights on high beam, it’s very difficult to take that writer seriously.

Bottomline: if you mean business, look the part.

For those of you who are not attending RWA Atlanta, I wrote “The Anti-Conference” for OCC RWA’s Slice of Orange. By the way, I won’t be in Atlanta this year. I’m revising Switchcraft (working title of my July 2007 release) and vacationing with the hub and the Little Dude.

Vaya con Dios,
Mary

I saw Superman this afternoon and it was cool. For once Lois Lane actually saves Superman and there’s a Really Big Secret that I won’t even hint at. But throughout the movie, even during the most tense moments, I kept thinking: so does Wonder Woman show up?

I’ll give you an example … or three. When the plane carrying the space shuttle plummets to earth, Superman tries to steer the plane by holding a wing. Wonder Woman would’ve figured out that the uneven distribution of weight would’ve ripped it off and lost precious time. When Kitty – Lex Luther’s sidekick – acts as a diversion to Superman, Wonder Woman would’ve seen through the cheap feminine wiles and used the lasso of truth on her.

But what really felt like a missed opportunity for me was the ending when Superman passes out and lands in Central Park. That would’ve been awesome if Wonder Woman swooped down and caught him.

Okay, are you shaking your head at me? Now come on, all the boy superheroes have gotten their movies. Spiderman has a trilogy. Batman has had his movies. (What was the last one … the fourth in the last ten years?) X-Men, Ghost Rider and- No, Catwoman doesn’t count because it was unwatchable.

When do us women get a superhero we can cheer for? When does the female protagonist of a superhero movie get to be the one who saves instead of being saved? I really want to see how Princess Diana defies her mother to become the Wonder Woman of the Amazons.

If this post ever finds its way to Joss Whedon, please Mr. Whedon, please give us the Wonder Woman we deserve.

This week I went back to my mariachi story with the critiques from my agent. I had been avoiding it to be honest with you. Reading my work gives me the willies but I force myself to do it and eventually I’m pulled back into the story. But it’s worse when you have someone’s constructive, albiet critical opinion replaying in your head. (I wonder if that’s what it is like if you’re a porn star featured on somewhere like The Cam Site (more here) and have to watch your work?)

Anyway, my writing process is not the most efficient. No matter how much character work I do or outlining, it takes a draft or three to figure out what is holding me back from the core of the story. In the case of the mariachi story, I had this boyfriend character who appeared in the first three chapters and was then never heard from again. I should’ve known because he always bugged me. Was he too much like Ruben Lopez from Hot Tamara? If he was going to work, I had to figure out a way to bring him back into later chapters but then that would slow the story down and-

Finally, I did away with him. And that one simple act led me down the secret staircase into the marrow of my characters. I love and hate it when this happens. I love it because it makes my job easier; hate it because I have a tendency to walk around the house like a ghost not hearing my husband ask me what I want for dinner.

I’m beginning to think that I take the long way around into my stories because I fear losing myself to the characters and the story. I know that sounds very arty-farty. But with every single project I always start one way – for example with In Between Men, I had Isa’s ex suing her for custody and that draft was a real downer! But somewhere in the journey, I find the secret door in the floor that takes me somewhere entirely different.

So I’m about to go back in and see where I end up. This blog is my of delaying the inevitable. Sigh. Don’t you hate being honest with yourself? Well, I’ll try my best not to post this and then go to the Food Network to look up recipes.

Mary

So the other day a friend of mine emailed me, stricken with worry that she was becoming a bitch. I thought about that old nursery rhyme, “Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of!”

When I was in the fourth grade, there was a sixth grader named Angela who was bold, brassy and mean. On a Wednesday lunch period, she called me out for calling her a bitch. (Amy Cole sold me out to her cousin who was a minion of Angela … bitch!) Anyway, even as Angela threatened to kick my ass after school, I secretly envied her for all of her bitchy glory. I wondered what was in her that I lacked. What gave her the balls to just ask for what she wanted and then expect to receive it? (She once ripped off my friend’s black lace glove – it was Madonna’s Lucky Star period – in the middle of recess and never gave it back.)

Well, it took me 30 years to stop trying to be full of sugar and everything nice. I learned to let my spice – the inner bitch – speak up when my nice-girl self wanted to make everything, well, nice.

I didn’t go completely to the dark side. But I went just far enough to – wait for it! – stand up for myself. If I don’t want to talk to a “friend” who only calls when she wants something, I don’t call her back, much less do her another favor. If someone makes me wait an hour for her to show up for an appointment (without a reaonable excuse), I go home. And when some unfortunate soul calls me out, I walk out and let him or her ‘splain themselves.

Would I have done any of those things when I was in my 20’s? Hell, no. However, the phone doesn’t ring as much anymore. My email isn’t as robust as it used to be. If I were going to throw a Fourth of July party, I wouldn’t have as long a list as I might have just a few years ago. And that’s fine with me. When my phone rings, it’s almost always someone I love chatting with, or when I have email messages, I smile as I read them rather than wonder how I can tactfully get out of having to (a) reply or (b) do the favor they want. Last night when I got together with some girlfriends, I kept thinking that I was the luckiest bitch in the world to have friends like them.

But don’t worry. I’m still polite as my mama taught me to be and I’m considerate to the elderly, children and animals. But poop on me or my family and my inner bitch will come roaring out of the bottle to shove it down your throat.

I hope you get better acquainted with your inner bitch. The required reading is That’s Queen Bitch to You, followed by You Say I’m a Bitch Like It’s a Bad Thing!

Cheers,
Mary

P.S. Angela never did make good on her ass-kicking threat. But the last time I saw her, she was five times her size pushing a baby stroller … bitch!