Mary Castillo – audiobook narrator and author
Seriously fun audio and books
Pregnant Pause by Barbara Aliaga from Art.com
“Now don’t get out until I come around with the umbrella,” Dori ordered.
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” Grammy demanded.
“It’s wet outside.”
“So? I ain’t no wicked witch. I ain’t gonna melt.”
Thanks so much for checking out the sneak peek of my upcoming novel, The Guy Upstairs. I’m moving the updated version of this excerpt to the Free Reads section of my soon-to-be relaunched website. If you’d like to be notified when it’s up and ready for you to enjoy, please email me at: [email protected] with the subject line “I want my free read.”
Or, meet Dori and her grammy in the anthology collection, Names I Call My Sister available in print or your favorite eBook!
Thanks,
Mary
“Woman Writing a Letter” by Pierre Duval-lecamus from Art.com
Lately, I’ve been freelancing for Rise Up and Tu Ciudad magazines. In the space of two weeks, I’ve learned about custom motorcycles and cars, HIV/AIDS, libraries, city government, Hindu weddings and World of Warcraft. Not only does the diversity of subjects take me out in the world (as opposed to staying in the one in my head), the money’s good as I write my 8th book.
Anyway, I realized this morning while the Little Dude and I were watching cartoons that it’s earth day or earth week or something like that. A few years ago, I became a green writer by recycling my ink cartridges, using the “track changes” feature in Word as opposed to printing an entire 400-page manuscript and proofing it. Although I still do that occasionally, I make up for it by recycling the paper by printing on both sides of the page.
But all this green stuff got me thinking about the seemingly waste of words that happens when you write like I do, which means that you go through six, seven and eight drafts of a book until it’s ready to go. But when I was interviewing Jose Aponte, the director of the San Diego County Library, he gave me a great quote: “Power is like manure. The more you spread it around, the more successful you’ll be.”
Words are the same way. Crappy drafts invariably lead me to the good stuff, which is why I write as fast as humanly possible when I start the first draft. As I’m writing, I know it’s crap. The sentences are stilted and the pages are usually lines and lines of dialogue. But I’ve learned to accept it and just keep going because eventually, I’ll get it right by discovering a character’s motivation or stumbling on an action or thought that makes a scene come to life. There are passages of my books that survive from draft one to the final book (the first scene of Hot Tamara was just wordsmithed from the first draft to final copyedit). There are also passages that I lift from my earlier, will-be-destroyed-upon-my-death books that I like to call my organ donors.
But every “wrong” word and dead-end scene or subplot are the manure for a more colorful, resonant story. In short, when you stall out and have to start again, please don’t think you’ve wasted time and energy. You, in the words of Thomas Edison “…have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”
Oh and I should tell you that this Saturday, Margo Candela, Jamie Martinez and I will be at the California Comadrazo. Check it out.
But if you can’t make it, spend the day before Mother’s Day with us at ChimMaya Gallery on Saturday, May 10th.
“Ask Newmann, He Knows” from Art.com
This happened to me when I wrote In Between Men … I went through two full drafts and with each draft something died inside me when I hit Act II. But I was persistent back then and thought I could force the story to go exactly the way I wanted it to. Finally, I realized two things: stories must change and evolve (for me, anyway) and Act II is the place where bad ideas go to die.
Last week, the same thing happened with The Guy Upstairs. I finished the first draft, spent a lot of time fleshing out a revision plan and then got to work. I was cruising along through Act I, but with that dragging feeling in my gut that I ignored because I was convinced that I had the story down. But as I neared Act II, the threads unraveled and it became more and more apparent that the story wasn’t working. Sure enough, it died at page 100.
But I’m glad it happened now as opposed at the end of a tepid second draft. With In Between Men, I had to go back into a third draft where I discovered that I wasn’t telling the right story. (Originally, it was about Isa fighting for custody of her son.) The story that needed to be told was about a woman who falls victim to her own recklessness and yet, without that recklessness she would never have changed her life. This discovery made the writing more difficult, not to mention longer.
When The Guy Upstairs ran aground, I realized that I had better do a writer’s version of stop, drop and roll. I stopped writing and went outside to work on my garden (we planted four types of tomatoes, squash and herbs). Within two hours of refusing to think about the book, I realized what The Guy Upstairs is really about. But I wouldn’t take notes for two days because the other thing I’ve learned is that once you start writing it down, the committee upstairs starts hacking away at your babies.
I’ve been writing the new story since Sunday and the idea has been gaining momentum. The committee grumbles when I sit down to write (which it always does), but my gut tingles with excitement and the heroine’s voice becomes much more distinct and alive. I’ve written about twenty pages of new material and I think this is it.
Or, I’m full of it and still have no idea what the hell I’m doing.
I guess I’ll know for certain when I reach page 100.
If you regularly read this blog, you’ve heard me talk about a Mariachi book that I’ve been working on. (If this doesn’t sound familiar, check out the sneak peek that was part of the Chica Lit Valentine’s Day Tour.)
I just about fell out of my chair when I heard about Compañeras, the upcoming PBS series Independent Lens documentary about Mariachi Reyna de Los Angeles, America’s first all-female mariachi, founded in 1994. Hosted by Terrence Howard, the show will air at 10 p.m. on April 1, 2008.
The most prominent of Mexican mariachi – Mariachi del Sol and Mariachi Vargas de Tecalitan – are presently and historically all male. Female mariachi are still frowned upon or considered a joke in Mexico. When I wrote The Ballad of Aracely Calderon, my challenge was to help the readers understand what an uproar it would be if a woman – in Aracely’s case, an American-born daughter of a family of mariachi – took the lead of such a prestigious mariachi group … even in 2008. But when I saw Linda Ronstadt ride a train on-stage during her performance in Canciones de Mi Padre, she was like a queen and I kept that image in my head as I wrote Aracely. To me, female mariachi are regal. The fact that they persist in spite of the misogynist attitude of their male counterparts makes them heroes in my eyes.
As for my book, The Ballad of Aracely Calderon, I’ve decided to dress up like a mariachi for my new author photo!
“The Ballad of Aracely Calderon” by Mary Castillo, http://marycastillo.blogspot.com/2008/02/por-un-amor.html
“The Painting” by Mayra Calvani, http://www.thedarkphantom.wordpress.com/
“A Box of Valentines” by Jamie Martinez Wood, http://jamiemartinezwood.blogspot.com/
“Missed Connections” by Margo Candela, http://www.margocandela.blogspot.com/
“Dream Catch Me” by Barbara Caridad Ferrer, http://fashionista-35.livejournal.com/
On Tuesday I went to the local history room of the National City Public Library to start researching for my book. My first discovery was my Grandma Nana’s (my great grandmother) address in the city directory for 1929. I also found my great great great grandmother’s listing and realized that she lived three blocks down from my Grandma Nana (her grand daughter). The librarian gave me a list of the oral histories done in the 1980’s and there was my Great Uncle John who used to ride down to visit my Grandma Mary (my mom’s mom) on his Harley. He was in his late 70’s at the time.
Listening to his tape, I uncovered a family secret. My Grandma Mary told my mom that she had been born in Mazatlan. According to my Great Uncle John, they were born in San Ysidro and then taken to Mazatlan by an Aunt Catalina who registered them as Mexican citizens. The plan was that their parents would return to Mexico. But when the revolution broke out in 1911, she hightailed it out of Mexico and brought them back to San Diego. A few years later in 1913, their father was shot and killed in a gambling hall, forcing my Great Grandmother Inez to work in a Chinese laundry from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. every day for $1 per day. My Great Uncle John, then 11 years old, went to work for Japanese farmer so his mother wouldn’t have to work so hard.
I could go on with more stories but there’s something magical and poignant about finding the people who gave you the color of your hair or the shape of your chin in an 80 year-old phone book. Suddenly, they’re not blurry faces in old photos, or names on county documents. They’re people who lived. When I heard about my widowed great grandmother who couldn’t read or write, and could understand English but not speak it (or Chinese, presumably) having to wash laundry to support her two children … man, that puts my problems in perspective!
But it also makes me so proud and yet, so humble. Ever since Tuesday, I walk through my house with such an appreciation for my education, my home and the Little Dude’s toys that litter every room. I think about the books that are on the shelves in front of me, around me and on the floor and that I can write these words when almost a 100 years ago, my great grandmother was boiling clothes and then scrubbing them on a board. (What did she think about, I keep wondering.) I thought my mariachi book would be the most special story I’d ever written. But this new story that I’m working on is taking me into new territory. So I hope you won’t be bored as I share my stories along the journey.
Best,
Mary
“Saint Cast” by Peryber @ Art.com
Well its the last day of our BIAW. There might be one or two of us out there who will reach the goal, but I can say for myself that I’ll probably come in short. If you want to know all the salacious details, join The WIPS where I think most of us are reporting our numbers.
However, I want to say this: be grateful for every word that has come and will come to you. Cherish those words even if they hadn’t multiplied or they merely cracked the surface of what you were hoping to express. Why? Because they come from you; they’re gifts to yourself and eventually (we all hope) to the readers who want a good yarn.
If you find it hard to sit down to write today because you’ll just be adding a few pages to a goal you don’t have a prayer in meeting (pointing to self), think on this Japanese proverb:
When there is no wind, row.
Back in September I had a tarot card reading. Some of the predictions came to pass, others I would venture to say were “misinterpreted.” (When you spend $40 on that sort of frivolity, rationalizing is a great skill.)
So I went to The Observation Deck and asked the cards what they needed us to know during our BIAW. The card I pulled advised: Study opening lines.
From the book:
You have a world of powerful teachers sitting on the bookshelves in your house right now. Pick up a favorite book and look at the opening lines. Who is speaking? How does the book begin? What has the author done to draw you in? How does the opening relate to the end of the story?
But if you’re not at the start of your book, perhaps today you’ll start a new scene or a chapter. If you close your eyes and imagine your character, what is the first thing out of his or her mouth? What is she or he thinking in that moment in time? What do they see? Are they touching something or someone? Write it down.
This is my unedited, off-the-cuff opening of chapter 24 of my WIP:
Dori walked up the front door of Starbucks on the corner of F and Fifth streets. Her fingers wrapped around the door handle and as if she were in a dream, she slowly opened the door and the smell of coffee wrapped around her, drawing her in. She blinked and then saw her, the mother of the woman she’d shot and killed three weeks ago waiting at a table by the window.
It might be rewritten. It might become scene two of chapter 26 in the final draft or I may cut the scene all together. (These things happen.) But after writing that paragraph, I have to find out what Dori will say when she walks up to that woman’s table. Will she say, “hi, how are you?” or will she sit down? I don’t yet know but I can’t wait to find out.
What are your first lines today?
Amy – 16 pages; total 18 pages
Erica – 4 pages; total 8 pages + one watercolor painting
Lainey – 2 pages + 7 pages of a new short!
Liz – 5 pages; total 9 pages
Mary – 11 pages; total 21 pages
Steve – 1,000 words; total 2,100 words
Tena – 6 pages
Keep ’em coming!