Possibilities

It’s strange how we forget much of our lives over the course of time. At various ages, we are more impressionable, so the details are clearer—the smell of a new box of crayons, or newly sharpened number two pencils still fills me with the excited nervousness of starting a new school year. The scent of Coppertone makes me instantly sleepy, as it conjures up the warm sun, salty ocean water, the dissonance of scratchy transistor radios, and the sting of sunburned shoulders. To this day, when I smell jasmine or carnations, I’m sixteen again, with life stretching out in front of me, brimming with endless possibility.

Then there’s the decade when I was so busy working and raising a family, that the years passed by in a blur of birthing children, changing diapers and folding laundry. I used to think I was happy to leave those years behind, but to this day, the scent of Johnson’s baby shampoo and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches instantly makes me long for the time when my children were small.

There are years that help me mentally categorize my life: graduation from high school and college; my father’s death, when I met my husband; when I married him. All the years of my children’s births. The year my youngest was diagnosed with cancer.

And now 2020.

In 2019, in anticipation of the remarkable year to come, I had spent a good amount of time creating some pretty rich fantasies in my mind. My novel, LOST IN OAXACA was set to launch in April, 2020— a life-changing event for me, to say the least. There would be a huge book signing at our local Indy bookstore, followed by a launch party featuring Oaxacan food and drink. Friends and family would come from all over to celebrate my success. I could imagine the smell the mole negro, pan de Yalálag, chocolate and mezcal that was going to be served at the party of a lifetime.

Unfortunately, 2020 had other plans.

¡Pinche pedazo de mierda, 2020! (FYI, you’ll get that reference if you read the first page of my novel.)

The pandemic changed our lives pretty rapidly. My husband (a first grade teacher) began to teach from home—not an easy task. I started teaching piano lessons from an iPad that someone loaned me. The smell of bleach, hand sanitizer and alcohol wipes permeated our lives. We ran out of toilet paper. Two of my adult children moved home. I won’t go into the details—you know the story—you’ve lived it, too. Over time, we’ve learned to deal with our depression and anxiety.

But where my pandemic story has been one of personal disappointment, it has not been one of death and loss. While one of my daughters tested positive for Covid-19 and had to quarantine upstairs in our bedroom for two weeks, (she was asymptomatic) we did not have to deal with hospitalization or death. While I have not been able to hug one of my other daughters for a very long time, I have been able to visit with her outdoors while masked and socially distancing. I can’t even imagine the pain that so many people have endured—not being able to hold their loved one’s hand while they lay dying in the hospital. My husband lost multiple cousins and other family members to this insidious disease. Our hearts ache for the loss their families have experienced.

And while it’s not over yet, there is hope. People are getting vaccinated. My 84 year-old mother remains healthy and has received her two shots. Two of my daughters who work in health care have been vaccinated as well. My husband has received his first dose. Hopefully I’ll be eligible in the next wave.

We will persevere. Our government is finally taking care of business. If all goes to plan, we will get back to some normalcy and be able to spend time with our loved ones this summer.

The smell of blooming jasmine in the air again, and while I’m closer to sixty than to sixteen, the fog is beginning to lift, and I can once again see the possibility that life has to offer. I fully believe that after all we’ve been through, we will soon have the opportunity to create many wonderful new memories.

And they will be sweeter and more magical than we could have ever imagined.

Hang onto your copies of LOST IN OAXACA for me to sign. We are most definitely having that party someday soon— including the shots of mezcal!

Pub Day!

Well, my big day is here. And during a pandemic, too. When I started this blog almost nine years ago, I never truly believed I had it in me to actually write a novel, let alone publish it. Well, to hell with that woman who had so little faith!

Here’s a link to my story, although if you’ve been reading this blog for all these years, you already know it.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, dear readers! You’ve been with me this long journey and I am so grateful for you consistent support. Here’s a link to my story:

Women Writers, Women’s Books

I truly hope you enjoy reading Lost in Oaxaca! 

Now on to the next book. Lord help me.

Postponement

Two weeks from today, Jessica Winters Mireles’ novel, Lost in Oaxaca will be released. This is a pretty big deal for Mireles, a middle-aged piano teacher who dreamed of being a published writer from a very young age.

Lost in Oaxaca was born over seven years ago, when Mireles sat down to write a paragraph about a young woman who finds herself stuck on a bus in the mountains of Oaxaca. During this time, Mireles experienced some fictitious bliss, but, like most writers and artists, faced her demons of insecurity on a daily basis. Ultimately, she was gratified that not only did she actually finish Lost in Oaxaca, but that it evolved into an uplifting story of love, adventure, and cross-cultural identity.

Mireles’ long labor of literary love was going to be celebrated with a book signing/launch at Chaucer’s, the beloved Indy bookstore cherished by Santa Barbara locals on Wednesday, April 20, 2020. No doubt the event would’ve been a huge gathering of friends and family, and Mireles would have been the reigning queen from approximately 7:00-9:00 p.m. A great lover of attention, Mireles would have certainly been in her element.

Unfortunately, an unexpected and devastating pandemic has caused Mireles’ big day to be postponed to a later date. While disappointed, Mireles realizes that her problems are nowhere near as dire as what others are facing at this current time, so she will gracefully accept her fate. She trusts that her friends will support Chaucer’s Bookstore by ordering a copy of Lost in Oaxaca for themselves, and maybe an additional copy for a friend or relative. She promises to sign each and every book should someone request it.

Mireles, a piano teacher for over thirty years, also knows that the best way to keep a business growing is by word of mouth. She is hoping that if you enjoy her book, you will spread the word by suggesting to your friends that they order a copy from Chaucer’s, who will even ship it to your house! Mireles is crossing her fingers that you will consider helping her with her publicity by posting on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram about how much you loved the book. Share away! And if you’re feeling really generous, a five-star review on Amazon or Goodreads would be greatly appreciated.

Mireles certainly understands that her book may not be everyone’s cup of tea. Some may even dislike it intensely. If this happens, she requests that the dissatisfied reader please keep their displeasure to themselves, and attempt to refrain from reviewing it in any way, shape or form.

Mireles also wants her readers to know how very much she loves and appreciates them. It’s been a long road, and while she may have hit a temporary road block, she’s bound to be on her way again shortly. In the meantime, there’s plenty of time to read these days!

You can absolutely count on Jessica Winters Mireles to keep you posted on the date of her rescheduled book signing!

https://www.chaucersbooks.com/

Liar, Liar

Writing is not fun. The people who tell you, Oh, I love to write so much that wish I could spend all day doing it are lying. Because if they had the time to write all day long, they would use every distraction at their disposal to avoid actually writing something. I know this, because I am one of those liars myself.

Right now, while I may actually be writing something, it’s not what I’m supposed to be writing. I’m supposed to be starting my next novel. In fact, I should’ve started it ages ago—or at least created a substantial outline of what I want it to be. At this point, even a completed paragraph would be good.

Unfortunately, when you complete your first novel, and it’s about to be published, it’s assumed you’ve been at this writing thing since you were twelve, and that you have a minimum of two or three completed manuscripts in the bottom of a desk drawer somewhere that you can pull out, polish up a bit, and send off to your publisher.

Insert eye roll emoji here.

I really do want to start my next book. And I actually have a general idea of what I want to write about. It’s just that it’s a sensitive subject that’s close to my heart, which makes it that much more scary and overwhelming. I’m not afraid of expressing vulnerability, but I do worry too much about what others think of me. Especially since I’m a two on the Enneagram scale (truly weird how accurate this test is) which means my personality makes me only want to please. https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-2.

While the topic of my next novel may not please everyone, maybe it will help others, which is also part of my personality type. So I ask myself—which is more important—pleasing, or helping? With all the hate and division going on in the world these days, I think I’ll stick with helping.

Okay I’m done. I’m posting this, and then I swear, I’m not getting up from the computer until I write an entire page. Or maybe a paragraph. Or at least one really great sentence.

I’ll keep you posted.

Lost in Oaxaca

What Now?

I’ve loved books forever. As a young girl, I was never without something to read. Whether it was a library book (best smell in the world, in my opinion) my brother’s tattered MAD Magazines or the back of a cereal box, I devoured words. Books allowed me to escape into a world of my own choosing; they took me on adventures, they let me be somebody else for a little while when it was too painful to be me.

As a kid, my dream was either to become a concert pianist or a writer. I ended up pursuing music because I was pretty good at it, although I don’t think I was ever competitive enough to make it as a concert artist. Instead, I became a piano teacher. Truthfully, I’m glad I chose that path as it allowed me the chance to raise my four children while I worked from home.

My other dream–the writing dream–never did die out, though. For years I fantasized about writing a novel but never did anything about it–either I was too busy or the fear of failure stopped me before I even wrote that first sentence. That changed when my youngest daughter was diagnosed with cancer. I’ve beaten that story into the ground so I won’t rehash it, but I will say that experience was the turning point for me. The lesson was obvious: time is short so follow your passion.

I got to it. I began blogging. I published an essay in a small magazine and one in an online publication. Nothing big, but it was a start. I blogged some more. Then I sat down and began writing a novel. I blogged some more and got better at my writing.  I joined a writer’s group and shared my stuff. They liked it. Now, ninety thousand words later, I have actually finished a novel.

Now what?

Here comes the hard part. Being new at this trying to get your noel published game, it’s like I’m starting back at square one. Everyone has opinions on what to do: send out queries; find and agent; no, no–don’t do that–self publish instead! I know someone who knows someone who knows someone who can help you.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter what happens. I wrote a novel and I loved the process of writing it. I didn’t do it for the money or the glory (well maybe a little.) I did it because there was something inside of me pushing to get the story out. I did it because I couldn’t not do it any longer.

Dear readers, I thank you for hanging in there with me over the past several years, always encouraging me to keep going. I value your support more than I can ever express. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

Now if I can only come up with a decent title for the damn thing.