About Dreams and Resolutions

So, the bell has chimed for the last time for 2014 and 2015 has come to pick up the slack. Everybody who isn't talking about the Golden Globes is talking about their resolutions for the year that's just begun. Through the years I've learned hard resolutions just don't work for me. Instead of focusing my energy into designing a plan with hard numbers (like, say, "To write X amount of words daily"), I aim at doing better than the year that has just ended.

I appreciate the value some people find in doing such plans or resolutions, and if it works for you then all the more power. However, most people keep kinda recycling the list of things they want to do, but for some reason they just never have accomplished. This practice, in my opinion, discourages people who feel that they will never get these specific goals so why even try. Let's be honest, a writer can never write "the perfect" story, no reader can ever read all the books in their TBR pile, no woman will ever consider herself thin enough, and no human ever will sleep enough, eat healthy enough, or exercise enough. These are empty endeavors, so why not instead measure yourself not against your dreams, but against the actual you?

It is an excellent idea to take this time to pause and weight the good and the bad of the last twelve months. Are you satisfied with the way things went? Where did you go wrong? Where did you go right? These are valuable questions that can help you find out the areas where you need to work, and to celebrate your accomplishments. To write more than last year, read more than last year, and eat less than last year is something doable. To become the next Stephen King and look like Kate Moss by the summer is not.

And so, I kicked off 2015 with very simply, yet challenging plans: To finish my novel's 1st draft, to submit more than ten stories through out the year, to make it to at least one writer's convention, and to read at least 18 books. This will be the year I try to break the genre barrier by submitting to literary journals as well as horror magazines, I'll keep developing my craft by enrolling in a creative writing class/course, and I'll participate in the April A to Z Blogging Challenge.

So, there. It seems like I'm going to be a very busy writer... because 2014 was totally relaxing! Wish me luck!

What are your plans/resolutions for 2015?

Uncertainties

There's an old saying in Spanish: "There's no date that doesn't arrive, term that won't reach an end, nor debt that doesn't get paid." So far in my life, I have found that these are words you can live by. As much as you dread a moment, a meeting, a change, you can't stop time from slipping by, getting you closer to that date with each ticking of the clock. As long and hard as a that gloomy period in your life seems to be, it'll reach an end and the sun will shine once more. And that last one, debts that have to be paid, looks a lot like karma--which I blindly believe in.

So, yeah. I find comfort in those words that have been repeated a million times over through centuries. They still ring true today. Actually, if you think about it, every uncertainty that enters your life walks by the hand of inevitability. Funny how two concepts so seemingly opposed can be in reality so closely related...

But why am I writing about this, you ask? Well, after all that stressing and depressing, our relocation to Montreal from Connecticut has finally arrived. We're here, in temporary housing while we hunt for the perfect house. We arrived to the West Island section of Montreal a week ago and it looks awesome. I don't know if I'm in denial or if my expectations of the move were so bleak that almost anything is good, but I actually am happy with the way things are going.

West Island is a predominantly anglophone area, which helps a lot to my positive thinking. We've heard amazing things of the school district and Welcome Programs in the elementary school, which has gone to relief at least 50% of the nightmares I was having. Finally, the area is so far from downtown Montreal--a good and a bad thing in itself--that it has the feeling of a small european town from a hundred years ago. Beautiful!

I know harder times are coming as school starts soon and my kids, who know less than the basics of french, will have to attend an all-french school. Still, I'm trying to concentrate on the positives. I'm determined to go back to that novel I've been working on for forever, and that means I won't be writing short stories for some time, but just the clicking, soft touch of the keys on my fingers feel so good! I missed writing so much and hadn't even realized it.

What can I tell to all of you reading this that are going through some stressful time? Confront your demons, grab the bull by the horns, embrace the inevitable. Dreading the fact will only bring you nightmares and a hell of an ulcer. If you take action and move forward, it might still be a trying time, but at least you'll be working on the solution.


Remember that IWSG is an awesome group where writers of all genres, published or still in the making, share their knowledge and support other writers. Help spread the love and visit the rest of the participating blogs, just click on the dedicated page of this blog. As always, thanks to ninja warrior Alex J. Cavanaugh for creating the group. Now go on and click.

My Whacky Dreams. Stressing Over Writing

Last night I had the whackiest dream since I decided to pursue a writing career. Because whacky is exactly what this blog needs--way too serious lately--as soon as I woke up, I decided I had to share it with you in all its crazy glory. Now, if you follow me, you know I always have something like five different projects going at the same time. All of them in different stages of (in)completion. Well, these days the number is more like ten. Yes, I'm working on nine different short stories and one novel. This makes me a very busy, worried, and sometimes confused writer. Two of these stories have me throwing my arms up in despair. I simply don't know how to take the story where I want it to go in an organic fashion, but what does this have to do with last night's crazy fest, you ask?

Well, judge for yourselves.

In my dream I was in a messy apartment. It was an old building in Mexico City. I knew because the walls were made of cement and the window panes were very thin. Around them, a black aluminum frame was held steady into the wall openings by a film of silicone. It was also clear to me that the owner of the place was a reader and a writer. Books were piled up all over the place. Scribbled notes littered the floor and every flat surface.

Kind of like Mr. Morris Lessmore's but creepier

I was wondering how the hell I had gotten there when Harlan Ellison walked in from his bedroom. Yes, by the look of things I was standing in the middle of the multi-awarded, writer of more that 1,700 short stories, and ground-breaking sci-fi anthologist Harlan Ellison's living/dinning room area. Apparently, he and I were on a first name basis, because he didn't threatened me with a baseball bat or tried to call the police. In fact, he acted as if he already knew I was there.

In his hands he held a manuscript, not too big but enough for it to be a short story. He seemed excited and proceeded to tell me all about it. That's when I remembered it was MY story. I had pitched it to him, seeking his advise to resolve the impasse in the plot I seemed to have reached. And what had the bastard done? Take it and write it as if it was his own.

Sonofabitch.

Good thing I didn't tell him the final twist. At least I could use that for a different story, right?  But wait, he kept talking all animated and sooo friendly. Maybe I had misinterpreted him. What if he planned to publish the story like a co-author thing? I mean, Harlan Ellison can publish whatever the hell he wants and if my name gets attached to his... Bum! A career is born. Also, it is more than a bit flattering to hear such enthusiasm from a renown writer about a story you came up with.

So I played along, all excited to see what he wrote. Of course I said yes when he invited me to grab a bite on the restaurant a few blocks from his house! Are you kidding me? Harlan, mah man!

"We'll discuss more of the details there", he says.

Aaaaand then my alarm clock woke me up.

Whoo! What a dream! But you wanna know what takes this whole thing to the next level of weirdness? First of all, and this goes without saying, but either way: I have never met Harlan Ellison. In fact, I have never read anything of his. *face reddens in shame* Also, Ellison's mean streak is infamous! He is abrasive and argumentative, and reputedly a bit full of himself. He in fact has described himself as "possibly the most contentious person on earth."

Sounds like the perfect person to ask for help, doesn't he?

The story he was so excited about is in fact a mish-mash of the two stories I was telling you about at the beginning. And to top it all off, my stupid alarm clock woke me up before Harlan spilled the beans on how to pass that roadblock I'm stuck on!

So what do you think? Do you have any strange dreams you care to share?

IWSG to the Rescue

I've been absent quite a bit lately. The first two months of the year are usually hard for me as I find my way into the productive streak of before Christmas break. This year has been particularly hard, you can tell because it is April and I haven't found my grove. Last week I thought I had it back, I wrote one third of a new story, completely plotted two more, and put in shape the outline for the novel I'm currently working in. Good, right? Then disaster stroke. I was informed that there is a very high probability that the place I call home now, won't be so for long. We'll probably need to relocate to another country as soon as this August.

Now, this might seem like not so tragic, certainly not writing-related. The thing is that we've moved quite a bit in the past nine years and I'm tired. When we came back to Ct and bought a house, I settled. I let my heart set roots. I pictured my kids running and playing around our beautiful pond until they were too old to be interested in mud pies. I made friends and felt part of the community. Now all that's about to change. Wherever we go, we have to start over, and we ain't coming back. That breaks my heart and has made it very difficult for me to concentrate in my writing.

There are so many things to take care off, so many goodbyes to say. I'm in a constant state of shock and sadness. I also know I have to snap out of it, my writing awaits and I can't keep making excuses to not go back to my projects.

I'll get past this. We'll get past this. And in the meantime, maybe killing off some character can prove therapeutic. Right?

IWSG is the brain child of ninja master, Alex Cavanaugh. Please stop by the many other blogs participating and share a few words of encouragement. The complete list can be found on the corresponding page on the top portion of this blog.

The Mystery of the Somerton Man and Why my OCD Slows my Writing

So April's just around the corner--hopefully with some warm weather in tow--and my next story scheduled for publication is coming along with it. The story, called TAMAM SHUD, will be published by Padwolf Publishing as part of their anthology Lucky 13.

When the editor contacted me a year ago, I was invited to write a Mystery/Noir story for them. "What, me? Mystery? But... but I write horror..." I said. To myself, of course. There was no way in freaking hell that I'd reject this opportunity, right? I mean, this was only the second time a venue asked me for a story! My short answer to them was "When do you need it for?"

And so began my struggle to find a non-paranormal story worth telling. Now, I like to have nuggets of historical facts in all of my stories. If you do it right, the combination of fact and fiction lends itself to a "Blair Witch Project effect" where the reader starts to wonder what came out of the writer's mind, and what did actually happen. And that's a lot of fun, but very hard to pull off. And time-consuming.

I jumped into two week-long, fifteen-hours-a-day internet search for just the perfect mystery that tickled my fancy. By day four I was exhausted and stressed out of my mind.

Then, when I was about to lose my faith, I found a blog about The Mystery of the Somerton Man. Angels sang in a chorus, and a ray of heavenly sun touched my screen. Considered one of the biggest mysteries of the last century, it has inspired volumes of books, blogs, and millions of house-bound sleuths. And because I know what kind of a creepy-stuff-lover you are, here are the facts to that story.

Also known as the Tamam Shud Case, it began at 6:30 in the morning of December 1st, 1948 in Somerton Beach, Australia. Police were called after the body of a man was found lying on the beach under a street lamp. The dead man was wearing a dress shirt, black suit pants, no jacket, and neither his shoes or socks had any sand on them.

Did I tell you he was found on a beach? And I don't mean on the edge of the beach where you sit to smoke a cigarette and enjoy the view, but way inside the beach where you go to work on your tan. Wearing work clothes.

But it gets better...

Police found no wallet or ID, only a used bus ticket and an unused train ticket. While the forensic team worked on the autopsy, police went to that train station and retrieved a single piece of luggage the man had left in consign. No luck finding a person to identify him.

Upon their return, police learned that all of the tags from the man's clothes had been previously cut. There were no signs of a violent death or any other apparent cause for the man to stop breathing. The only clue found was a piece of paper hidden inside a secret pocket on the man's trousers. It said TAMAM SHUD, which is Persian and means "Finished" or "Ended". Inside the suitcase they found the missing jacket, yet again with the tags removed and no means of identification.

Eventually investigators found out the piece of paper was actually from a very rare copy of an old Persian book of poems called The Rubaiyat by Omar Kahyyam. The rest of the book was found on the back seat of a car. The car owner didn't even know the book was there. He had driven around the beach area on the evening before, searching for a friends house. Inside the book, a note was scribbled. In code. No one has ever been able to decipher it.

Think you can crack it? Fame can be yours!

But what was the cause of death? Well poisoning, maybe. A half digested pastry was found on the man's stomach, but when tested for every poison known to man, the lab came back with a resounding "Heck if we know."

And now you see why this creepy and baffling mystery was the perfect inspiration for my first Mystery/Noir tale.

If like me you have to know everything there is to this case, follow the link. There's plenty more mysteries I didn't write here. Maybe later you can share with me your theories...

Being Thankful

Source: Forgotten Love by Marcus Quigmire

Death affects me very deeply. I know, who is left without tears upon the death of someone close, right? It's human nature. You may shed tears, you may carry the scars on the inside, but we are all affected by the loss of life.

And then, there's me. . .

When I was in high school, a girl I disliked very much came to school crying. A friend of hers had died the previous night in an accident. I overheard her telling the story and I cried with her. We became close friends after that. That's the kind of person I am, I take death too hard. My family never shares those kinds of news with me unless they're right there to see me through. But just as I become depressed and saddened, I find a way to ease my pain. I like to pay some form of tribute to the deceased; then, with time, the sadness fades.

Death has twice changed me profoundly, affecting the way I live my life, but I won't go into details; at least not today. Today, I want to share with you a third occurrence that, in similar fashion to my high school story, has brought me a present.

About three years ago, I received news of the passing of a close uncle. He'd been sick for a very long time so it wasn't a surprise, maybe even a blessing. As always, I was left with a profound melancholy. As a way to work through the dark moments, and because I hadn't been able to say goodbye, I wrote a piece of flash fiction. Three paragraphs that acknowledged his suffering, a small token that said: I won't forget. When the pain went away, I worked on the piece. I edited and added details, some fictional, but always thinking of him. The story is called IN THE END. Today I signed a contract with Dark Moon Books; the story will be part of Dark Moon Digest, issue 14.

I am very happy, also thankful. I can't stop thinking this comes from him. My promise stands; I won't forget, his memory won't fade away. And now, he lives on in a piece of paper within the infinite confines of the written word.

A Liebster Award to Start an Awesome Week

The amazing Yolanda Renee at DEFENDING THE PEN just nominated this humble blog for a new Inspirational Liebster Blog Award and that's awesome. The best way to start a week, even if you are an extremely tired, overwhelmed writer like me. It made me smile and think that I'm moving in the right direction with this blog, and my writing life.

Yolanda is a great blogger with tons of amazing book suggestions and interesting context for everyone who likes to read. She also happens to be about to release not one, but two of her own books: MURDER, MADNESS, AND LOVE in August, and MEMORIES OF MURDER in September. You can learn all about them here.

So, the rules for this award are:

1. Display logo in your blog to show you've been nominated!

2. Link back to your nominator.

3. Share 7 things about yourself. 

4. Nominate 7 other bloggers for the award. 

5. Notify your nominees. 

I also have to answer to 11 questions. So, without further ado, here are my answers...

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
           Mexico City
WHERE ARE YOU LIVING NOW?
           Connecticut
IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
           Orange
LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
           Warm Bodies
WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
           THREE MILES PAST by Stephen Graham Jones
THE POWER GOES OUT.  IT WILL BE OUT FOR SEVERAL HOURS. WHAT DO YOU DO WITH YOURSELF?
           Grab a book and read, while the girls are happy and self-entertained. If the hubby is close by, we'll just talk our heads off until we're sleepy, or the girls need us
WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
           La Oreja de VanGogh (Spanish pop group)
GREATEST STRUGGLE AS A WRITER?
          When to stop tweaking a story. It can always be better, right?
WHAT IS THE ONE BOOK YOU THINK EVERYONE SHOULD READ?
           If you like horror, you need to read Algernon Blackwood and Dracula. If you like fantasy, read Jules Verne. Whatever your genre, read the classics. They were the innovators, theirs were the original stories. The rest of us are just trying to not mess things up.
IF YOU COULD BE ONE OF THE GREEK GODS WHO WOULD YOU BE AND WHY?
           I don't know much about Greek Gods, but how about Isis of the Egyptian pantheon? I like a strong matriarch who's not beneath cutting the balls off a jerk. And now you know why I write horror...
WEIRDEST THING YOU'VE EVER BEEN TOLD BY A FORTUNE COOKIE?
           Don't remember a single one of 'em. I don't put much stock in fortune, though

SEVEN RANDOM FACTS ABOUT ME:

1. I lack the span of attention necessary to knit. I started several scarfs through my youth. Never once did I finish.
2. Egypt was the first place I went on vacation with my own money, which I earned working at a Starbucks for a year, and selling my car.
3. I love horror everything and that's mostly what I read, yet the first novel I outlined was a Romance/Family Saga. I'm still working on it.
4. I'm a Libra and my husband is a Libra. Making decisions in this family takes a long time, but we have plenty 'artistic outbursts' (read tantrums).
5. I played with Barbies until I was fourteen years old.
6. I'm in love with Vincent Price's voice. I mean, c'mon! Thriller, anyone?
7. I used to read Tarot Cards when I was in my early twenties, but after a series of strange events I stopped. Never charged a dime. For years old 'clients' wrote to tell me how things I'd told them came to happen.

There you go. Fun, Fun, Fun! Now, for my nominees...

Lexa Cain - 

Mina Lobo at Some Dark Romantic

Nicole Singer at Write Me a Word

Elizabeth Twist -

These are all ladies with unique voices, amazing intellect, and a whole lot to say. Do not miss their blogs!

And for those reading this post, thank you for making my blogging life such an enriching experience. I treasure each of your comments. Most of the time you offer me great comfort and support. Here's to another hundred awards and a million publications!

Inherently Weird. The puzzling Past of a Horror Writer

I've been attracted to death, ghostly visitors, and paranormal stories for as long as I can remember. Where does this fascination come, I have no idea, but while other kids played on their bikes or read funny comics, I was obsessed with witchcraft and read scary stories. The only way to entice me to read was to dangle in front of me stories of the sort, and so my mom introduced me to A CHRISTMAS CARROL and ghostly mystery stories for kids. 

Yeah, I know, I was weird. But before all that, my most distant memory and the way I was possibly introduced to the concept of horror was through a series of nightmares. I must have been about seven and had experienced nightmares before. This, however, was a totally different thing. Now, I know what you'll say, but my parents were not divorcing, I had no reason to feel stressed, and people didn't talk about horror themes with any of us children around. So no, there was no reason for my "Nightmare Attack."

It was only one nightmare, but it besieged me for eight months. It always started with me sitting alone in a small boat, drifting through a calm river. The water was so crystalline I could see colorful rocks on the bottom and the landscape was beautiful. But I was afraid, didn't know why, just simply afraid. Without any apparent reason, the water started to turn red, little by little until it was all the color of blood. I looked around for the cause and realized that at the bottom of the river laid severed hands. Completely terrorized, I jumped out of the boat and swam to land, running like crazy until I was facing a hill. I climbed it only to find a Roman soldier on the top that confronted me with a spear, threatening to kill me. The floor was littered with corpses and I knew I could not escape. Then I woke up, screaming and crying. Every night.

You can imagine that after a month, my mother could no longer dismiss the nightmares and became really worried. I don't remember much of what she told to me or the different remedies that we tried. All I know is that about six months in, she started to pray with me every night. The more we did, the calmer I felt when going to sleep, and the more the nightmares drifted away. Until one day, there were nightmares no more.

Now, I'm not saying it was prayer that took them away, at least not per se. I think it was the positive images and reassuring words that finally got to me. What intrigues me really is their origin and why then I became so intrigued by the unearthly. It is a passion that has always tugged on me, sometimes as a positive influence like in my writing, sometimes in a very negative way... but that is material for another post.

So, is it truly genetics all that pushes us? What amazing experiences shape us in all different ways and what brings them in the first place? Do you have one such amazing influence in your life? I can't wait to hear about it.

Enjoy your weekend!

Just for the Fun or The Things a Mom Does for Her Kids

This weekend the family will go skiing. A few months ago a dear friend asked me if we would like to go with them to Okemo, Vermont. We did it a couple of years ago and had a blast, so I jumped at the chance. Believe me, it couldn't have been better timed if I had tried. I mean, my brain is about to go belly up and my new crime story is making me sweat bricks. Who knew writing outside your comfort zone will be so hard?

Anyway, I'm happy and positive that the brake will work wonders on me. I can already picture myself going down the slope. Yeah, you read that right, I said slope. The shortest, easiest, like one degree more of inclination than the kiddy slope. That's my ride. Nope, I don't really sky that well and nope, I'm not ashamed that my eight-year-old will son go down harder rides than mine. I'm self-assured like that.

In fact, I'm terrified of heights, reason why the lifts make my heart pound like crazy. I also have a mini heart attack every time I have to go off the damn thing. I mean, would it take too long if you just stopped the thing for a second so I don't have to jump off with everyone still in my way? Also, why would you put a blue slope, or sometimes a black (!!), so close to the landing spot? I can picture myself stumbling to my death down a hill designed for Shaun White.

The worst part? I've seen both things happened to friends of mine. No, no one died on a black slope! But he had to slide on his behind aaaall the way down. On the other hand, we--his 'friends'--had a lot of fun watching him from the lift. You'd think he'd hide in the car after that, but no. He got back on the lift and waved us a very colorful hand sign.

That same weekend, another friend of mine, this time a girl, just never gather up the nerve to jump off the lift. It wasn't her first time that day--though it was her first time skiing--but she just couldn't make it and as the lift took her back down, the guy controlling the thing stopped it for her. Very entertaining for us again, not so much for her.

Oh, and my sister! Paola is a menace to every skier on the hills. We took classes together the first time she tried, my future husband, her, and me. After two hours, we decided we were ready and wanted to try an easy hill. The future hubby went first and stopped midway to check on my sister and me. Paola, who was before me, realized she couldn't move sideways to zigzag down the hill, so she went in a straight line like a comet. As she passed by my future hubby she screamed: "I don't know how to stop!" A second later she was on the snow with both skis off, somehow.

We helped her up, told her how to zigzag, and there she went. Again in a straight line at light-speed. A poor lady that was going from right to left just happened to turn at the worst possible moment and her skis tangled with my sister's. That didn't end well, obviously, but you know what they say, if at first you don't succeed... Well, they shouldn't have told that to my sister.

She tried once more and this time she missed collision with the same lady! Sadly, the woman got toppled over anyway when my sister went on top her skis. Paola couldn't stop, so she simply went on, fast as a bullet. And even though she yelled "I'm sorry!" I doubt the lady appreciated it. That was it, my sister never tried skiing again. Thankfully.

With all that in mind, I really don't mind going down the greenest of the slopes and would even consider using the kids' slope, but they don't let me. And despite all this, I do have fun, and the best part is spending time with the family. Looking at my young offsprings all excited heals my heart of every mini-arrest and puts a smile on my face.

Ah, the memories...

Adventures in Motherhood

With Mother's Day just barely a couple of days from us, there's not much else everybody is talking about. The TV, the blogs, Facebook, Twitter, nothing escapes the sappy remarks of how much we owe to our mothers and how especial they are. It is all well deserved as they work their heinies off to make our life better, I know because I'm a mother, but there are also a lot of funny, ridiculous moments with moms as the protagonists. So I decided to tell you about one of my own; laugh at my expense a little, I know I still laugh a lot when I remember this.

It happened a few months after we moved to the US from Mexico, my daughter was eleven-months-old and we were just settling in on our new life. We were living in a small apartment close to a river and lots of green areas with squirrels and even deer. It was very pretty and quite a departure from my life in a city full of concrete. The one thing that kind of worried me were the news about fires. In Mexico all the houses are made of cement and bricks, so smoke detectors are rare and fires even more rare. Then, I stopped worrying so much after this event. It happened in the middle of one cold January night. I have a hard time falling asleep and one of the worst crimes punishable by physical damage to your body is to wake me up before it is time to start the day. So when my husband's alarm clock woke me up around 2:30 in the morning that day, I just want to bash his head in. Somehow I manage a somewhat gracious "What the heck is that? Turn off your stupid alarm."

"It isn't me!" Answers the poor man with an 'I'm-innocent' look on his face. Then, it dawn on me. The building's fire alarm.

"Holy shit!" I say, and in the fifteen seconds it took me to came to the realization and utter my elegant words of surprise, I had already jumped out of bed, ran to the closet, and put on my sneakers. My husband--bless his soul--still couldn't understand what kind of natural disaster could be occurring to get me out of my bed at such hour. But he also knows the second greatest offense in our relationship is to not act like 'Gina always knows what she's doing', so he keeps moving toward the closet. Slowly, he gets his slippers, the warm ones because out there there are two feet of snow on the ground.

In the mean time, I've already entered and exited the closet three times without being able to decide weather the situation requires a different attire. Maybe sweat pants? I ran to the closet on the hallway where we keep the winter jackets and come back into our bedroom with one for him, one for the baby, one for me, and the dog's sweater. But before getting my jacket on I decide I better get on those sweat pants. Who knows what the firemen will look like and, after all, if everything burns to the ground, I don't want to go around town in my Pj's.

"Well, grab the baby for Christ's sake!" I yell at him, who's looking at the dog's sweater in his hands with an expression that says, you've lost your mind, but he doesn't say a word.

I run to the door and when passing in front of the baby's room I decide I better carry her myself because the man looks too lost. In the living room I grab the dog's leash and throw the cat into my husband's arms. And the last thing before I leave. I get a hold of our passports. As we go down the stairs as fast as we can, I think to myself, if we survive this I have to buy some kind of cart to put all the important documents that's easy to transport.

As we exit the building, I realize there's no one outside. "Well, where the heck is everyone?!" I ask my husband who is the last one out the door because he's trying to get the cat off his head.

Ten minutes goes by and not a soul joins us. It is so cold outside, I decide we can take the risk of my husband going back inside to check what's going on. You know, for the baby's sake.

"False alarm," he says a little later. "I found the doorman trying to turn the alarm off." He looks so tired and tomorrow he has to work. As we go back into the apartment he drops this jewel: "I thought it was strange that there was no smoke and it didn't smell."

"Why didn't you say something!" I tell him indignantly. 

"You didn't give me a chance! You came out running almost with a suitcase!"

Well, yes. Yes, I grabbed everything I thought of value that my arms could hold. If I hadn't been so preoccupied to save my whole house, I might've been more keen to take note of the absence of alarm signals. On the other hand, if shit would've hit the fan, I could've gone to the supermarket unashamed by my appearance and Beto would have gone to the office in pajamas.

So there you go. Never underestimate our abilities as mothers and women to react to disaster and still remain fashionable. Happy Mother's Day, y'all!

Versatile Blogger Award

When I started this blog in late 2009, I had no idea of what I was going to write about or if someone might be interested in reading. I started, nonetheless. Since then I've learned a lot, I've become a true fan of many other blogs, and I've worked very hard to build this place as a blog where other authors can get interesting advise, share their own ideas and problems, and readers can find all kinds of stories and news from their favorite authors.

I wouldn't say, by all means, that the site is exactly where I want it to be, nor I am done learning all there is to know about blogging or writing. It is all a process but when you receive the acknowledgement from exactly those you were thinking about when creating something, it's always a sweet moment and a sign that you must be doing something right.

A week ago I received the wonderful news that this blog was the proud recipient of the Versatile Blogger Award. I feel very happy and inspired to keep moving forward and grow in which ever direction life takes me. Now, it's time to tell you about the rules of the award.

Thank and link to the blogger who bestowed the award.

Share seven random facts about yourself.

Spread the love by passing the award to five other bloggers.

In my case, I sincerely thank Roberta Goodman and her inspiring blog Ro-alwaysinspired for thinking about me and making the start of my 2012 all the more positive. You have to check down her place. Awesome!

Now, about selecting just five deserving blogs... it was a hard call but, alas, here are my five:

• The Krazy Book Lady blog by Tami for all its great reviews, initiatives, and interviews.
• The Christopher Godsoe blog for his awesome writerly advise and reviews.
• The D. Robert Pease blog for always having something new and interesting for young readers.
• The DL Fowler blog for having such a great mix of inspiring advise, excellent reviews, and engrossing historic facts.
• The Axel Howerton blog for always creeping me out with terrifying stories, new reads, and just all around hair-raising content.

 And finally, seven random facts about myself:

1. I have two daughters whom I adore. They revealed to me my true vocation: Being a mother. Everything falls behind it. Even writing.

2. I'm terrified of spiders and that is the only fear I won't be exploring in my books. Ever.

3. All of my books and stories are interconnected by a character they have in common, the name of the town, or some other small detail that I leave as a clue.

4. I love traveling, small quaint towns are my favorite. I hope one day I'll have visited at least one or two towns per state in Mexico, and when I'm older and richer, I'll go around the world.

5. As a child, I lived in Madrid for a year. I attended school there, second grade, and being introduced to medieval European literature at that early age had a lasting effect on me. That's when books became a works of art in my mind.

6. I used to terrorize one of my mother's sisters by spinning tales about my neighbors, who made lots of noise at night but were really quiet during the day. I'd tell her they were vampires and fed on young children and homeless people. She hated staying overnight. =)

7. I always start imaging a story from the ending and then work backwards. When I'm finally ready to write, I'll have a general idea of how it'll begin, but I have it clear how it'll end.

Well boys and girls, I hope you take a look at those amazing blogs I mentioned before, you never know what you might find. Thanks for sticking up with me and this crazy trip I call life, you've made it a lot more interesting and complete. Will be seeing you soon!