On writing: Jessica Winters Mireles

A guest post by Jessica Winters Mireles, Author of the novel, Lost in Oaxaca

As a middle-aged woman of fifty-seven (or “Boomer” as my children mockingly refer to me lately) I’m arriving quite late to my career as a writer. Most of us were told that if we hadn’t published a novel by age thirty, there’s no way we’d ever have a literary career. I’m not even sure what a “literary career” means these days. All I know is that I love to write. 

As a young girl, I inhaled words. Losing myself in a book allowed me to forget my uneasy reality of living in a dysfunctional alcoholic family. My sanctuary was the library; it was a place I could escape the emotional chaos at home. The structure of neatly shelved books made me feel safe; the inky smell of the printed pages calmed me. In the library, surrounded by words, I was truly myself.

I was always told I was good at writing. But having been pushed to succeed in playing the piano since the age of six, it never occurred to me that I could choose something else to do with my life. So I went with music, and graduated with a degree in piano performance. I married right after graduation, began teaching piano, and started a family. I was generally content, but there was always a sense that something was missing in my life. 

I wanted to write.

For twenty-five years I wrote exclusively in my head. I wrote stories while teaching piano lessons, while driving my four children to and from school; while cooking dinner, even while scrubbing the toilet. I dreamed of writing a novel. I wanted it so badly, I could taste it. But I never believed in myself enough to actually write that first sentence.

Then, at the age of two, my youngest daughter, Isa, was diagnosed with cancer.

Being the mother of a toddler with leukemia is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. After an initial two weeks in the hospital, where Isa was given broad spectrum antibiotics to fight off the infections caused by her lack of a functioning immune system, we returned to a sterilized house that included bottles of hand-sanitizer in every room. My life changed to dispensing nightly oral chemo meds, taking Isa for weekly chemo injections, and white-knuckling my way through monthly surgeries to infuse cancer-killing drugs into her spinal cord. I might also mention that dealing with a two year-old on steroids is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Any sign of a fever terrified me, because with a compromised immune system, a virus or bacterial infection meant a possible death sentence for Isa. Constant anxiety became part of my identity.

For over three long years, as I fought to keep my sanity, I did what any good mother would do: I put my needs and desires aside and took care of my daughter. And I was one of the lucky ones, because she survived. After five years, with no recurrence of cancer, Isa was considered completely cured. 

I survived, too. In fact, I became a different person altogether. I learned how strong and resilient I am—that if I could make it through something as devastating as my child’s cancer diagnosis, there was nothing I couldn’t do, including becoming a writer.

In my mid-forties, after so many years of inaction, I finally started writing, and not just in my head. I took an adult education writing class through our local community college. I started a blog and posted consistently. I joined a bi-monthly writers group. I submitted several essays to magazines and even got paid $75 for one. I could finally call myself a writer. It was time to get started on that novel.

Good grief. Had I known how long and arduous it was going to be to write a complete novel, maybe I would’ve given up before I even began. I didn’t though. Something kept me going. I wrote that first chapter, not even sure where I was I headed with it, and pretty much let my characters lead me along. Most of the time, I wanted to give up. My body even reacted to the stress of feeling so insecure about my abilities, manifesting in severe neck and shoulder pain. Somehow, I ignored the discomfort, and kept writing.

When I was done, I sent out the requisite query letters. Dozens of rejection emails clogged my inbox. I thought writing the novel was going to be the difficult part. I was wrong—the rejection was so much harder. It didn’t matter whether my novel was good or bad—no one cared about a middle-aged woman with no marketing platform or literary brand. The shoulder and neck pain returned with a vengeance. For two long years I tried to find a publisher. Nothing. Then one day, a miracle happened. Someone said “yes.”

I will soon be a published author. My novel, Lost in Oaxaca comes out on April 21, 2020. That little girl who loved words so much finally wrote her own book. Maybe one day soon, she’ll find it on a shelf at the library. 

Unless of course, it’s been checked out.

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Born and raised in Santa Barbara, California, Jessica Winters Mireles holds a degree in piano performance from USC. After graduating, she began her career as a piano teacher and performer. Four children and a studio of over forty piano students later, Jessica’s life changed drastically when her youngest daughter was diagnosed with leukemia at the age of two; she soon decided that life was too short to give up on her dreams of becoming a writer, and after five years of carving out some time each day from her busy schedule, she finished Lost in Oaxaca. Jessica’s work has been published in GreenPrints and Mothering magazines. She also knows quite a bit about Oaxaca, as her husband is an indigenous Zapotec man from the highlands of Oaxaca and is a great source of inspiration. She lives with her husband and family in Santa Barbara, California.

Find out more about her on her website https://www.jessicawintersmireles.com/

Follow her on Twitter @jessicamireles

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LOST IN OAXACA

Once a promising young concert pianist, Camille Childs retreated to her mother’s Santa Barbara estate after an injury to her hand destroyed her hopes for a musical career. She now leads a solitary life teaching piano, and she has a star student: Graciela, the daughter of her mother’s Mexican housekeeper. Camille has been grooming the young Graciela for the career that she herself lost out on, and now Graciela, newly turned eighteen, has just won the grand prize in a piano competition, which means she gets to perform with the LA Philharmonic. Camille is ecstatic; if she can’t play herself, at least as Graciela’s teacher, she will finally get the recognition she deserves.

But there are only two weeks left before the concert, and Graciela has disappeared―gone back to her family’s village in the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico. Desperate to bring Graciela back in time for the concert, Camille goes after her, but on the way there, a bus accident leaves her without any of her possessions. Alone and unable to speak the language, Camille is befriended by Alejandro, a Zapotec man who lives in LA but is from the same village as Graciela. Despite a contentious first meeting, Alejandro helps Camille navigate the rugged terrain and unfamiliar culture of Oaxaca, allowing her the opportunity to view the world in a different light―and perhaps find love in the process.

BUY THE BOOK HERE

 

 

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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips