“Are any of your books somewhat autobiographical?” a friend asked me. “Is Destiny at Dolphin Bay your own story?”
A clear, resounding no. And then again, yes, of course. Every story, every setting, every character contains a fragment of myself and my own experiences.
Sometimes reality so entwines with imagination that it’s hard to pick out the individual threads. The wisest pieces of me wound up in Linda, the bravest and most honest in Melissa. I am lazier than Gina, though less fearful than Angélica—shyer than Jana, much less practical than Miriam. I have met versions of Delicia’s jealous venom and Vanessa’s helpless poverty, Señora Luisa’s martyr complex and Señora Rosalía’s snob posture.
To some extent, the same holds for the male characters, as well. Buried on the beach of my life, I find some of Nicolás’s restless passion and Marcos’s joie de vivre. Who knew? Every person I have ever known helps to flesh out the ink-and-paper people who walk onto the stage of my stories.
My plots… I hear on the evening news, I overhear in snippets of subway conversations, I read anywhere from Facebook posts to fine literature. I tune into the focus of my conscious mind, I scribble down snatches of dreams from my sub-conscious. Above all, I listen to the whisper of God in my heart—the super-conscious mind. Then I ask, how does He want to use what’s going on in the world around me?
So, the Seaglass Sagas always sprout from the seeds of truth. Apologizing for the mixed metaphors :), I begin with a shard of real life, tumble it around in my imagination with a lot of “What if’s…?” and then hone it into a unique shape that expresses whatever God is teaching me right then.
Sometimes, fiction–like truth–can set the spirit free.