This is a guest post written by Emilia I. Rutigliano, author of Layers of Veronica.
“So what does it feel like being a published author?” An acquaintance asks as a means of an united ‘greeting’ and a ‘congratulations’. We are in New York City, so multi-tasking is a required skill.
“Damned if I know.” I respond, putting on my lipstick with my right hand, whipping out my calendar with my left, and scanning my phone with a free finger. The finger varies from hand to hand, taking second command to the other tasks.
This is a normal morning in court for a trial attorney. That’s what I am, a trial attorney. I’m used to that title, the position and workload. I’m also a mommy – thus the scanning of the phone because with three kids in three different schools in three different counties, you never know what’s going to come up. Today, all is quiet from the kids, just my husband’s text that he will be going to BJs after work because we are running dangerously low on potato chips and asking if we need anything else. I send him a list.
I wear a dozen titles: lawyer, mommy, wife… I understand all my roles, and I excel in them. What do I have to do with a “published author”?
“Stacey got me hooked on your series. Nice!” My colleague continues. “Your muse is one sick gal! Just wanted to tell you I’m loving it.” She grins. The happiness is genuine.
“I’m glad you like it.” I give a warm smile. It’s nice to make someone happy.
“I always wanted to be a published author, too. I just don’t have the time.” She explains.
“I hear you.” I assure her.
I’m almost embarrassed to wear the title of ‘published author’. I’m not sure I deserve it. Published authors are people who have been consumed by passion, have suffered for their art, who have spent hours, days and years trying to hone their craft, and who have devoted months to perfecting their craft. It almost unfair that anyone with a word processing program, a graphic arts link and an internet connection can hit the publish button without going through the traditional rigmarole.
“We’re on today, girl, you and I, let’s get an early assignment.” Another colleague comes by to give me a kiss in greeting and sliding next to me on the bench while we listen to the calendar call. He and I are adversaries today. “Just wanted to tell you I’m on the second book.”
“YOU ARE?!?!?” I turn to him in utter disbelief. “What is a 28-year-old single Indian guy doing reading the story of a 35-year-old Russian-Jewish divorced mother who is going through the trials and tribulations of life?”
“Are you kidding? I love Veronica – she is the ultimate hell-on-heels! And honey, although I hear your voice as the narrator, and I’m impressed that you wrote the series sitting right here on that little Air Book of yours…you get no control about who gets to read and enjoy the Layers. The books have a life of their own. You’re just an author who published them.” He shrugs.
I think he has a point. It’s not about the published author. It’s about the books.
They say that when a student is ready, a teacher appears.
What they don’t say is where to register, and how to matriculate in that teacher’s class. That is a divine gift.
Veronica had it all: the looks; the brains; the personality; and the wardrobe. Not to mention a perfect husband, a fabulous career and two adorable children, until the perfect husband leaves her for another woman.
Thus begin the daily routines of a typical New York City immigrant with ambition whose teachers keep appearing, and for whom divine interventions keep affording new opportunities.
Though it starts like ordinary connections going through the tried and true, each relationship continues to delve into parts of her own universe that Veronica didn’t know existed. A universe that is suddenly open to her.
This is a different kind of heroine…
Welcome to the New American Dream, Dare to Dream…
Purchase your copy at AMAZON
Learn more about the author and her books at www.layersofveronica.com