Like many people who grew up reading fiction at every free moment, it’s always been a dream of mine to write novels. To be a novelist. Someone who makes shit up and puts it on paper and shares it with strangers.
That impulse isn’t about fame and fortune. It’s about the love I have for a good story, and a deep desire to be part of that slice of humanity who is lucky enough to consider writing fiction an occupation.
When I started writing this book, I had no idea what I was doing. (I still don’t, but at least I know it now!) I was about to turn fifty, and I’d lost two jobs in three years. My kids were graduating from high school, and we’d lost my mother-in-law. I was in a dark place.
At that time, everything felt like a struggle. But as I was unemployed and desperate to purge what was roiling inside of me, I decided that it was a perfect time to try writing the novel of my dreams.
The result is this book, The Whole Enchilada, which I describe as a love letter to Generation X. Our weird, funky, sarcastic little generation sandwiched between the two biggest generations in American history. It’s about how we survived our parents trying to figure themselves out after their social, political, and cultural revolution, and how we found our way in the world that couldn’t (and still doesn’t) see us.
There’s no denying that this is an odd book. It’s not going to be what you think it is. It’s filled with things that seem, on the surface, to be non-sequiters. But I ask that you read between the lines, look for meaning behind the most minor details, and find therein a reflection of universal truth and experience.
This book is by no means perfect. Turns out, writing a novel is hard. Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, creatively. I have a newfound respect for anyone who takes on this art form. Will I write another? You bet. And hopefully another. And another. I’m hooked! And with each successive book I write, I know I’ll get better at it.
Anyway, the long and short of it is – I have done something BIG. Something important (to me). Statistically, only 3% of people who start out to write a novel ever finish. Even fewer publish. And while I am self-publishing, I want you to know that I did this work on my own, with feedback from real readers and editors. I paid a designer for my cover art. And, I poured countless hours into writing and revising. I did not use AI to generate any part of this story (despite the copious number of em-dashes contained therein).
This is a real accomplishment, and I’m proud of it. That said, I’m always open to kind, thoughtful feedback and constructive criticism from people who have education and experience. So please reach out to me personally and let me know if you have any thoughts on how I can grow as an author.
Meanwhile, I ask that you buy the damn thing, read it, and try your best to enjoy it. Because as difficult as it was (many, many tears were shed), I enjoyed writing it.