My Story

My writing interest began as likely as most writers, I saw my mother read. Since an early age, I remember my mother always reading or carrying a book or visiting the library. By the third grade I recall asking my teacher if I could attend the early and after school reading sessions. The sessions were set up for advanced and rudimentary readers. I never knew which one I officially belonged to, I just liked reading and being like my mom.

In high school while I was still on crutches, I took a writing class. After turning in our writing assignments, the teach often picked out and read portions of the best written essays. When he read one of my passages, I was surprised but happy he found my writing worth reading to the class. My writing interests grew while I was in college. I had teachers who were passionate about grammar, poetry and story. Their passion was infectious and I grew to appreciate the written word.

Before I switched my major to fine art, I had nearly completed the requirements to receive an English literature degree. When I turned in my reports, my teachers often gave me positive reviews, although, I have to admit, I also received a good number of failing grades for my literature class reports. I found that I was not as a thorough reader as I thought I was, and once I gained a better understanding of composition, theme, and structure, I felt writing was beyond my reach. More so after I read Thomas Harris’ book, “Hannibal.” Reading the book was a moment of clarity and I changed my major to drawing and painting!

Having given up any hopes of writing a book, I turned to screenwriting. It felt like the better direction since I was interested in animation and films. I took a screenwriting class from UCLA and read numerous books on how to write a script. I wrote a few short scripts and enjoyed the process. Unlike any other medium, writing is an immediate creative conduit to ideas and expression. I found I could create an image with a few strokes on a keyboard and develop them as fast as they came to me.

I didn’t set out to write a memoir. I simply wrote because it felt good to release the images, I had been carrying in my head for nearly thirty years. I wrote because I was compelled to do it. I worked on the memoir for several years, always looking forward to my Friday nights, when I could go to the late night, coffee shop, put on my headphones to listen to music, and write until the cafe closed at midnight.

When I had written as much as I could, and came to the end of the memoir, I reached my goal. I had put my soul on paper and I learned from it.

Thank you for your interest.

Pablo