My Life in Argentina and Beyond

I so remember the high hopes I had when I first went to NYC almost 12 years ago! I can feel again the excitement, the happiness of finally being in that great big city, the mother of all cities. There was so much to look forward to then! The summer of 1996 was a magical time for me. Walking up and down Manhattan, having breakfast at the Stanhope Hotel, right across from the Metropolitan Museum and Central Park--all that meant so much. I thought I belonged. And I am so thankful that I was able to be there and pretend that I would one day have NYC at my feet. The reason I had gone was Different Flags. I had written that novel from my heart because it was part of me, the best I had to offer. I wanted the whole world to read it and the only place to help me achieve that goal was The Big Apple. But after knocking on all sorts of doors, I realized that I would not get a big time publisher like Simon and Schuster or Harper and Collins. The literary agents I queried said I had talent, but the novel didn't have this, didn't have that. What they probably meant was no sex. A story about a young woman falling in love with a priest in South America had to have spice. Different Flags didn't--not enough, anyway. Ani and Luis never slept together. How naive and unwordly can you get? Sex, as everyone knows, sells.
Then why did I write the book? The story was burning inside of me. It had to come out. Yes, sex was a big element, but it was not the only one. There were others that sometimes overshadowed it. DF was an emotional tale, an obsession that had to have a house of its own.
It is very hard to be a Spanish teacher, an English teacher and/or a translator when what you really want to do is sell your writing. You wear a brave little smile and you say: No matter. I like to do this. I enjoy teaching. Besides, I have faith. My ship will come.
Now I am frustrated. When will I get my big break? I don't want it to be when I'm dead. No use. Because I won't be around to enjoy anything.