Sunday, November 4, 2012
About five minutes ago, when I sat down to type this, I accidentally kicked over a stack of books that is always at my feet. It is the exact pile of books that my husband grumbles and mumbles about having to step over. But I still keep it right there--my treasured tower of short story anthologies. A stackful of printed spines that read Best of American Short Stories, and Best of Latino Non-Fiction, you get the picture.
My love for the short story has always been a part of me; I can't remember how far back it's been there, but I do know the one who lit that spark for tales from the soul. It was my Colombian grandmother, my Abuela.
I tell about my grandmother, The Queen of the Short Story, at TikiTiki Blog today, where I am honored to have a monthly column.
Come join me as I remember how my Abuela's childhood tales left me wide-eyed and with a vision of her as the eternal little girl, whose life was more enthralling than any written pages.
My grandmother is the reason for my daily practice of telling my children about my own childhood days. I want them to remember me forever as I do her, a story unfolding.