In 2003, Cristina published her first non-fiction book, Finding Francis, about finding someone she hadn't seen in twenty years (Author House). She is currently working on her second book of letters to a lost friend, Letters to Helen. In addition, she writes short fiction, personal essays and poetry.
Cristina Lopez - Writer
I successfully published my book in 2003. Prior to that, I did not really consider myself a writer.
I started writing poems when I was 7 years old. Somewhere in a box or scrapbook, I have a copy of that poem. It is about my friend who no one sees but me. In the end, my friend is a ghost. I was very pleased with my "surprise ending."
I remember my teacher bringing the poem to the attention of my mother and my realizing that being able to write was something special.
For birthdays, graduations or anniversaries, I would write simple poems to the person of honor. I would use construction paper and decorate elaborate cards that would feature my verses. I thought this was also special. Then one day, on a play date at a friend's house, I overheard my mother in the kitchen talking to her friend and making fun of my poems. It wasn't being done in a mean-spirited way but a little bit mocking, with a twinkle in her eye. Perhaps she had seen one too many of my poems. Perhaps she forgot how young and sensitive I was. I did not understand the joke and began to cry.
So ended my card making career and thus begun my realization that writing is an exposition of one's soul. Writing, like many forms of art, leaves you open to criticism and opinions. If you aren't prepared for that, then you will be deeply hurt that first time it happens, as I was by my mom.
I kept writing but stopped sharing. When I liked a boy and he treated me badly, I poured my heartache into verse. When my friend hurt my feelings, I wrote a poem. I saved my public poems for school projects (write about the Statue of Liberty and what it means to you). But mostly I kept my personal poetry away from critical eyes.
In high school, a poetry contest was announced and I suddenly felt like perhaps this was my time to share my art again. I approached my English teacher after class with my small poetry notebook and told her I had some poems that perhaps could be entered into the contest. I showed her the book by no means intending for her to read it but to recopy poems for her to review. She snatched the book out of my hand before I could say no and said she would read them over and let me know her thoughts. I was mortified as the poetry book was unedited and raw. Her action was tantamount to her stealing my diary but it was my own fault for letting her see the book.
The next day, the teacher called me to her desk after class and returned the book to me. Without looking me in the eye, she let me know that she found nothing in the book worthwhile. And that was it. I was dismissed and any fantasy of being rewarded for my creativity was crushed.
I went into hiding as a creative writer. Academically, I could still write an incredible critical essay, but I never shared any creative words. As I started college, I realized that there was a whole sub-culture of creative types and I was not a part of that group. I had no courage to share my work with them. These were individuals who chose creative writing and fine arts as their majors. I was in marketing and communications, taking English classes to analyze the literary work of others. But I would never identify myself as a writer or an artist.
It wasn't until my senior year that I branched out and applied for a position as a columnist for our college newspaper. I was surrounded by the artistic types and journalism students. I felt out of my element but proceeded and obtained the slot. I was a nervous wreck the first time one of my pieces was published and could not believe the positive reaction I received from my friends and colleagues. Overnight I had gone from a closet writer to a public artist. It wasn't poetry but these were my personal essays, my non-academic ideas being shared and being well-received.
By the end of that year, I made the decision to continue to pursue writing. I had no job and no prospects so I decided to move back home with my parents and try to write a book until I figured out what path to take with my life.
I spent one month pursuing my creative vision. I was able to outline and start my book, Finding Francis. But a job offer came through and I had to take it for financial reasons. I struggled with balancing working and writing. In fact, after 4 years I found myself mostly working in a dead-end job and not writing. That is when I met my husband who told me that I needed to either stop telling anyone I was writing a book and get a decent job or keep the crappy job I had and finish the damn book. So I finished the damn book. He was the first person who saw me as an author and I have always felt he was the first man in my life to see me for who I really am. In that way, writing is inescapably tied to me and to my life. My recognizing its importance, my husband showed me he understood me. It was as if my writing was a test and he passed it.
The book ended up taking 6 years but I finally finished and published it. Finding Francis chronicles not only my search for a childhood friend, but the search for my identity as an author. I began the book still feeling somewhat like the secretive writer who was afraid to share her creative musings and ended the book feeling as if I had a special gift and I wanted to share it with others.
Since I published Finding Francis, a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. People ask me what I do, and I tell them I am a writer. It's been such a tremendous identity shift away from using the title given to me at my job. I'm a writer. No matter what I do for a living (account executive, communications consultant, freelancer), at the heart of it what I do is write. That is my professional path and it is who I am as an artist.
Being able to say and stand by the title of writer is not easy. Sometimes, at certain types of functions, I find myself telling people that I'm a consultant and I slink away. I am not sure why I am still sometimes afraid. But every time I do say it, I'm a writer, it is an affirmation. Every time I write it, I'm a writer, it is a realization that I have a talent and that I am not wasting it. Every time I write, I am putting my skills to the test, making use of them and confirming that I am who I say I am.
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