Last week I read the currently popular novel The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware. This week I read Pam Munoz Ryan’s award-winning novel Echo. The books couldn’t be more different. Ware’s novel is suspenseful, heavy in plot, but short on character development. Echo is a children’s book with a touch of fantasy and three distinct stories ultimately tied together with a common theme. I enjoyed both books very much and admire the writing talents of the authors. But despite the differences, these novels have one element in common: the climaxes leave me wanting more.

The Woman in Cabin 10 reveals the identity of the killer sooner than one would expect. When the climax arrives, it’s a chase scene that builds suspense nicely. However, because we already know the murderer’s identity, the element of surprise is muted. In Echo, each of the three stories ends with a cliffhanger. The reader has to wait until the end of the 500+ page book for a brief wrap-up that explains how the cliffhangers were resolved. I felt cheated. I wanted more detail. I wanted to know how young Friedrich felt while evading the Nazis. I wanted to know how Mike, the orphan, recovered and accepted his fate. I wanted to know how Ivy, the young Mexican-American girl, reacted to the news of her brother who was fighting overseas during World War II.

I’m currently writing my third novel. The climactic scene involves the heroine’s frantic effort to stop the public showing of a video. Beta readers have praised the suspenseful scene, but more than one commented that they wanted more from the final reveal. I’ve taken heed and am rewriting the scene so it delivers a stronger punch that should satisfy the reader’s expectations.

I learn and grow as a writer by reading novels and by listening to the advice of my beta readers.

Here is a list of how I select my reading material:

1. Book reviews.
2. Friends’ recommendations.
3. Browsing the shelves at libraries and bookstores.
4. Websites (such as Goodreads) that rate and review books.

Lately I’ve been struggling with choosing my reads. I experience this every so often. I’ll have a period of time when I’ll read a string of mysteries, chick lit, or some other genre–perhaps the entire works of one specific author who is new to me. Then I’ll be at a standstill. What do I read next? That’s when I have to do some research. I pay more strict attention to what my friends are reviewing on Goodreads or visit other websites (such as TheLatinoAuthor.com) for recommendations. Then I make a list of titles, and the next time I visit the library, I search for those books.

Currently I’m reading The Blue Line by Ingrid Betancourt, a story of political intrigue and lost love. When I finish it, I’ll need to search for some new titles. I can’t be without a book to read. For me, it’s like not having food to eat. I welcome suggestions.

I’ve blogged before about my wish to see more ethnic diversity in mainstream fiction. As a lover of fiction, I would like to read novels that more accurately reflect the American society in which I live. When I read books set in Los Angeles, I expect to see a mix of white, Asian, African-American, and Latino characters, but that doesn’t always happen (I do appreciate Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch novels, which are set in LA and always have ethnically mixed casts).

Currently I’m reading a novel set in Chicago, another ethnically diverse city, and so far the only character of color (a minor one) is a “Mexican” speaking parking attendant. A few days ago I finished a well-written action novel that I enjoyed . . . until the last chapter. It contained an ugly stereotype, a Mexican criminal. What a disappointment. Why include a Mexican at all if a negative image is the only one the reader will see? Time and again it is such a letdown to read books that ultimately fail to have diverse characters or simply contain negative stereotypes. In fact, I would prefer to read a book that has no ethnic characters rather than one that contains the stereotypical Mexican maid, gang member, prison inmate, gardener, or spicy/sexy female. Stereotyped depictions do a disservice to minority communities and reinforce negative images.

My Mexican heritage is a rich and colorful one. Mexicans and Mexican-Americans come in all shapes, sizes, colors, professions, income and educational levels. We should be depicted as such. And that’s why I write novels that feature  Mexican-American characters in all shapes, sizes, colors, etc.

Whenever I read a good review of a book I’m attracted to, I’ll add the title to my reading list for future reference. Don Lee’s The Collective had been on this list for a couple of years, and I couldn’t remember why I’d wanted to read it. The title makes it seem like a spy novel. The Collective is far from that.

Don Lee’s book is about three Asian-Americans who meet while attending college in Minnesota, become friends, and remain friends until one of them, Joshua, commits suicide. (This is not a spoiler. The suicide occurs in the first few pages.) The story is narrated by Eric, who is a third-generation Korean-American. Eric does not identify much with his Korean roots, is attracted to blond women, and tells Joshua he has never experienced racism. Joshua, adopted by a  Jewish couple, is proudly Korean-American and tells his friend that racism is rampant in American society: “You’ve never had someone ask, ‘What are you?’ or ‘Where you from?’ or ‘What’s your nationality?’ because there’s no fucking way you can be a real American? You’ve never had a kid pull his eyes slanty  at you or some asshole tell you it’s National Hate Chinese Week? You’ve never had anyone tell you your English is pretty good or ask you to ‘chop chop,’ hurry it up?” Eric disagrees with Joshua until he and his friends become victims of a racial incident on campus. Joshua awakens Eric’s sense of pride in his heritage, yet Eric feels that Joshua is too sensitive about racial issues and is divisive.

Years after they’ve graduated from college, the three friends (less emphasis is placed on the third friend, Jessica) form The Collective, a group of Asian-American artists. But even within this group, Joshua is divisive. He is idealistic, yearning for a society that no longer denigrates his culture, that recognizes his novels as  mainstream works rather than as ethnic literature. He offends a fellow writer in the group who always writes about white characters. He tells her that an Asian-American novelist should only write about Asian-Americans.

I very much identify with the characters in this novel and how they struggle with the issue of racial identity. I fall somewhere between Joshua and Eric in terms of how I view my own ethnicity. I know that I have been a victim of racism, yet I don’t view everything through a racial lens as Joshua does.

This novel touched me in a unique way. I have never read a book that discusses racial identity in such bold terms from an Asian-American viewpoint. I find the book particularly interesting because I am currently writing a novel that deals with racial identity from a Mexican-American perspective. I wish there were more novels like  The Collective. I can relate to the characters in this novel because of our shared experiences as ethnic minorities, however different our cultures might be. It’s a unique experience to see someone like myself in the literature I read, but there is not enough ethnic diversity among fictional characters, unfortunately. As an indie author, I am doing my part to change that.

I’m a political animal.  I constantly listen to, watch, or read political news. It’s an especially exciting time as our presidential elections are occurring, but, for me, it is also a frustrating one. The back-and-forth name-calling, accusations, lies, and, frankly, some childish behavior, is an embarrassment for our country, considering these candidates are running for the highest office in the land. During difficult times, personal or otherwise, reading fiction is an escape for me. I can enter make-believe worlds and get to know make-believe people. However, one type of fiction I mostly avoid is the political story. I rarely read political novels, perhaps because the stories can seem too real, too close to reality to allow for escape.

When I was in school, I read the classics, The Last Hurrah, The Ninth Wave, and 1984, all grim stories of the political world. Perhaps that’s when I decided I would avoid this particular genre. More recently I read Atlas Shrugged after perusing a newspaper article that surveyed individuals about their favorite books. The most oft-mentioned title was Atlas Shrugged. Curious, I had to read it to find out why people love this book. I was disappointed. I found it dull and preachy, with paper-thin characters.

So, then . . . Why on earth did I write a novel with political overtones? Hmm. Good question. A few years ago a political scandal was exposed in the city of Bell, California. The electorate of that city was cheated out of funds that should have gone to projects that would benefit the public, but instead were greedily sucked up by the politicians. The story left a bad taste in my mouth and stirred up my anger. I decided to channel my emotions into a story. The politics do not comprise the major storyline of my novel. The theme concerns duplicity, how we all keep secrets, big and small, from those we love or from strangers, and how these secrets can ruin our relationships and even ourselves. Politics seemed like the perfect platform on which to build the plot for my novel. After all, what’s more duplicitous than politics?

I’ve blogged before about how different people can have different reactions to the same book. I was again reminded of this when I finished Jessica Knoll’s Luckiest Girl Alive, and then scanned the reviews on Goodreads. Wow. Reviews of the book vary from one and two stars to five stars. There are rave reviews and abysmal reviews of the same book. While this in general is not unusual, it is for this particular book, which has gained vast popularity and is already on the way to becoming a motion picture.

I read this book after if was highly recommended by two librarian friends, and I was not disappointed with it. I tried to understand why those who gave it poor ratings so fervently disliked it. Their complaints ranged from dislike of the protagonist, an unbelievable plot, distracting stream-of-consciousness writing style, and too many detailed violent acts. One reviewer even opined that the protagonist was too stupid to be believed because of certain actions she took when she was fourteen years old. I, on the other hand, enjoyed the book very much. Yes, it’s violent (but, I say, it has to be, because a major plot point involves a rape); yes, the young girl does make stupid decisions (but, I say, she’s a kid…kids sometimes make very bad decisions as do adults, on occasion); and, yes,the protagonist is not likable (but, I say, for good reason–she has been traumatized by horrific events in her past). I do agree with reviewers who complain about the writing style, which is somewhat distracting.

I like the book for its message about the place of women in our society. Women are often made to feel their ambitions, brains, and desires are insignificant, that their more important role is to play second fiddle to the men in their lives. The protagonist’s struggle to overcome the challenges of her past made it a compelling tale for me.

As individuals we react to the stories we read based on how we relate to the elements in those stories: the characters, the plots, the writing style, etc. I try to carefully select my reading material based on reviews or recommendations from friends. But even if a friend shares interests similar to mine, it doesn’t guarantee we’ll like the same book.

A few days ago a dear friend lost her beloved dog to a violent attack by a much bigger dog. It broke my heart to witness my friend’s pain. I also loved the little dog and have shed many tears over her death. My dog passed away almost three years ago, and dealing with that loss was one of the most difficult experiences I’ve suffered. I’ve never even been able to continue reading a book or watching a movie if the dog suffers and/or dies (no Old Yeller for me).

Sometimes I pay a little  too much attention to the dog in a story, especially if the human characters aren’t very interesting. I always hope that the dog will stay safe. A few weeks ago I read The Widow Waltz by Sally Koslow. I have to confess that I selected it because of the dog pictured on the cover. The dog didn’t play a major role in the story, but I enjoyed the scenes in which he appeared. I liked the dog in Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch, who added a measure of warmth to a somewhat dark tale. In Rebecca, the main character spent some scenes walking the dog, Jasper. I don’t remember if Jasper survived the climactic scene, but he probably did because a big deal was made out of the fact that mean Mrs. Danvers was the only one who refused to leave the house. And I can’t forget Buck in Call of the Wild, or Toby, Sherlock Holmes’ buddy.

When an author writes a dog into a book, I presume it’s because she has a dog, but that’s not necessarily true. A dog can be integral to the plot. I wrote two dachshunds into my second novel, Silence, Please, but they don’t play big parts in the plot. However, they are instrumental in one scene where the protagonist meets someone who will become important to her.

I love dogs even more than I love books, and that’s saying a lot.