PICTURE BOOK EXCERPT

Meet my abuelita. Abuelita is a truck driver.
​She drives a big red truck with a thousand wheels!

Abuelita corrects me and laughs, "Mija, my truck only has 18 wheels."
​But I imagine her truck is so big, even the moon can fit inside!

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YA FICTION EXCERPT

Santificado Sea Tu Nombre
Hollowed Be Thy Name

     
     “Mamá, what does my name mean?” I asked. 
     The whole table looked at me in the restaurant. I could feel the eyes of Mamá, Papá, tía Lupe, tía Nadia, tío Oscar, and all five cousins—Toño, Isa, Desi, Esme, and Eva—drilling a hole into my face. Not counting my little sister Amalia, that’s twenty ojotes staring at me in surprise.
     “¡Ay, qué maravilloso! How wonderful! Did Padre Luis talk to you at school about the name days of your saints?”
     “S- sí,” I lied.
     “N-no,” I couldn’t lie. “Well, names were mentioned at school,” I said, honestly hiding the truth. Nice save, I thought.
     “Mijo, you were named after Papá’s grandfather, your great-grandfather,” my mother explained. “You were given his full name, Matías Basilio Dominguez. But we don’t call you junior because that’s not Papá’s name.” 
     “What does it mean?” I asked.
     “Matías means gift from God, and Basilio means noble. You are a noble gift from God,” Papá explained.
     Mmmm, the whole table inhaled in pride.
     “But why?” I asked again.
     “It means you are a boy of honor and you will be a man of great honor,” my mother continued. “God has blessed us with a boy who will do great works in his life. Pero mijo, tuck in your shirt and zip up your pants, por favor! Sin verguenza.” Shameless, she often ended her sentences if I did anything improper.

. . . I want to know who switched my name and took my real one. I want to know why on Earth did they think of someone noble, someone honorable, or a gift from God? I think of tío Oscar at every quinceañera or bautizo, splashing the party with his beer and mixture of jokes and laughs for everyone, whether they wanted to laugh or not. Did the stars and galaxies splash the sky with a broma for my parents, who happened to look up at a spectacular but wrong moment? Was my family mistaken, thinking of a name that feels nothing like I feel? And if I ever see those same stars and galaxies acting both foolish and familiar up there, will I finally know?
     The truth is, I feel more like a stone in an ancient history museum, like Pedro la Piedra, than some noble heavenly gift. My friends have worn the capes, the claws, and the armor of their comic superheroes: Josué is El Gato Negro, Chino is Reptil, and Tavio is Ultimate Iron Man. But for me, Pedro la Piedra? I sit. I think about life. I let the stories of the ages carve and reshape me little by little. I look for clues in the leyendas of my ancestors . . .