My temporary writing space in Alexandria, VA.
I blogged about my life when my family and I lived in Havana, Cuba from 2015-2017, but after we left I stopped.
Partly, I’d stopped blogging because I’d started writing a book. I “quarantined” myself from the internet as much as possible. I stopped freelance writing. I stopped checking social media for almost two years. I spent most mornings from 7 a.m. to noon working on a manuscript; it was difficult, especially with two young kids who don’t ask for much except to be by my side almost all the time. But as always with writing, I found it to be my truest calling. And by last summer I’d almost finished a full manuscript.
In July last year, my agent sent the nearly complete manuscript out to ten big-time New York publishers. I was about to embark on a trip to New Zealand with my family, and I anticipated that I’d be taking phone calls from the road, negotiating with publishers and celebrating a book deal. But day after day, my phone sat like a rock. Several times a day, I checked my email, hoping to hear something from my agent. The only news I received again and again was that he was still waiting for news.
In New Zealand, we were visiting close friends who lived near the resort town of Queenstown. It was winter in the Southern Hemisphere. We spent our days skiing the rugged peaks of Treble Cone, hiking in Milford Sound, and eating in casual outdoor settings where everyone seemed to be in shorts even though it was freezing. Thank goodness I had our friends, the pristine mountains, and stunning fjords of New Zealand’s South Island to take solace in.
Towards the end of the New Zealand trip, I finally talked to my agent. He’d received ten replies, each of them with kind words about my material, but each of them saying that ultimately they’d decided to pass on the book.
I haven’t told many of my friends about my failed manuscript. Even writing about it now seems like revealing some deep dark secret. I’ve worried that being open about it will confirm one of my biggest fears: that I’ll never get published by a major house again.
But I’ve come to realize that publishing is a tough business; I’d taken for granted how fortunate I’d been to have published two books with two major houses. And the rejection has freed me to do whatever I feel like doing professionally.
In the midst of a pandemic, I’ve felt a renewed purpose. I’ve started to freelance again. I’ve begun live stream cooking classes, because I love connecting with people and providing a valuable service. I’ve started blogging because it allows me to continue what I love doing: writing.
So I hope that even as I write about setback, you’ll find some inspiration in these pages and that you’ll continue with me on my journey, wherever it takes us.
Right now, in our temporary furnished rental house in Alexandria, VA. I have a nice office space where, with my headphones on and the kids stowed in my basement with my mother (who’s sheltering with us and helping me with homeschooling), I can write in peace. My family and I are waiting to hear if we’ll be able to board a charter flight back Beijing, where we’d been living before the pandemic struck. We left Beijing in December for a two month extended vacation; now it’s grown into six months away and has deeply confused our concept of “home.”
In Beijing, my cooking school is dealing with a second wave of COVID-19, which is again threatening to shut us down. And meanwhile, from halfway around the world, I’m working on the menu for a new restaurant I’m also opening in Beijing - yes, in the middle of a pandemic. Stay tuned for more details.
I’ll try to stick to a schedule of posting new stories and recipes Mondays and Fridays, and in the meantime, I’d love to hear from you; please send feedback to my Facebook author page. Thanks for reading.
The beautiful fjords of Milford Sound, New Zealand provided me some solace.
