Apolonia L

I grew up in the Rio Grande Valley, back then, a patchwork of corn fields, and orange groves carpeting the borderlands along the river between Mexico and the U.S.

I've lived a great life: in the dry sunny highlands of Mexico. I've farmed the soggy bottomland near the Samo River in Galicia Spain. I grew corn, and ate grelos. It rained every day, so I wrote a novel. The scent of pine and eucalyptus always in the air.

Hot Central Texas was my home for thirteen years. Three barn cats laid claim to me, but they didn't know I was allergic. Before ranch life and tractors, I hung out in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, working towards a Master's degree. I wanted to write VCR manuals that made sense.

In case you're losing sleep over this: I’m not the gorgeous lead singer of the singing trio Apollonia 6 in the film Purple Rain. I’m not the Spanish porn star. I’m also not the fictional character in Jamie McGuire’s sci-fi romance Apolonia.

Inspired by the Payne's grey Galician skies, and the Aztec gods and goddesses of my native land, DARIANA, AZTEC GODDESS OF SUICIDE: A FALSE MEMOIR is my first novel. A contemporary tale of undying love, love of self (or lack thereof), friendship, pilgrimage, third chances, depression, and humor as healing.

"The Limb Exchange" and "Muddy waters of nearby Glens Falls" are both absurdist fantasy short stories of contemporary life, freedom, adventure, friendship, and dreaming; inspired by the AutoZone, and the prose poetry of Russell Edson.

I used to have a writing cat, sitting on my lap. Now I take dictation from a crusty old man, chain-smoker, and curmudgeon. Luckily, his full ashtray and empty whiskey glass reside, not on my desk, but in my mind.

I can’t listen to music as I compose new material preferring the early morning quiet. But revises and self-edits require Cole Porter, Charles Mingus, Django Reinhardt, Coleman Hawkins, Eartha Kitt, Johnny Mathis, Frederic Chopin’s Waltzes 1-14, and Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major.

An embittered, nihilistic widow, blunders her way on the quest to oblivion, outfoxing an old friend who refuses to let her die.

I'm currently querying my manuscript.

In 1916, Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch famously uttered the popular adage "murder your darlings." I've obeyed the killer instinct on many occasions.

I've dug up the graves of my favorite cutouts (or the least decomposed), and collected them in Las Trenzas de Frida, my monthly newsletter.