Reflections on the impact and connection sparked by my novel
I can’t deny that on that day I was nervous, insecure, with stage fright gnawing at my core, inexperienced to the bone. Facing the audience, who would later confront my work, was for me a dark, tortuous puzzle. However, my closest friends, with whom I shared more commercial than literary endeavors, came in solidarity and accompanied the presentation of my debut, the novel ‘Flowers for María Sucel’.
It happened in 2006, right at the Books & Books bookstore in Coral Gables, in the southeastern United States, where a warm-hearted lady named Cristina Nosti entrusted me with that presentation. How interesting—that was 18 years ago.
That day a few copies were sold. I would even say many for a novice. Being barely known, the purchases came from the unconditional friendship of those who knew me. That’s what friends are for, although I felt embarrassed signing my novel for them, knowing they had bought it out of sheer solidarity.
However, that day, amidst my nervousness, a kind woman behind the counter at Books & Books said to me quietly, with innate wisdom:
—Don’t worry. Your novel has wings; it will fly and fly without you realizing it.
I will never forget those prophetic words.
But why all this preamble?
I find myself needing to share with you, dear reader, something that touches my soul and has to do with my novel. Yesterday, 18 years later, I found a message from someone who does not know me, nor do I know him, and who—without being my friend—read that novel and was moved enough to let me know through a message, through a simple image.
That person, Cesar Augusto García Moreno, authorized me to share his comment.
It truly surprised me. How could I not be pleased to see images related to my work as a writer, especially when they arrive nearly two decades after the novel was first presented in public?
So we had a spontaneous virtual exchange with Cesar Augusto.
—Cesar Augusto, what a pleasant surprise to see my novel with you. How did it come into your hands? Thank you for sharing that image with me. I send you a very warm hug.
Two days later, on Sunday morning to be precise, he replied:
—Hello William. An even greater surprise for me was seeing that you responded to a photograph I sent, thinking it would probably go unnoticed. Thank you very much for taking the time.
A person on TransMilenio in Bogotá was offering two of your novels, The Monologues of Ludovico and Flowers for María Sucel. My wife, who knows my love for reading, received them. Although the young man wasn’t asking for money, she felt she should give him something in return. Even though he initially refused, he finally accepted.
When my wife told me what had happened, I felt both anxious and happy about this unexpected gift. I hugged her and thanked her.
I have already read The Monologues of Ludovico, and today, Sunday, I just finished Flowers for María Sucel. Yesterday, Holy Saturday, I reached page 327 and cried a lot—really a lot—reading about Gilberto’s death and departure. Today, Resurrection Sunday, I finished the novel with María Sucel’s departure.
What a great and beautiful novel. The ending of Flowers for María Sucel brought me back to the beginning of their love. It also made me reflect on life—on my family, my parents, my children, my wife, and the path we all travel through this world.
As a writer, Cesar Augusto’s words filled me with deep emotion. I felt tears welling up—sweet tears born of testimony and feeling. It felt as though I had received news from a lost child, news telling me he was alive and fulfilling his mission in this world.
So I replied with my heart overflowing with emotion:
—You make me cry, dear Cesar Augusto. God bless your life. If you allow me, I would like to share this dialogue as a testimony. Receive a hug of friendship, admiration, and affection.
A few days later he responded:
—Of course, William. It is an honor that you would want to share my humble comment. God bless you as well, always, and fill your days with happiness.
You might wonder why I share such personal testimonials about my work. I hope you understand, dear reader. I must confess that this apparent narcissism in speaking about my own books comes only from the need—perhaps even the obligation—to recount what happens in the life of my work as a writer.
I belong to that legion of independent writers who, besides writing, must personally manage the life of their books. That means becoming entrepreneurs of our own work: its design, printing, dissemination, and commercialization. We often lack the marketing support that large publishing houses provide their authors, as well as the assistance of literary agents who manage commercial agendas.
I say this not from a place of dissatisfaction, but from a place of circumstance. Many great modern writers chose self-publishing and achieved remarkable success. Fortunately, we now live in a time when independent writers can rely on technological infrastructure to compete through self-publishing.
Within this reality, I have published my most recent novel, We’ll Meet in Stockholm—a gentle sarcasm well worth exploring.
But what makes this testimonial story even sweeter and more nostalgic?
As in everything in life, circumstances conspire so that things happen. In this case, they allowed the good Cesar Augusto García Moreno to read my novels.
Those circumstances led me to travel to Colombia to fulfill an academic commitment. I had been invited by the Universidad Jorge Tadeo Lozano in Bogotá to speak about The Monologues of Ludovico. That happened in October 2022.
For the event I brought several copies of both Flowers and Ludovico. A representative audience was expected. Although the in-person attendance was not large—due to a torrential downpour that discouraged many from attending, along with Bogotá’s famously congested traffic—among the few attendees there was a quiet, humble figure.
He was a nephew I had never met before, someone life had kept distant due to my decades abroad. He approached the university simply to meet me. We embraced and shared an emotional moment. His name was Nicolás Castaño.
After the talk I greeted the attendees, and as the minutes passed we began to find ourselves almost alone. On a nearby table were most of the books I had brought—far more than what had been needed.
What to do with that inventory? I wondered, especially since the next day I would return to Miami.
Then an idea occurred to me. Placing those novels into the hands of people willing to read them could itself become part of the mission for which they had been written.
Together with my nephew Nicolás, we agreed that over the following days he would place my novels into a backpack and offer them, free of charge, to passengers in Bogotá’s public transportation system, TransMilenio. I promised to cover his transportation and logistical expenses.
My nephew Nicolás carried out this task beautifully, and I am infinitely grateful. All my affection and admiration for him. It was he who planted the seed of reading within the García family. It was he who made possible the testimony that now emerges from those prophetic wings that a Books & Books employee assigned to my novel back in 2006.
Other testimonies come to mind.
There is something in Flowers for María Sucel that awakens a melancholy capable of moving the soul, even though it is simply a work of literary fiction.
I remember another moment from April 2023. I was attending a training center for newly arrived immigrants to the United States—many of them refugees from Cuba, Central America, Latin America, and the Caribbean. It was a vocational training center, and among the group I met several very dignified people trying to rebuild their lives.
At some point I gave away copies of my novel when they learned that I was a writer.
One of those copies reached a young woman named Marcela.
Days passed without news until I received a message:
—William, I finished reading Flowers for María Sucel. Such a sad yet beautiful story, full of love and reality. A story that reaches the soul. Thank you for sharing it. Total admiration!
I replied:
—Thank you, Marcela. I’m glad you read it. It is an honor for me that my novels are read and appreciated. Receive my warm greetings and best wishes.
She responded:
—Thank you, William. My mother also read it, and she cries whenever we talk about parts of the story. It is impossible not to identify with the characters.
What can I say, dear reader?
When writing Flowers, I was inspired by millions of Latin American women I have seen throughout my life, by millions of Latin American men, and by millions of Latin American families—most of them belonging to middle, lower-middle, and working classes where the human condition emerges through life’s hardships.
Perhaps that is why readers find literary value in the novel and its characters. All of them, in some way, reflect what my parents, my siblings, and my family were.
Perhaps that is why my novel has wings.
Those wings are also moved by circumstance. They are the wings of readers who allow the story to fly toward the eternity of stories through the craft of literature.
Thank you to all who have read my work.
Every day I strive to write better, out of respect for you—the readers who provide the final element that completes the writer’s flight: reading.