My search engine optimization software says I’m supposed to put “About Maria E. Andreu” in the first sentence even though it’s already in the post title and the headline above. If you’re not sick of being told that this is about Maria E. Andreu, then please do read on. If you’re looking for an “official” bio for press or speaking event purposes, please visit my Media page. If you just want to hear from the human, you’re in the right place. And thank you for visiting About Maria E. Andreu! Have I mentioned it’s about… yeah, I have. Man, it is so weird to write about yourself.
Lifelong Jersey girl.
Lover of all things beautiful.
One day, perhaps in the not-too-distant future, you will be faced with the task of writing about yourself. And then you’ll realize that explaining yourself on paper (or pixels) is kind of like catching guppies with your bare hands. Slippery. And, also, you’ll wonder why you’re doing it.
Presumably, you’ve read some of my writing and you want to know who is responsible for it. If so, thank you.
At the age of 12, I wrote a diary entry that held one big truth. It said, “Most of all, I want to be a writer.” Although it took me decades after that to get a book deal, always, at my core, I’ve been a writer. I’d like to think I spent the first half of my life watching, which is a very important thing for a writer to know how to do. Now, I begin my career in telling. Or, better yet, showing. (No one likes a writer who tells).
My first novel, The Secret Side of Empty, bears some resemblances to my own life. But, like all good fiction (fingers crossed, one hopes you’ll agree that it’s good fiction), it is much better than real life. The answers are snappier. The outcomes much more clear. It is about a girl who is undocumented, or “illegal” as most people refer to it. (I hate that term, but that’s a story for another day). I, too, was illegal. It hurt and it carved a deep groove of shame in me. Luckily, I’ve mostly whittled it away with good friendships, lots of soul searching and, of course, my beloved written word. The book deal didn’t hurt.
I’ve seen many author bios that give you incontrovertible proof of why the author is someone to be reckoned with. Awards. Impressive pictures with famous, even more to-be-reckoned-with people. A long list of published books. Besides the fact that I don’t have any of those things, it strikes me that I don’t have to explain my qualifications to write. I write because it’s what I’m best at. And my best is all I’ve got. (Incidentally, here’s a piece I wrote on how to be a Real Writer. It explains a bit more of my journey. Click here to check it out).
And, as for miscellaneous pictures, here is my cat at 9 weeks. Because, I mean, come on. Cat pictures. What is the internet for if not for cat pictures?
(Incidentally, all my animals are named after characters in books. This one is named Katniss):