Los Malos Dias

It’s important to get a few things clear before we delve too deeply . . .

I was born and raised in California. Seeing Spanish is commonplace. There are places within California that should you venture into, you will find yourself surrounded entirely by the Spanish language. For some very lighthearted individuals, this is a dire sign of the impending dissolution of the American Empire. For the rest of us, it is just another part of town where folks more comfortable with the Spanish language live.

Admittedly, my position on such a topic is greatly due to my own bias. You see, I was raised in the Del Paso Heights and Gardenland Neighborhoods of Sacramento, CA. Both of these districts of the city have large Spanish speaking populations. Going to the taqueria on the corner and having only a vague understanding of half of what was being sold to me was just sort of normal. If nothing else, it was in these moments where I learned to love the sound and look of the Spanish language.

When it came to giving my novel a name, I found a certain poetic beauty in Los Malos Dias. It certainly sounds a whole lot better than The Bad Days. The latter of the two sounds harsh and ugly. Blunt. Careless. Thoughtless, even. Admittedly, though, The Bad Days would be more sympathetic to the themes of the novel. Nevertheless, it’s ugly.

Words ought to be enjoyed for a multitude of reasons, this is true. At times a blunt and honest phrase equates to beautiful prose. Should you find yourself able to read Cyrillic, do yourself a favor and delve deep into the poems of Pushkin. You will find simplicity rivaled only by its magnificence. Translate it to English, however, and the Russian prose becomes less-than. Please note that I am not disparaging Pushkin. I wouldn’t dare insult the self-proclaimed Mozart of his Time. Instead, I am glorifying the beauty of the Russian language when paired with the brilliance of Puskin.

Certain languages allow for common phrases or sentences to bloom into greater beauty. One such example happened recently while I was traveling from The Netherlands to London. We spent some time in France and, being a man not quite built physically for European chairs, I knew I must learn how to order three of any pastry I found long before any further pleasantries were to be brought to my attention. Therefore, after a bit of research, I came upon the beautifully spoken question: Puis-je en avoir trois?

It was this one question that helped me better understand how to say other phrases in French. More than that, it is beautiful when spoken, especially when spoken well. It made me want to speak more often. It gave me confidence, especially when it worked and when people looked at me, expecting more French to come falling out of my pastry-filled mouth at any moment.

Unfortunately, while I do believe this is a universal truth with no emphasis on one language or another (English can sound just as lovely as French or Spanish or any other language), it is not very clear to the outside observer who is looking for a book to read. When asking friends, some of whom are in the writing industry, it was immediately brought to my attention that the lazy observer would believe the novel to be a Spanish novel and not pick it up at all. When I submitted the novel to agents, the response was essentially the same. A few agents even pointed out that they do not publish Spanish language novels.

So here I am, nameless and agentless. It’s sort of like not existing. After all, I can’t point to the novel that has been written and proclaim it Los Malos Dias. No, no. It is . . . a project. The Oakmont Project for now. A better name will come. An English name. Until it does, however, I am resigned to pining over its former nom du livre.