Once it was established that I would stay at Buffalo Seminary and not run away and join the circus, I began to love to learn. The first year in Ancient History class, I learned the word “inundation”. From Algebra, I learned that x’s and y’s could be values. From sweet Mrs. Clements, the English teacher, I learned how not to cry at a C+ on a composition. She patiently explained that I simply did not (yet) know how to write, and that if I tried very hard, I could probably learn.
And finally, from my gifted, elegant French instructor, I learned how to conjugate irregular verbs à la perfection. Yvonne Handy taught me how to speak and write her mellifluous language meticulously and with joie. Madame Handy’s pre-war French still echoes in my twenty-first century French; just as my mother’s pre-war adages are still alive in my daily English. I loved Yvonne Handy. I admired her style. Gray skirts, simple silk blouses, cardigans thrown casually around her shoulders. Pearls. Stockings and simple well-cut black pumps. When she retired, Madame Handy wrote to me in Paris offering me her job. “No one else can do it.” She claimed.
I declined. But boy was I proud!
Before I left Paris to attend the fiftieth reunion, I re-read the weekend’s schedule on my computer screen. To my astonishment, I had not only been invited to make the speech at my fiftieth reunion; but I had given top billing. The schedule’s creator raved that I had promised to talk to the reunionees about “My Fascinating Life”.
It reminded me of how in elementary school, we used to have to write compositions called: “My Summer Vacation”.
When look back over “My Fascinating Life” it often seems as though, since I began writing books, I have been on an extended holiday. I love what I do. I am not rich. I don’t belong anywhere. I am free to roam and write and do what excites me the most at any given moment. So, I decided, I would speak about my vacation of a life.
I write books about Chinese and Western Astrologies. If you are not keen on astrology or if you think it’s hogwash, I fully understand. I don’t proselytize. I am not a missionary.
I started writing about Chinese Astrology in 1975. I had already written and sold one novel. My agent in New York broke it to me. “You’re a single mother. You should start writing non-fiction.” She said.
I did not even know what non-fiction was. She made a list: Fashion, Beauty, Cookery, Astrology, History, Religion, Gardening …
I vociferated. “I can’t write about any of those silly subjects. I want to write stories. Novels. Short stories. Even plays or films. Not cookery fer chrissake!”
She warned me. “Nobody makes much money writing novels. At least not until you have written seven or eight. It’s simple. If you persist in writing novels, your children will starve.” She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at me. “Do the math,” said she.
I chose Astrology—the Chinese variety. I wrote a proposal that very day and the next week my clever agent sold it to a big publishing house. Not writing fiction anymore represented a huge change and something of a disappointment too. But, I quickly made peace with the idea. At least I was being paid to do what I love most which is writing books. Too, I was off and running in a new direction—on my way to becoming the high priestess of Chinese Astrology. I have now written four best-selling books about Astrology and they are published in almost every language in the world—including Chinese.
Despite and because of my astrology books and my willingness to shift into another gear in order to survive and feed my kids, I do in fact have a fascinating life. Yet, I couldn’t help wondering to myself:
