Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Never in a million years did I expect a phone call from NASA that morning. When I saw it was a Houston number, I answered.
“Captain Christopher Ortiz?” an unfamiliar female voice said.
“Yes, speaking.”
“Captain Ortiz, this is Aleema Ayad from NASA’s media relations department. We’ve had inquiries from several publishers interested in the opportunity to work with you. They rarely reach out like this, but because of your large online following and the media interest around you, the publisher thinks your already significant audience makes you the ideal candidate for an autobiography. NASA agrees it would be a wonderful opportunity for you to continue to promote the program.”
I was stunned.
Fate?
Or coincidence?
Was there a fine line between both?
“Write a book for them?”
“Yes. Now, if you’re interested, we can certainly help you find a suitable literary agent. . . .”
I barely heard her as I stared at the laptop screen where the words I’d written, words that could easily be rearranged into an actual book, stared back at me. However, I wasn’t sure I wanted the pressure of a book deal hanging over my head to finish this thing. I’d started writing purely for myself, and honestly, that’s the way I wanted to finish it.
“Can I get back to you on this?” I cut off the publicist.
“Oh. Of course. I’ll give you my direct number if you’d like to discuss it.”
“Can you text it to me?”
“Absolutely.”
After I got off the phone, I sat back on my aunt’s couch and stared out at the view beyond her backyard. To my irritation, the first thing that occurred to me was that my father would not approve of my sharing personal details of my life. While he thought my Instagram account and subsequent talk show appearances a smart business move for NASA, I’d never posted anything to the account where I discussed my friends and family.
“You look pensive.”
I started at my aunt’s voice. She stood in the kitchen, covered in flecks of paint. “NASA wants me to write a book. Apparently some publishers have inquired and they don’t usually do that.”
Aunt Richelle smirked as she reached into the fridge for a bottled water. “Of course they want a book from you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, as much as I like to keep my nephew’s ego in check,” she teased, “you have accomplished a lot for someone your age. Besides, how many millions of followers do you have now? Between that and your TV appearances, you generated a lot of publicity. You’re the perfect poster child for NASA. They need a continued interest in the program and a good-looking astronaut from a Mexican American background whom men and women alike crush on . . . Yes, they want you writing a book. And then they want you posting to your followers about that book, going on tour with that book, and they want you on talk shows again discussing that book.”
I frowned. It wasn’t the first time they had trotted me out to the media as some sort of NASA sex symbol and emblem of their diversity. While I’d love to believe everyone following me on social media was interested in space, I knew from the comments on my posts that some people were following me because of how I looked. Not just my so-called attractiveness but because I was Latino. The media coverage always mentioned my background. It discomfited me, and yet I was logical enough to see the sense in NASA buying into it. The federal government funded NASA. Popularity of the program could not wane. It would be fatal to it. They needed the world to view them in a positive light. That they were important, progressive and had a diverse population. I understood it, and I was practical and ambitious enough to forgive the tokenism for the larger cause. That didn’t mean that every post-mission interview didn’t turn especially uncomfortable when the subject of my ethnicity arose. How I was a leader, a trailblazer. I wanted to be, I wanted to inspire other Mexican Americans, especially kids looking up to me. But I was also very aware that I’d grown up disconnected from that cultural community, that my privileged life in New York, though somewhat diverse, had been mostly white. I felt like a fraud. Yet I knew my position as a Latino astronaut had importance. So I did the interviews, I accepted the love of the community, and I furthered NASA’s agenda because the program was important to me too.
“Do you really think I could help promote the program this way?”
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t know how comfortable I’d be with that, but if it would be a productive use of my time, if it would garner interest from younger people, especially young Latinx—”
“Stop.” Aunt Richelle had crossed the room to lean on the couch. Her expression was stern. “You will not write an autobiography, one of the most personal things you could ever do, because it’s a productive use of your time and beneficial to the program.”