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That night, Maxine could not sleep. She lay next to Jo and rubbed a suddenly rough, large hand over her five-o’clock shadow. Her chest and back strained against the seams of her nightshirt. She sat up and tugged the shirt over her head. Through the slats in the plantation shutters, the moonlight illuminated the fact that her breasts had hardened and flattened. A few gray hairs sprouted around the nipples. When her toes pinched against her socks, she removed them too.

“Can’t sleep?” Jo rolled over and gasped. “Oh my.”

The shock in her voice propelled Maxine out of bed. Her legs had thickened, and her center of balance had shifted with the adjustment of the contours of her body. If she moved too quickly, she felt the strain in her muscles. Every motion existed in two timelines—the one in which she imagined the movement and the one in which the movement was accomplished. The discordant space between thought and action unsettled her. Her body no longer responded with ease, but inched along with mysterious aches and pains, much like she’d experienced during adolescence when she could not sleep because her bones were growing.

In the bathroom, Maxine flicked on the lights and grabbed the edge of the sink. Her broad hands were speckled with age spots. Feeling an urgency to urinate, she sat on the toilet seat. Something dangled between her legs, but she was too groggy to care. She released the stream until it tinkled to a stop. With an unsteady hand, she dabbed herself down there before she realized she no longer needed the tissue. Just a shake of her new penis, and she was clean.

Standing, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she understood why Jo had gasped. She looked just like her father before he had died. A wizened old man with a crinkly face; beady, dark brown eyes beneath bushy gray eyebrows; and a bulbous nose. Turning away from her reflection, she dried her hands.

Back in the bedroom, she struggled to get into bed. Her knees were locked.

Jo rushed out from under the covers and padded around the mattress. “Let me help you.”

She told Maxine about the time her mother had been ill and how the in-home health aide had shown her how to get her mother to sit on the edge of the bed first before swinging her legs onto the mattress. The two-step process was odd and cumbersome, but with Jo’s assistance, Maxine was able to lie down again.

“I look like my dad,” Maxine said, her hands folded over her chest. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Dad.”

If only she could talk to her father, then maybe everything would be all right.

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How long have you been writing?

 

I started writing professionally at sixteen years old when I went to work for the San Jose Mercury News.

 

Do you read yourself and if so what is your favorite genre? 

 

I am a voracious reader. Before my concussion, I read 75 books a year in every genre, from nonfiction to fiction. My favorite genres are romance, women’s fiction, thrillers, science, humor, memoir, literary, and current events.

 

Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why? 

 

I prefer listening to music when I write. Most of my novels have a soundtrack. Switched includes the songs, “This Little Life” by Cordelia and “Birds of a Feather” by Billie Ellish among others.

 

Pen or type writer or computer?

 

I write my notes in a notebook by long hand, but I write the first draft on a computer.

 

What made you want to become an author and do you feel it was the right decision?

 

Having a voice was important, and when I wrote, people listened. Of course, I feel it was the right decision. Everyone needs to have a voice.

 

Advice you would give new authors? 

 

I teach writing through Gotham Writers Workshop, and I always tell my students to write from their hearts without caring about the market. Some authors are good at pandering to the market, and others are better at creating a market for their unique style. But if you aren’t writing what you want and need to say, who cares if anyone is listening?

 

What makes a good story? 

 

I’m an old-fashioned Aristotelian and believe in a beginning, middle, and end.

 

What is your writing process? For instance do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first? 

 

I follow the principle of cause and effect based on character which allows me the freedom to write without an outline. I outline after the first draft to shape the story as needed in subsequent drafts.

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Angela Lam writes across all genres, from romance (The Women
of the Crush series) to memoir (Red Eggs and Good Luck) to thrillers (No
Amends) and science fiction (Switched). Sometimes, she writes under a pen name
to keep things interesting (The Heroic Adventures of Madame X). The rest of the
time, she is busy exploring mixed-media art and teaching others what she knows.

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