I began writing Olive Branches Don’t Grow on Trees after a failed attempt to make peace within my own family. In the aftermath of that heartbreak, I longed for reconciliation and resolution—things I could not achieve in real life. I wanted the novel’s protagonist, Silvia, to succeed where I had not, to unify her family so that I could experience her joy and sense of fulfillment vicariously.
Writing this literary fiction novel proved to be both cathartic and deeply healing. It helped me process one of the greatest losses of my life: the dissolution of my once-close family. Through storytelling, I was able to explore grief, estrangement, and the enduring hope for connection in a way that felt honest and restorative.
As I wrote Olive Branches Don’t Grow on Trees, I grew deeply attached to the Greco family. Readers told me they felt the same—that they wanted to spend more time with these characters and see how their stories unfolded. That desire, shared by both my audience and myself, led me to write Discovery of an Eagle. I wasn’t ready to leave the Grecos behind; I wanted to know them more intimately and to further explore their emotional lives and evolving relationships.
The Bird That Sang in Color was a story I had been wanting to write since 2001, when I discovered my brother’s pictorial autobiography—a book of sketches chronicling his life. That discovery felt almost magical, and it was equally magical to realize how seamlessly this story fit alongside the other two novels featuring the Greco family. What began as a standalone idea ultimately became an essential piece of the larger narrative.
I never set out to write a trilogy of family drama novels, but I’m profoundly grateful that I did. While all three books are deeply rooted in family dynamics and relationships, each explores different universal themes—identity, fear, love, control, forgiveness, and personal transformation. This came naturally, as the family unit itself is a microcosm of the world at large, reflecting society’s conflicts, alliances, and emotional truths.
Each novel in the trilogy features a protagonist who confronts and overcomes fears shaped by their upbringing—fears that act as barriers to happiness and fulfillment. The scene below, from Discovery of an Eagle, offers a powerful example of this transformation, illustrating how Cosmo awakens from an inherited, limiting way of being and steps into a more authentic and meaningful existence.
Enjoy the following scene from Discovery of an Eagle
They drove right to the South Rim as the park ranger who greeted them had instructed. The magnificent Canyon opened itself up to the sky, which was half deep blue, and half filled with clouds. The clouds hung around the mountains as if they were formed to each other. Light came through the cloudless spaces in thick, bright strips and turned the Canyon iridescent shades of pink, red, brown, and orange. Each time the light shifted the picture changed dramatically. Cosmo thought it wouldn’t amaze him, but he was wrong.
As he stood and stared out at the wonder, a bald eagle flew by him, only a few feet in front of where he stood. He couldn’t believe that the creature had flown so close to him. It landed on a ledge for a few seconds and then took off again, its wingspan reaching across nearly the whole of Cosmo’s field of vision. Silvia stood right beside him, watching the eagle as it flew over their heads. Neither spoke a word until it flew away and disappeared behind a cloud.
“Wow!” Silvia said. “An eagle. I love eagles!” She looked like she wanted to start jumping up and down.
“Yeah,” Cosmo said, still staring at the final trace of the majestic bird. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so close.”
“Don’t you want to know why I love them so much?” she said, disregarding her brother’s comment.
“Why?” Cosmo asked as if humoring his sister. “Because you’re such a patriot?” He laughed, knowing well that it wasn’t the correct answer.
She looked back at him snidely and said, “Because of what they mean.”
He didn’t say anything. He knew he didn’t have to. He knew his sister would tell him the answer without being prompted to do so.
“Strength, courage, immortality, spirit, divinity,” she said, gazing into the spectacular gorge below.
He knew about eagles symbolizing courage and strength, but not about immortality, spirit and divinity. The picture of the eagle was still fresh in his mind, gracefully sweeping over the earth, its wings spread like an angel. Divinity seemed to fit just right as something that this phantom bird should symbolize. It glides along with unearthly grace to remind everyone that our own journey can be as smooth or as rocky as we chose to make it. It appears, and then it disappears as if by some divine magician, and in its brief revelation, reminds us that we all have the potential to rise above.
In my newest series, I’ll be discussing the many aspects of writing about family. Each post will feature an excerpt from one of the three Greco family books.
