What We Left Behind by Valerie Nifora

Valerie Nifora is a best-selling and award-winning author, who was born and raised in New York to Greek immigrant parents. She credits her Greek heritage for her love of words and storytelling.

Her first romance novel, The Fairmounts, debuted as a #1 New Release. It's a historical romantic-suspense story that follows Harry LaCroix as he returns from war looking to settle into a quiet life with his last living relative and confidant, Lois Fairmount. But his plans take an unexpected turn when he falls for a mysterious heiress with a missing fortune. The Seattle Book Review gave The Fairmounts 5-Stars stating quote the story is "a beautiful romance novel, full of suspense, mystery, tales of old legends, and so much more."

She's also written a collection of romantic poetry called, I Asked the Wind that explores innocence, sensuality, passion, desire, heartbreak and loss through the lens of her personal experience spanning 15 years. I Asked the Wind has received a Gold Award from the Nonfiction Authors Association, a 5-Star review from the San Francisco Book Review, a Top 10 Finalist for the Author Elite Awards a globally recognized honor, and a Distinguished Favorite by the Big NYC Book Awards.

Valerie holds a B.A. in Communications from Emerson College and an M.B.A. from Fordham University. She is married, a mother of two amazing sons, a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic, and tea addict.

The title What We Left Behind is so evocative. What do you believe weactually leave behind when a relationship ends, and what quietly stays with us?

Oh, that’s a good question. I think we leave behind a version of ourselves that believed that relationship was “the one.” I think we carry lessons that we learned from that relationship and ultimately, we emerge a bit wiser (and hopefully not jaded, because there is that risk). And hopefully because of that relationship, we have evolved in some way that ultimately serves our better nature.

I’m fascinated by first love because sometimes we’re not just remembering the person, we’re remembering who WE were when we loved them. Was that something you wanted to explore in this book? (and you know, i know about this!)

Well, it’s a little unfair, because I did wind up marrying my very first real love. I think that made me a better person in the end. We were just friends for fourteen years until a switch flipped for him. I think otherwise, I would have been a very bitter and dark human being believing that I was unlovable. That said, I think the magic and power of first love is that innocence it contains. Most of us haven’t been crushed yet, and within that first love are infinite possibilities. I think that’s why we remember that person. We remember the innocence we held before we had our heart crushed and maybe our faith in another person or ourselves shattered.

You write beautifully about longing. Why do you think the loves we almost had, or the relationships that didn’t quite become what we hoped, can stay with us longer than some of the relationships that actually worked?

Thank you. I think it’s because the potential was never fulfilled. It could be due to circumstances, timing, choices—but whatever it was we thought we had, didn’t come to its full fruition. And there’s something tragic and beautiful in that. I think of it in terms of that last warm, beautiful ray of sunshine that touches our skin before the sun sets. 

Can you truly build a wonderful, happy life and still carry a tiny piece of an old love with you? And does that diminish the life you have now, or is that simply part of being human?

Possibly. It does seem profoundly unfair to the partner that you have now. I had dated other people, but my husband was always there—a shadow somewhere in the back of my mind. And on bad days with those other people, I would compare what my husband’s reaction or actions would have been in similar situations. They say that comparison is the theft of joy. So, if you are able to compartmentalize or to somehow make peace with that other person, that I suppose you can build whatever beautiful life you want. I think it’s human nature to always go backwards to what you think was better and romanticize about it. The person that you are with should bring you peace. 

Forgiveness is such an interesting theme because forgiving someone doesn’t necessarily mean forgetting what happened. What did writing this book teach you about the difference between forgiveness and forgetting?

I’ve never met a person that could honestly forget. But know plenty of people that have forgiven. There’s two dimensions to it. There’s holding up a mirror to yourself and forgiving yourself for allowing certain situations to go on too long, or for diminishing yourself to allow for certain behaviors. As for forgiving the other person, that person has to seriously change. What I enjoyed writing about the book, is the ability for both characters to look at themselves and give in to their better nature through actions. It’s what they do with and for each other. It’s not these superficial grand gestures or words that they utter. They both change. Forgiveness requires change for both the offender and the person affected. And if that’s not possible than I think the better route is forgiving yourself and just moving on. 

You’re drawn to the small moments that change everything. Why are you more interested in those quiet emotional moments than the big, dramatic ones?

I think there’s real magic in small moments. It’s these tiny little choices in our daily lives that yield the biggest outcomes. Anyone who has had their life altered could probably go back to a very tiny thought, or decision, or action that eventually set the dominos into motion. That’s always been interesting to me. It’s the idea that it was just a boring ordinary day, and then you chose something…to go the to the store, to pick up the phone, or not… and that now altered the trajectory of what’s to come. I don’t think we really focus on the choices we have. Choice is powerful. We’re powerful. I think the world tries to convince us otherwise.

Memory is tricky. Over time, do we remember a relationship as it really was, or do we unconsciously rewrite it into the story we need it to be?

That’s a fascinating question. I think it depends on the person. I think most will romanticize the memory or make it less traumatic or maybe make the person saintlier than he or she was. I think that’s a survival mechanism. And maybe we rewrite people so we don’t feel so badly about what we didn’t have. For example, minimizing a traumatic childhood experience or making excuses for a negligent parent. I think it’s in our nature to try to make something better than it may have been.

You grew up in a Greek immigrant family, where family, history and tradition can have such a strong presence. How has that shaped the way you write about love, loyalty, memory and belonging?

A. My family history is rife with trauma. Greeks are great with tragedies. There were a lot of famine and war and bad things that were happening in Greece for hundreds of years, so I think any Greek has those stories. I think it teaches us resilience. And so, we carry our familial stories as a badge to help guide our decisions and to honor the people who sacrificed so we could stand today wherever we are and complain about whatever it is. I often think of a time when your word was bond. Stories were fundamental to passing down that family history. We would tell them at family dinners and when we were celebrating holidays. I try to write characters that do what they say, and say what they mean and are then held accountable (good or bad) to those words or actions.

​Your work has been described as atmospheric and emotionally layered. When you begin a novel like this, what comes first for you: the characters, the story, an image, or simply a feeling you can’t shake?

I have an unusual process. I feel like a sponge that sometimes absorbs the world and then, I just let it out. The story comes and the characters come and all I have to do is just sit in front of my computer and let it out through my fingers on the keyboard. I can’t call the muse forth. She comes when she comes and with whatever story she has for me. That said, there are stories that have tapped me on the shoulder and I have decided not to write them. They would be too painful or devastating. I don’t want chaos for chaos sakes. So, I leave that story for another writer. Let the muse go to him or her and present it. I don’t want the responsibility for writing that story and bringing it into the world.

What do you hope a reader thinks about differently after reading What WeLeft Behind? Not about the characters, but about their own life, their own loves, and perhaps the things they’ve left behind? (and that's another book!)—LOL

I hope readers finish What We Left Behind thinking a little differently about the people and moments they’ve loved—and perhaps the ones they’ve let go. Life has a way of convincing us that there will always be more time: another conversation, another chance to say what we mean, another opportunity to reach for someone we once loved. But sometimes there isn’t. I hope readers look at their own lives and ask themselves: What have I left unsaid? What am I still carrying? I hope they close the book believing that there is still beauty in what we lose.

I want them to feel that everything works out the way it should, and if it’s meant for you, it will find you. And sometimes, the best thing that ever happens to us is not getting our wish.

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