Gwyneth Paltrow’s lifestyle brand sells a kind of self-care that appears effortless but actually requires a lot of effort and money. The contradiction makes even browsing Goop’s Instagram account — a grid of fresh produce, lush landscapes, and happy-looking white women with loose waves — an irritating exercise.
The Uncertainty of Light explores how it feels to inhabit a body that is misunderstood. Through lenses of the natural world, astronomy, science fiction, and pop culture, this evocative collection captures snapshots of a life with chronic illness while tapping into universal experiences of searching for meaning, seeking acceptance, and falling in love.
From Sakae Manning‘s “Michiko’s Waltz” at Blood Orange Review:
I knew about people touching me without asking long before the dry lipped, gap-toothed lizard man swooped around the corner of Coalman and Edgewater in a blue El Camino, all chrome and shine. I’d nearly cleared the half-way mark to the sidewalk. Two blocks from the market. A half block from home. He wanted directions and beckoned me to step closer on account of he couldn’t hear me over the engine. I scooted closer, hugging the carton of cold milk perspiring in my arms. He set his claws into my crotch and held on tight.
There is no good way to open this. I can only try to make sense of the summer of 2017 when my mother lost her mind and the country seemed to lose its. And the stories we told ourselves to find our way through.
*
“I think everyone’s really sad and feeling weird because of Trump. Like everyone I talk to is weird.” The argument was sound, but a little strange for my mom. She was worried, afraid. Not like herself.
The plane crash was only one of the incidents in a chain of events that have demoralized those of us who can’t find solace or prospect. We are aware that a dramatic change is not plausible or desirable, but a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel could help since day after day we receive tragic or terrifying news.
When I first saw the Vroman’s Bookstore event for American Dirt had been cancelled I thought to call up a new guy and set up a date for Tuesday now that my night was clear, but then I waited. I remembered the #DignidadLiteraria manifesto just out from Myriam Gurba, David Bowles, and Roberto Lovato. I went back and read their call to actions and thought, what if something else took its place?
At first I waited to see if something was already in the works. I mean, the call had already been put out to protest the event. People were ready, but I waited to see who might still be going. A few others asked the same question on Twitter. I sent a DM to Myriam–whose critique of AD was the first voice of dissent on the issue–asking if anything was being planned and waited for a response.
I know Myriam through the LA literary scene, we once featured together, but I don’t know her really, and yet, her words have saved me.
When the El Paso shooting happened on August 3, 2019 killing 22 people and injuring 24 others, and the news came out that the shooter was targeting Mexicans, I was horrified and heartbroken. Later that same week my family gathered for our annual summer pool party, and when I panned across the 80+ family members in their different shades of brown, I thought if a person wanted to kill Mexicans we were an easy target gathered in the open and covered in nothing but swimsuits and sunshine at a public El Monte pool. It’s as if we were flaunting it. I should have been laughing with my tías and racing my nieces, but instead I kept a watch on the entrance gate and marked every new arrival who came through looking out for any persons I didn’t know.
That week I was scared silent.
But Myriam had words. On August 5th, just two days after the horrific event, she had this to share on Instagram.
Simple. To the point. And yet, one of the hardest things to say in that moment. Through her words on social media, I felt seen and not alone. She helped me find my bravery again.
I may not know Myriam, but I know it isn’t easy being that one voice time and time again, and so when I hadn’t heard back via Twitter I thought, She doesn’t always have to do the heavy lifting. I, too, can do something at Vroman’s. It’s my local bookstore, after all, and Myriam can be the one to call up a honey and enjoy her night.
So that’s what I did.
I started by emailing a call to my friends and organizers, a list of people I actually see and work with and trust on a regular. Most sent back encouraging regrets and maybes if traffic was kind. It was a Tuesday night, and though I’m a San Gabriel Valley local, most of my compatriots are not. I pushed on.
Next I put the call out on social media. Though I don’t have a big following, I figured I might catch a few people, and thankfully, others reposted the call as well. Over a day, I had two people confirmed to join.
The morning of I woke with the idea to reach out to Vroman’s and see if they’d officially host us. They had the space going unused, and maybe if I had this piece of the puzzle more people would join. They said no, but that an #ownvoices event is in the works for March 21st. Would I like to be involved?
Sure.
Was what I wrote out in the reply email but didn’t press send. I left the computer for a while and went on to get ready for the day and drive to work. On the drive, where I do my most intense thinking, I drafted a response in my head. When I arrived at the office, I sent it off.
“I appreciate Vroman’s planning an #ownvoices reading in March, but I find it unfortunate that the organization doesn’t see value in having two #ownvoices events. You have an opportunity to support your local immigrant and children of immigrant communities as well as other readers and writers of color by opening up a space [that] is currently going unused. While the March event will likely feature books and writers already on your shelves, this is a chance give space to indie, emerging, and newer writers who are currently hurting from lack of representation and support in publishing.
I hope you reconsider. Thanks for your time. “
By now it was noon, and I had told people to meet at Vroman’s at 7pm. I waited.
The Vroman’s rep wrote back that they would still not host us without time to promote, but they would be interested in collaborating on such an event with me. This seemed good: open communication and a possible future event featuring my fellow writers. The questions became, Do I call off the event? Do I tell Vroman’s we’re already planning to be there?
I reached out to two trusted friends, and one was available for feedback. After some more thought, I sent a reply.
“Thank you for the invitation to work on either the March 21st event or a separate event. I appreciate your interest in building bridges with local writers of color both already featured at Vroman’s and those not yet on the shelves. I do want to work with you on a future event.
The idea to host a reading tonight came out of a call from #DignidadLiteraria–a collective created by Myriam Gurba, David Bowles, and Roberto Lovato–to organize read-ins and other actions, and the canceling of the AD event felt the perfect time to act in solidarity with the work they’ve been doing. I do have a small group of people interested in coming out tonight. I know you can’t host us at this time, but would it be possible for us to gather in the outside courtyard at 7pm? I would encourage people to patron the store to buy Marcelo’s book and other picks from the #ownvoices displays.
I want to honor the store’s wishes and continue this conversation beyond today, but I still feel compelled to join with people tonight in either in the courtyard or another space close by.”
Vroman’s gave us permission to gather in the courtyard.
At 6pm, friend and advocate, Désirée Zamorano treated me to a quick happy hour bite and glass of wine down the street. At 6:30pm I brought out my roll-away amp and speaker, a few blank posters, Sharpies, and an armload of #ownvoices books and started setting up.
On one poster I wrote: “I grew up crossing the border on Saturday mornings.”
The publishing industry (and movie industry) believes in only one portrayal of the border, but I actually grew up going to Tijuana with my parents for day shopping trips. We’d buy school shoes, Christmas presents, and inventory for their concession stand at Pico Rivera Sports Arena. My weekends were spent in three places: my grandmother’s house in Boyle Heights, shopping malls in Tijuana, and selling candy to Tigres del Norte fans in Pico Rivera, but that’s not the border story big publishing wants to hear. I tell it anyway.
Right at 7pm, friends Kate Maruyama, Lauren Eggert-Crowe, Ashaki M. Jackson, and Luivette Resto walked up. I encouraged people to write their own messages on posters provided, and we displayed the words with the books I brought.
At 7:15 we began with Désirée Zamorano reading her essay “Scarification” published at Acentos Review. Next up was F. Douglas Brown reading a basketball poem in honor of the fallen star and father, Kobe Bryant. Sehba Sarwar read from her newly released novel, Black Wings and shared how it was difficult for her to publish the book because publishers and editors wanted to put her in a box she did not belong in. Angela M. Sanchez shared an essay on the colonization of the ahuácatl/aguacate/avocado. Josh Evans read poems about his Black experience and wanting to fit in. Luivette Resto read work from Judith Ortiz Cofer and Puerto Rican ancestral poet, Julia de Burgos. I closed out with a poem from Sara Uribe’s Antígona González and my poem “To Be the Daughter of Immigrants” about those Pico Rivera days.
By 8:15 we were done and the audience had grown to about 20. People coming in and out of the store had stopped by to listen. A mother and daughter sat right up front for the whole thing. When I talked to them after, I found out that they had come out to see what American Dirt was all about. “All I knew was Oprah picked it,” the mother said and laughed that maybe that was a poem. The daughter talked about a writer coming to visit her class. They were happy to have found us. I met a shy Latinx librarian. I met booksellers and a rep from the the publisher, and looking back now, I wish I could have talked to more people.
In the end, I’m glad we were able to gather together, and I’m thankful for those who showed support along the way. If I were to do it over, I would have brought more books to display and asked my friends to amplify the call sooner so more people could join, but in the end, I’m happy for all the waiting and starting small.
This is all to say, You, too, can host a #DignidadLiteraria read-in. I hope you do. One thing I take from Myriam Gurba is we cannot be silent.
Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo is the daughter of Mexican immigrants and the author of Posada: Offerings of Witness and Refuge (Sundress Publications 2016). A former Steinbeck Fellow, Poets & Writers California Writers Exchange winner, and Barbara Deming Memorial Fund grantee, she’s received residencies from Hedgebrook, Ragdale, National Parks Arts Foundation and Poetry Foundation. A Macondo Writers’ Workshop member, she has work published in Acentos Review, CALYX, crazyhorse, and American Poetry Review among others. A dramatization of her poem “Our Lady of the Water Gallons,” directed by Jesús Salvador Treviño, can be viewed at latinopia.com. She is a cofounder of Women Who Submit.
It’s been three years. We have been living with a white supremacist, rapist, corrupt reality TV star at the head of our government for three long years. What does this do to a woman? A woman of color? An ally? An artist?
We knew he was white supremacist:
housing discrimination, condemning the exonerated five, blocking Native
American casinos, denying Obama’s citizenship, and over the past three years,
he’s confirmed this by building a wall, instituting a travel ban, carrying out thousands
of inhumane family separations, denying asylum, and calling white supremacists
very good people.
We knew he was a sexual
predator before, but his court appointments threatened my reproductive rights,
threatened affordable health care, threatened my autonomy.
The gas-lighting
continues. The lies and constant barrage of bad news make it hard to breathe because
the air is so toxic. It’s hard to keep pushing when the Senate and the
Republican Party continue to legitimize unlawful conduct. It’s hard when there
are kids in cages and the earth is on fire and our rights are suddenly up for
negotiation.
But what other options do
we have? Opt out? Leave? Or do we follow the news, keep watching even when it’s
hard, and push back with our thoughts, our actions, our words, our money (if we
have any after “tax cuts”)?
During the National Book
Awards in January of 2017, Colson Whitehead gave this advice: “Be kind, make
art, and fight the power.” I repeat this on those toughest days. I remind those
struggling around me: we are worthy, we matter, and those most at-risk matter.
Our art matters, and hate cannot win.
My kids were in diapers
at the start of this presidency, but they have grown up over the past three
years. 45 has only grown more vicious and cruel. My youngest only knows a world
under this president, and my oldest knows we protest. They also know how to be
kind and to make art. They know it’s hard work to fight the power.
It’s been three years, and with hope and more work, next year things will be different. We look toward hope and a future of healing and redemption. We look to make art that restores, and we keep fighting.
Noriko Nakada writes, blogs, tweets, parents, and teaches middle school in Los Angeles. Publications include: Through Eyes Like Mine (2010), Overdue Apologies (2012), and I Tried (2019). Excerpts, essays, and poetry have appeared in Catapult, Meridian, Kartika, Hippocampus, Compose, Linden Avenue and elsewhere.
I’ve been busy finishing the next draft of my manuscript and haven’t had a chance to write a start of the year piece for you all. My apologies, but I hope you understand as I work towards taking my novel to the next stage of its life in 2020. In the meantime, here’s an oldie but goodie first published June 29, 2016. I wrote this after being awarded a 2016-2017 Steinbeck Fellowship from CSU San Jose. I know many of you are currently considering applying to upcoming workshops and residencies, so I hope you find this helpful.
And enjoy these words of encouragement from Danez Smith.
To you reaching the next stage in your journey!
Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo
BUILDING UP TO EMERGING
The first time I applied for a fellowship was in spring 2009. I was about to finish grad school, and I sent out a slew of applications like I was applying for a PhD. I figured it was the next logical step as I readied myself to move beyond my MFA program, and I had the mentors close by to help. I gathered transcripts and letters of recommendation, curated samples of work and wrote project proposals. I remember one mentor agreed to write a letter with what I perceived as little enthusiasm. When all the rejections came in that summer, I read the bios of those who won and took notice of all their previous awards and accolades. I thought back to that mentor and considered her lackluster support the response of someone who understood the literary world better than I did at that time.
See what I learned from this experience was that “emerging” doesn’t mean new like I thought it did, but more as the Merriam-Webster dictionary defines, “becoming widely known or established.” After my first attempt at a writing fellowship, I realized that to win an “emerging” literary award a writer must already be on the way to becoming established. In other words, to win a big award, you usually have to have won an award. After this discovery, I didn’t put too much energy into fellowships the following years because they are expensive, time consuming and I had little chance to win one anyway. I don’t mean I stopped applying all together. Since the start of this process my mantra has always been, you can’t win if you don’t apply, but instead of applying to six like I did that first year, I applied to one or two that I could either see myself doing (Tickner Writing Fellowship) or ones I dreamed of doing (Stegner Fellowship), and then submitted to a group of workshops and residencies.
In the spring of 2011, I applied to Macondo Writing Workshop, Wisconsin Institute for Creative Writing Fellowship, and University of Arizona’s Poetry Center Summer Residency. For the latter application, I wrote a project proposal that included volunteering with the direct desert aid humanitarian organization, No More Deaths. I proposed that I would use my two weeks at the Poetry Center to write about my volunteering experience once I returned from the desert (the application no longer requires a proposal). I was rejected from all three, but that summer I decided to make my project happen anyway with or without the University of Arizona. I applied to be a volunteer and was accepted. Then in July of that year, I spent nine days in the Tucson-sector of the border camping, hiking, replenishing water supplies, and being a witness to the horrific realities of border policies and border patrol practices. When I was done, I set up my own little seven-day residency in Tucson at the Roadrunner Hostel & Inn, but I didn’t do much writing. Those nine days in the desert were difficult on my body, mind and spirit, and processing the experience wasn’t as easy as I originally thought it would be. In fact, I spent most of my “residency” streaming bad movies and TV. It wasn’t until six months later that I started writing poems about the border. I had written about 10 by the following summer and when the Poets & Writers California Exchange prize opened up that August. I submitted my new border poems, and shockingly I won.
In the fall of 2011, I applied to Hedgebrook for the first time and Las Dos Brujas Writers’ Workshop. For the Hedgebrook project proposal I wrote out a novel idea that had been tossing in my mind for a couple of years about a feminist retelling of Of Mice and Men. I taught the novel to 9th graders and every year I would be angered by Steinbeck’s treatment of the nameless, one-dimensional character, “Curley’s wife.” Writing the proposal was the first time I took that idea from my mind and wrote it on paper. It was the first time I allowed myself to believe the idea could turn into something real. I ended up making it into the top 100 applicants. I wasn’t accepted, but in the summer of 2012 I did attend Las Dos Brujas, which was my first week-long writing workshop. I had the opportunity to work with Juan Felipe Herrera (now the Poet Laureate of the United States) and a beautiful community of writers of color in a magical location among mesas and red rocks in New Mexico. That summer I wrote more poems, completed a poetry manuscript and started sending it out to first book contests.
Over the last few years I’ve applied to Canto Mundo twice, Macondo three times, Hedgebrook three times, UofA’s Poetry Center Summer Residency three times, the Stegner fellowship twice, Wisconsin Institute for Creative Writing three times, Bread Loaf three times, Bucknell University’s Stadler fellowship twice and a few others. This year, I was finally accepted to Hedgebrook and Macondo (after moving up from “alternate”) but when I was rejected for the second time from Macondo in 2014, my good friend Ashaki Jackson asked why we didn’t make our own residency, and that summer we spent four days writing in a little cottage we found on AirBNB that sat in an avocado grove in Carpinteria. When I got back, I reworked my poetry manuscript for the fourth time and resubmitted to first book contests.
In 2015, I received my first residency acceptance from the Ragdale Foundation in North Shore Chicago. While I was there, having 25 days to myself to do nothing but write, I finally found time to return to the proposal I wrote for Hedgebrook three years prior. I wrote a first draft of an epistolary novel telling the story of Nora aka “Curley’s wife,” a 16 year-old Mexican-American migrant worker who marries a gabacho landowner from Salinas County when her family is deported to Mexico during a Depression Era INS sweep.
Then in the winter, I found a submission call for the Steinbeck Fellowship from the Martha Heasley Cox Center for Steinbeck Studies at San Jose State University and thought I might have a chance of winning the award since my project was Steinbeck inspired. I submitted the opening section of the book, which I was able to workshop and revise thanks to a weekly workshop I had with two friends, Tisha Reichle and Lauren Barry Fairchild, and asked a seasoned novelist I met at Ragdale to write a letter of recommendation on my behalf. He has six novels, tenure at a prestigious east coast writing program, and a Hollywood movie under his belt, so when he said my novel-in-progress had serious potential I was blown away. Thankfully, he said he would write it, and I think the combination of having a Steinbeck inspired project, workshopped pages, and the recommendation are what helped me win a 2016-2017 Steinbeck fellowship.
Now that I’ve reached my goal of becoming a fellow, I guess I can be considered an “emerging” writer, but growing to this point was a seven-year process (more if you count grad school and the road to grad school), and I’ve found that building a career is possible, but it is building something brick by brick. It’s slow and hard, and made of moments when you choose to push forward even when you aren’t getting recognition (I never did win a coveted first book award).
Here is what I have learned over the last seven years of submitting and resubmitting to these opportunities:
1. Always submit work (when you can afford to) whether you feel you can win or not because you will never get an acceptance if you don’t.
2. Resubmit. It took me three tries to get into Hedgebrook. The first time I applied, my application made it into the second round, but the next didn’t make it past the first, so you never know what can happen. First readers often change from year to year and so do judges, so resubmit.
3. Listen to recommendations. I would have never applied to Ragdale if it wasn’t for poet Veronica Reyes telling me to give it a try. I would have never known about Las Dos Brujas if Ashaki Jackson hadn’t sent me email reminders, and that was the best workshop I’ve experienced to date. We can’t possibly know all the opportunities out there, so listen to the writers around you.
4. Use the application process as a way to visualize a project. Even if your project is rejected, it can still end up being the start of a book, and don’t be afraid to move forward without the award or support. Of course, awards are nice, but don’t let the pursuit of such things stop you. You might find when you push forward new opportunities arise.
5. Don’t wait for a writing workshop to accept you when you can make your own. Besides the Carpinteria avocado ranch, this summer Lauren, Tisha, and I will be meeting outside of Denver at Lauren’s family’s cabin to finish workshopping our respective novels-in-progress—a process we sadly had to halt when Lauren moved out of California. Tisha calls it the Three Muses Workshop. It doesn’t have to cost a lot of money. Ask someone who has a cabin, find a cheap rental, go in on a place with friends, but make it happen and write.
6. Look for workshops and communities that are going to feed your writing or awards that link to your writing or your writing philosophy. There is a wide range of workshops, residencies and fellowships to apply to and each application costs money. Like applying to colleges think about what region of the country you want to write in, what mentors you want to work with, what organizations you want to back your project. Be strategic.
7. And finally, when applying to residencies in particular try these tips:
a. Send your BEST work. I have heard this from a few writers. Do not send a sample of new writing that you wish to work on while in residency, but send writing that’s been perfected and even published. If what you submit is not what you want to work on, and you get accepted, that’s ok. No one will be checking.
b. If an application asks why you want to attend, come up with a more specific answer than needing a place to write. This advice came from a Hedgebrook alumna. Again, think of the application like a college essay. Hedgebrook receives close to 1000 applications. The first round is read by alumna, which select about 10% to go into round two, so you want to say something that makes you stand out.
c. When writing a project proposal, name your research sources. I got this advice from my eldest brother who is currently working on a PhD in Communications from University of Maryland. Back in 2007, when I was working on my Antioch University MFA application, I asked him to read my essay of intent. In it I mentioned my interest in social justice writing and poetry of witness but didn’t give specifics. His advice was to go back and name the research I had done, the books I had been reading, the writers I was studying as proof. Basically, let your application show the work you’ve already done and name names.
In the end, if an emerging writer fellowship is a goal of yours, know that you will most likely need to have other accolades first. That sucks, but the good news is working your way up is possible by submitting to the wide range of opportunities available to writers, many of which go beyond publication. Workshops, retreats, and residencies await you, and you’ll find that many offer scholarships and some are even free (after the application fee). I urge you to research and submit to a couple–and then resubmit. Over time you will meet and work with great writers, create friendships, generate and perfect your work, and discover new opportunities as they emerge.
Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo is the daughter of Mexican immigrants and the author of Posada: Offerings of Witness and Refuge (Sundress Publications 2016). A former Steinbeck Fellow, Poets & Writers California Writers Exchange winner, and Barbara Deming Memorial Fund grantee, she’s received residencies from Hedgebrook, Ragdale, National Parks Arts Foundation and Poetry Foundation. A Macondo Writers’ Workshop member, she has work published in Acentos Review, CALYX, crazyhorse, and American Poetry Review among others. A dramatization of her poem “Our Lady of the Water Gallons,” directed by Jesús Salvador Treviño, can be viewed at latinopia.com. She is a cofounder of Women Who Submit.
May your 2020 be filled with regular celebrations of small accomplishments towards an overall goal.
Year of planting
As a person who suffers from a mental disability, I often speak in public about how I live a regular life while coping with the challenges of my condition. The audience often expects me to speak about dreams for the future. Instead, I say that I don’t dream anymore because I am actually pursuing my goals.
During the last decade, I have approached every new year
with an overall theme to guide my planning for the year. This practice has helped
me make life changing decisions. It hasn’t prevented me from some unexpected
turns on the road, but it has served as a light in times of difficulty.
My approach has been to set an overall theme for each year
and goals around that theme. When the theme was “survival,” my goal was to complete
requirement to find a reliable job, find an affordable place to live, and well,
there is no other way to put it, to not kill myself. There was a year of “reinvention,”
and a last year of “presence.”
When I think of my goals I write achievable, specific, and
measurable objectives, in which the different aspects of my life are interconnected.
For instance, achieving a financial or professional goal may open time and
space to reach a creative goal. I also set a timeline for milestones, so I give
myself a sense of urgency. Finally, I post this yearly plan where I HAVE TO SEE
it every day, reminding myself that I have to work daily to accomplish what I want.
In the few days before to return to work, I will prepare my
vision board with those specific goals and activities I want to achieve by the
end of 2020.
I invite you to do the same. Think of an overall theme with all
the aspects of your life you want to improve. Set specific goals, and a time line
to achieve them. And then keep the focus while going through 2020 like a woman
on a mission, achieving one small step at the time.
And enjoy the ride.
Lisbeth Coiman is an emerging, bilingual writer wandering the immigration path from Venezuela to Canada to the US. She has performed any available job from maid to college administrator, and adult teacher. Her work has been published in Hip Mama, the Literary Kitchen, YAY LA, Nailed Magazine, Entropy, and RabidOak. She was also featured in the Listen to Your Mother Show in 2015. In her self-published memoir, I Asked the Blue Heron (Nov 2017), Coiman celebrates female friendship while exploring issues of child abuse, mental disorder, and her own journey as an immigrant.
IVF produced three embryos and my doctor implanted one, leaving two on ice.
When that one didn’t take, I took a couple month break from fertility treatments. I let myself become so used to the appearance of single lines, I wondered if my body could ever overcome my disbelief. I let myself believe I wasn’t a person concerned with getting pregnant, and for a couple months I was.
& the grief wrecks me a bride of caskets stabbing heated cotton fields my sister’s manic curses slice through my father’s prayers mid request & what else is there for god to do
High noon & I trek out to a Gangnam playground with you, sit on a swing, trace larger & larger arcs & you fit your face over the pinhole projector you made, staring into the haloed reflection of a sun as yet unblemished. Around me
It is not Pompeii yet. Not the stew of magma & rainwater.
Congratulations to Romaine Washington whose poem, “1. Nuzzle and 2. Shrinking,” was published in Is It Hot In Here or Is It Just Me?: Women Over Forty Write on Aging!
One of the things I love
most about our Women Who Submit community is the way we celebrate. We clap-up every
submission and query at our parties and acknowledge our passes and publications
in our virtual spaces. So during this season of celebration, let’s think about all
of the ways we can close out the year celebrating our work and our risks and
all the choices we make that move our creative work into the world. Here are
five ways we can celebrate our writing lives this holiday season.
Celebrate the words. Maybe it’s a line in a draft of a poem, or a nice holiday note. Maybe it’s a turn in a story, or maybe even a whole paragraph or chapter that works exactly the way we want. In those small, sacred moments when we feel like we actually get the words right, let’s celebrate them, even if we are the only ones reading them (so far).
Celebrate brilliance in the works we read. Look at all of the amazing final drafts in the world! I am sometimes overwhelmed when I first walk into a bookstore or library. There are so many books, and I wonder where my own voice fits within all of the noise. Instead of hanging my head, I’m thankful for all of the books, and all of the poetry and essay collections I’ve read this year. These books have so much to teach if I read and learn from them. Instead of concerning myself with where my voice fits, I can celebrate books and know I am working to make space for more voices.
Celebrate gifts of words. This holiday season, like most others, I gift favorite books that I’ve read in the past year and hope to talk with loved ones about them. Maybe it’s a personalized note or card aiming to thank or communicate an important thought. The written word allows us to connect with friends and family beyond the social media share or text message. Talking about ideas and stories allows for a different level of connection, the kind I strive for but struggle to create with even my dearest family and friends.
Celebrate the accomplishments and write them down. All of the submissions, readings, conferences, residencies, late nights, early mornings, time at drafting, revising, editing, researching, responding, and risk-taking. It all takes so much, and most of us do this work while working and caretaking and living full and busy lives. So celebrate all of those ways we put our work and our words out there. For every reading or lecture we attended, for every opportunity or conversation we said yes to, or all of those times when we supported other writers and then grew as writers ourselves, cheers to all of that.
Celebrate growth across time. It’s the end of a year and of a decade. There are best-of-lists for all things artistic and creative all around us, and it’s easy to get lost making sense of everyone else’s reflections. But this looking back doesn’t need to be public, it doesn’t need to be shared or written about, but it is worthwhile. You will see just how much work you have done over the past months and over the years. Celebrate it. Celebrate you and your artistry, and then let’s look forward to all you are becoming in 2020 and into this next decade.
Happy holidays to you all. I look forward to celebrating with you all in the new year and decade.
Noriko Nakada writes, blogs, tweets, parents, and teaches middle school in Los Angeles. She is committed to writing thought-provoking creative non-fiction, fiction, and poetry. Publications include: Through Eyes Like Mine (2010), Overdue Apologies (2012), and I Tried (2019). Excerpts, essays, and poetry have appeared in Catapult, Meridian, Kartika, Hippocampus, Compose, Linden Avenue and elsewhere.
As we come to the end of another year (and decade), I like to look back at all we’ve accomplished this year, and congratulate everyone for continuing to thrive when too many want us to disappear.
Firsts the firsts. The Kit Reed Travel Fund, thanks to a donation from Kit Reed’s surviving family members, made it possible for WWS to sponsor three writers of color to attend a workshop, residency, or conference of their choice with a small $340 grant meant to offset travel costs. In the spirit of Kit Reed’s prolific work and adventurous spirit, Sakae Manning attended the Summer Fishtrap Gathering of Writers in Oregon, Grace Lee attended Bread Loaf Writers Conference in Vermont, and Sibylla Nash attended Joya: AiR in Spain. We look forward to offering more grants in 2020.
Thanks to the tireless work of managing editors, Tisha Marie Reichle-Aguilera and Rachael Warecki, we had our first anthology, ACCOLADES, made it through it’s open call, selection process, and design, and will be ready for release in spring 2020. ACCOLADES was made possible by CCI Arts Investing in Tomorrow grant and is a celebration of our writers’ publications and awards over the last few years.
Another first in 2019 was our WWS Happy Hour at AWP hosted by our friends at Nucleus Portland where we featured 10 readers to a jovial crowd drinking beer and wine. Be sure to be on the look out for our 2020 AWP event, the ACCOLADES, a WWS Anthologly, Release Party on March 5th at La Botanica from 4pm-7pm .
We ended the year strong with one last first, our first crowd funding campaign, and thanks to the work and leadership of Lauren Eggert-Crowe and Ashley Perez we surpassed our funding goal! These funds were needed to match funds from a CAC Local Impact grant we received in 2019.
In 2019 we also hosted the following workshops and panels:
February: You Need a Website! A Practical Guide to the What, Why, and How of Building (or Strategically Updating) Your Author Website with Li Yun Alvarado
April: Poetry Submission Panel with Muriel Leung & Vickie Vertiz and moderated by Lauren Eggert-Crowe
June: Finding an Agent and What I Never Knew Until It Happened with Natashia Deón
August: Tier One Submission Strategies with Désirée Zamorano
October: Pay attention: attending and collaborating at the end slash beginning of the world with Rachel McLeod Kaminer and Rocío Carlos
But let’s not forget other highlights such a the 6th Annual Submission Blitz in September, where we encouraged our members to submit to tier one journals, an action inspired by Vida and the Vida count. We also made our 4th appearance at Lit Crawl LA, with “It’s a Book Party!” featuring new titles from members Jenise Miller, Carla Sameth, Colette Sartor, Micelle Brittan Rosado, and Noriko Nakada, and we featured at the Los Angeles reading series, Roar Shack, hosted by David Rocklin with readers Sakae Manning, Grace Lee, Sibylla Nash, Ryane Granados, Lituo Huang, Andy Anderegg, and Ann Faison.
And last but not least we can’t forget the 125 publications and awards celebrated on the WWS Publication Round Up in 2019, a list curated each month by the brilliant and tireless, Laura K. Warrell.
So with that, I thank you for all you did this year. I thank you for sharing space with me, and for continuing to champion your work and the work of other writers in our community. We do this together, and I look forward to another year of submission parties and publications with you!
Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo, Director of Women Who Submit
As the end of the decade approaches, and in the spirit of the past Thanksgiving, I express gratitude for the gifts I enjoy and the people who have helped me in the process of setting roots in Los Angeles. When I count my gifts, I claim sanity, employment, community, and dancing.
Since I have battled with suicide ideation throughout my
adult life mostly through medication and therapy, I am grateful every day I
find the strength and motivation to pursue my goals. Staying alive requires the
help of a therapist who speaks my native language and has patiently held my
hand when separating from the man I have loved with wild passion and madness
felt like peeling the skin off of my body.
Los Angeles, this crazy city of traffic jams, evictions, and
homelessness, gave me a job I cherish serving a population I respect and
admire. As an adult ESL teacher I have the privilege to introduce new immigrants
to the English language and to the US culture – with all its wonders and dark chapters.
Aware that this job does not pay my bills entirely, I have also found the
support of NAMI LAC to employ me as an In Our Own Voice presenter, a program
that fights the stigma against those of us who suffer from mental disorders.
When that was not enough to provide for myself and my family in my homeland, I have
also been fortunate to rely on my native language to further supplement my
income with private tutoring. My work week extends to 50-60 hours, and yes, it
feels like too much. Yet I am grateful for Mondays. when I know there is another
full week ahead to continue my growth as a self-sustained woman in her mid 50s.
In La La La land I have been audience and participant of extraordinary literary events. Most of the people I come across in those events, with their “hmms” after a line of poetry, or a suggestion to submit, or encouragement, have paved the way for my growth as a writer. The World Stage, La Palabra, Rapp Saloon, Roar Shack, Why There Are Words, LA Expressions, The Exhibition Park Regional Library, Other Books LA, Libro Mobile, and Drunken Masters, and all the amazing writers and hosts of this great community have nourished my artistic spirit.
The South Bay Writing Group, a small and eclectic ensemble of women writers who meet once a week in a coffee shop in Redondo Beach, have become my sisters in writing. I look forward to meeting them once a week, when we briefly catch up on our lives, and fiercely critique each other’s work. They have seen me through divorce and depression, as I have seen them through death of parents, parental worries, and lately through cancer. I love them dearly and cannot be grateful enough for their support.
No other community has had a more significant impact in my development as an writer in the last five years than Women Who Submit. I met them on my first week in LA in the summer of 2014 and have been involved with them ever since. Despite my limited participation in this organization, Women Who Submit has become a great resource to find potential publication for my writing. I am not only grateful, but also proud to know the extraordinary founders and the leadership team.
But what brings me joy is dancing. When I dance, I smile and in doing so my brain produces the endorphins I need to feel good. I have danced since I was a child, but never paid attention to style or form. LA Salsa dancing scene is glamorous and flamboyant, and it’s been hard to learn so much sophistication. But I have talented and patient instructors, who celebrate my life’s events even when I still cannot gather enough friends for a party. They offer me so much fun on the hours I steal from my many responsibilities.
With only a few weeks left to the end of the year, I just wish that one day not far into the future, I can shed some of my financial constraints and dedicate myself entirely to pursue a career as a writer. And when I do so, I will do it as a part of the South Bay Writing Group, Women Who Submit, and the LA writing community as a whole. Then I will dance of joy.
Lisbeth Coiman is an emerging, bilingual writer wandering the immigration path from Venezuela to Canada to the US. She has performed any available job from maid to college administrator, and adult teacher. Her work has been published in Hip Mama, the Literary Kitchen, YAY LA, Nailed Magazine, Entropy, and RabidOak. She was also featured in the Listen to Your Mother Show in 2015. In her self-published memoir, I Asked the Blue Heron (Nov 2017), Coiman celebrates female friendship while exploring issues of child abuse, mental disorder, and her own journey as an immigrant.
MICHAEL NAVA: It’s a very common story. I’m about to turn 65. I’ve been out since I was 17. I’ve had hundreds of conversations as a gay man and realize that Bill’s story is just not that uncommon. I think it’s changed a little since 1971, where the opening is set. It has improved for the LGBTQ community in those intervening 40-plus years, so I have some emotional distance from the rawness of the story. That’s what protects me from not being able to write about it.
Also from Désirée, “Scarification” at Acentos Review:
One evening in July, in San Antonio, a group of us fled the stiff air conditioning of our rooms and gathered impulsively at the outdoor seating of the college dorm at Texas A & M University. People brought beer, bottles of Topo Chica water, bottles of wine. Others brought hummus, potato chips, brownies. I glanced around the crowd of mostly women, and wondered, how many novels, memoirs, chapbooks, essays, present and future, did we all represent?
Congrats to Deborah Edler Brown who had two poems published in poeticdiversity, one of which, “Buddhi” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize! From “Buddhi”:
I know my wings when they show up I feel their heft on my scapula, on the wingspan between shoulder blades I feel their stretch and the shadow they draw across the ground.
Most people don’t know much about their family history. This is because people usually don’t become interested in genealogy until they’re in their 50s and 60s, when they have more time to reflect on their family identity. The problem is that by that time, their grandparents and parents have often already passed away or are unable to recount their stories.
From Lisbeth Coiman‘s “El Guaire” at Acentos Review:
Before born, El Guaire provided Caracas With fresh water streaming down from tributaries.
Citizens proud of First source of constant energy In the subcontinent.
Congratulations to Bonnie S. Kaplan who had two poems published in the Northridge Review!
Congratulations to Tanya Ko Hong whose book, The War Still Within, was published at KYSO Flash!
Congratulations to Romaine Washington whose poems “Br’er Boombox,” “Childman in the Motherland, Saguaro,” and “All-American Pastime,” were published in Cholla Needles 36!
Congratulations to Mareshah “MJ” Jackson whose story, “Too Nice,” was published at the Citadel!
