Finally!!!! My first novella is ready!!! =)

My first book is now available for sale on Amazon.  If you enjoy young adult fiction as much as I do or Native American literature, or mystery/adventure, or ghost stories, then you will LOVE this book!

Here is the link to Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Spirit-Food-M-D-Jackson/dp/1491072342/ref=sr_1_46?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1375223838&sr=1-46&keywords=spirit+food

First Novella: Almost There!!~

For the past couple of weeks, I have been editing and re-editing my book and it should *hopefully* be available next week. 

The book is about a teenage girl named Malina, who leaves home her senior year to attend Standing Heart Academy on the reservation where her mother grew up.  The high school provides a glimpse of college life.  It even has dormitories and secret clubs that meet in the middle of the night.  Malina joins one of the clubs with her cousin and immediately becomes entangled in a mystery surrounding her family's past, when she sees a spirit. 

 Upon seeing the spirit, she meets Donovan, who becomes her boyfriend and protector.  She also begins to have visions. With her boyfriend by her side, Malina is able to uncover pieces of a story, which lead her to discover a world filled with; love, mystery, and spirits.

Dancing at Worlds

Sometimes I think about what it was like when I was in college, especially when I'm teaching in a building close to the buildings where my friends and I used to  hang out with military boys.  Back then, we never thought about where we would all be in ten years. We were having too much fun to think about the future. Then graduation came and we all went our seperate ways.  How could we have known that we would end up missing those moments later and constantly reminisce about them as if willing them to come back? How could we have known that our husbands would become annoyed with our reminiscing because they could never understand our wild times? We couldn't have known and now we just dream about those days and even though we are all different people, something about our particular friendship makes each of us remember the same vivid details from those times. I'm sure we each have one favorite moment from those times, but if I could time travel for one night, I would go back to World Cafe.  The building is hidden among industrial buildings and has become a medical supply warehouse.  But, back then, it was a place where you went to let everything go.  For as long as you were there, you were happily talking to strangers, while standing on the square-shaped, platform bar.  Or you were dancing to every single song because the deejay always seemed to have the perfect playlist.

One night....

We were all getting ready.  It was only 6:00pm, but we were girls and there were five of us.  I lived in the dorm at the top of the hill and so did two others (in different rooms).  The other two lived down the hill and across the street.  I was wearing my usual going-out outfit which consisted of; black pants, a strapless top, and super high shoes that I could only walk in whenever I'd had a few drinks.  I was in my room re-doing my hair because my friend (who usually did my hair when I went out) had gone rogue and turned me into Scary Spice's twin sister. Once I had it under control, my roommate asked if I wanted to go to the store with her to get something to drink.  We went to the store and wandered around the liquor aisle.  While we were there some guy from another university noticed her sweatshirt, which read "San Bernadino".  He was from there too.  They became engaged in deep conversation about their shared hometown. I smiled as I continued searching for the right drink.  They exchanged numbers, we bought the orange-flavored rum, and went back to the room.  My roommate and I sat on the floor in our room with shot glasses, cards, and the rum.  We played a drinking game and had a long conversation about boys.  The phone rang and it was one of my friends who lived at the bottom of the hill.

"Where are you?" I could hear the annoyance in her voice and I almost didn't want to go out, but then she said, " They're having $1 drink specials at World's so that's where we're going."

"I'll be down in a few minutes."  Even though my friend got on my nerves with her bossiness, especially when she was drunk, I loved World Cafe.  It was the first nightclub I'd ever been to.  I'd gone there the first week of college with a group of people from freshman orientation.  That had been a good night.  Every time I went to World's, it ended up being a good night.  So I finished getting ready and went to the bottom of the hill. Our other two friends from my dorm met us a little later and we piled into the car and turned up the radio.  We always listened to a cd we'd made that was titled "Yellow Jeep Jams."  We knew the words to every single song and even had moves for Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now".

We arrived at World's and got out of the car. We always managed to bump into the most random people in the parking lot.  The first guy that I dated during Freshman year I had met at World's, two years earlier.  That night, we saw his best friend in the parking lot.  He immediately recognized us.  He walked over. We talked to him and laughed with his drunk girlfriend for a few minutes before heading inside. Once we got inside, three of us headed to the dance floor and the other two went to the bar.  We were dancing in a small circle, like girls always do at nightclubs, then some guy grabbed my arm.  I danced with him for the next two songs and then we started talking. 

"So you're in school out here then?" he asked.

"Yeah, what about you? Military?" I could tell he was in the military.

"Yeah, Army."

"Wait, what? Army? Like, Schofield army?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Oh, I just got out of a relationship with a Schofield guy, I'm kind of trying to stay away from them."

"Um, really?" He looked at me like he couldn't believe I'd just said that.

"Yeah, all of my friends and I were dating these Schofield guys, it ended badly for all of us."  My jaw was hurting from trying to hold in the laughter. 

My friend came up to me suddenly and I introduced her to the guy and told her that he was from Schofield.

"Ugh, not Schofield, maybe we should go to a different club." 

The guy just stared at us like we were crazy.  "Are you serious?"

I couldn't take it any longer and started laughing.  "A little bit, but not really."

"Oh, okay... you had me trippin' there for a second."

I kept laughing and then my friend grabbed my arm so that I could walk to the restroom with her. 
When we got inside, the tiny lady who had candy, gum, hairspray, lotion, etc. ran over and hugged us.  We hadn't seen her in a while and we always spent a good thirty minutes in there talking to her whenever we were at World's.  We also left her five dollar tips even though we never used anything.  She was like this mother figure, while we were away from home.  It felt nice knowing that there was someone who cared about us, even in a nightclub.

We went back out and found our two friends who'd been at the bar chatting it up with some other Schofield-Army guys that we eventually became good friends with and ended up hanging out with all the time.  We took them with us to the dance floor. Cam'ron's song "Hey Ma" started playing and one of the guys and I knew the moves from the video. We danced for a while, and then I started dancing with someone else.  After a few songs, the new guy and I walked over to the bar and sat down.  He told me he was also in the military and then he started to cry.

"Is everything okay?" I didn't know what to do.

He told me that his wife had passed away two weeks earlier. 

"I'm so sorry." I hugged him and he continued to tell me about her. I sat there and listened to everything.  It was the first time he'd been out since she'd passed away.  I felt sad thinking about how he must've been to World's with her and how much she probably loved to dance.  The club was about to close and he asked for my number.  I gave it to him, but felt strange about the whole thing.  I was not a psychologist.  On the way home, I thought about him in the car as my friends and I cruised around the island like we always did.  He called me the next day and told me that he was sorry for unleashing all of that information on me, but he was glad to have talked to me.  He had been feeling suicidal since it happened, and his friends had encouraged him to go out.  That night had made a difference.  Dancing at Worlds had saved his life.  Every time I went to World's, it ended up being a good night, even if it wasn't always for me.

Lessons from Lucy

The Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy has been one of my favorite books since I read it in grad school.  The book details the author's ordeal with cancer of the jaw.  She discusses how the cancer caused disfigurement of her face, thereby changing her identity. The main theme of self-awareness is present throughout the memoir.  I have the book, but haven't read it in a while, but lately I've been thinking about it alot.  I think it became my favorite book because I had to read it for my Memoir class (which is still my all-time favorite college class) and for the assignment I had to write a letter to the author after I read it. I still have that letter where I discussed how, even though it was an entirely different situation relating to identity, I could relate to her because I had battled issues of self-perception during junior high.  When our professor had us share our letters during the class discussion, I didn't want to.  The girl who went before me had written some academic masterpiece flooded with thought-provoking discussion questions. My letter was nothing like that, I wrote as if I was having a conversation with a friend.  My professor had already read my letter and kept prodding me to read it, but I instead highlighted some of the key points in my letter about how the author's situation was relatable to many because we all struggle with some sort of identity issue at some point.  My professor was disappointed.  He wanted me to tell the dark secrets in my letter that made me seem less like an over-achieving student and more like someone with a past.  That's what his class was about after all....facing your fears by using writing as a type of therapy.  Each week we wrote short memoirs about experiences in our lives and there were so many skeletons released in that small class, but I was not a past dweller and didn't want to go there.  So I just listened to the other students' stories about drug addictions, miscarraiges, eating disorders, and death.  I also remembered that book.  And now, I am able to relate to it a little more literally.  For the past two years, I've had cysts growing on my left eyelid.  My doctor kept saying I just have a problem with styes and they could eventually go away, which might take a while, and he didn't want to do surgery if it wasn't necessary.  Then, on the last visit, he told me that if they didn't go away by the next appointment (in 2 weeks), he might have to cut a piece of my eyelid, and things would not turn out the way I hoped.  My eyelid would be permanently scarred.  This made me think of the book because I've already felt insecure about my face and have been nervous when people stare at me with sympathetic expressions and ask what happened to my eye.  It's not even that noticeable right now (the people who ask me questions are usually standing super close, which I hate), but who knows what it will be like after the next appointment.  Lucy Grealy felt like the entire world was always staring at her and would purposely avoid people, but when she was alone, she was very aware of her lonliness.  I don't think that's a skeleton I'm ready to hang in my closet.


Thought of the Day: Sometimes there are minor issues that we try not to think about, but they will continue to bother you until they reach a point where you have to address them.

Father's Day: my dad

So far, on this blog, I've mostly talked about being half Native American.  Father's day, however, is the perfect time to talk about the other side. 

My dad is black and does not like when people say African-American because it insinuates that we did not originate here.  He was born and raised on American soil, so therefore he is American, not anything else.  I wish everyone thought this way.  Life would be ALOT less complicated.

Growing up, my dad was very strict and as a result I was very well-behaved, very quiet, but also very goal-oriented.  A lot of people didn't understand or like the goal-oriented/driven part about me because they thought I was trying to show off or whatever, but my dad taught us to be that way. 

He grew up in Charlotte, North Carolina during a time when schools were still segregated and crosses were still being burned and left in people's front yards.  Somehow, during our Sunday morning, breakfast conversations (when I was a kid) , he always managed to overlook that part of his past and instead focus on stories about his youth that might teach us a lesson. 

He talked about how he went to an integrated school so he could play football, his prom night, working in the fields with his dad, practicing for basketball, and meeting the Air Force recruiter.  I once asked about the racism and segregation, but he just brushed it off.  "Nah, I didn't worry about any of that."  That's how my dad is.  If it will cause negativity in your life, just brush it off, turn around, and keep heading in a better direction. This has become one of the most important lessons in my life and something I constantly remind myself to do. 

My dad thought about the future when he was a kid and how it could turn out.  He chose the best direction for him and now he is a successful and incredibly business-savvy person.  Even though I disagreed with him a lot, and still sometimes do, I couldn't have asked for a better role model.

Summer Sessions

School's out....okay, not really.  For my 7 year old, school is out and he is having fun at camp all summer, while my husband and I still work.  My 2 year old is in daycare and well, school is kind of ongoing for him.  The difference is that now both of our sons are learning through play rather than structured lessons.  My youngest enjoys this method of learning throughout the year.  Now, my older son is able to reap the benefits as well.  He goes on field trips every day that promote physical activity as well as creative thinking.  It almost feels like he is learning more this way.  He comes home and tells us about his day and asks a lot of questions.  He reads more (language/literacy), explores more (science/social studies), and creates (art) more. 

The learn-through-play topic has come up a lot in my research writing courses.  Most of my students are military, but I also have a lot of students who are Head Start teachers.  They are always finding ways to explain why so much more can be achieved through play.  As a former pre-school teacher, I always find myself agreeing with them.  Who wants to sit in a classroom all day and stare at words and numbers?  In my classes, I always try to find a way to get the point across in the most creative way possible.  Yes, there is a lot of writing, but we also have court-room debates, impromptu speeches, proposal writing about classes that the students would like to see offered, and group presentations on marketing strategies to recruit new students.  The students tell me how much they love coming to class and I know they are more likely to remember what they learned because they associate each activity with the lessons.  I usually end up seeing my students later at graduations or just around the island and they always bring up things we did in class.  I feel so proud to be adding to their college memories in a constructive way.  Especially since my college memories are flooded with night life, romantic encounters, and island adventures.  I appreciate those memories, but sometimes I really wish I would've paid more attention in class.  Only certain teachers ever made me pay attention and it wasn't until my senior year.  So, even though I hope to one day be teaching more specific college English courses (in the graduate division) at a university for a long time, I'm so happy to be working with the undergrads. 

On another note, it's summer now!  I've been to the beach ALOT and this past weekend I went to a music festival.  That definitely reminded me of college, but not in a good way (late hours, large crowds, super loud music, second-hand smoke, and overpriced drinks).  I waited forever to see the rapper/singer I bought the tickets to see and he didn't show up until 1 in the morning! I felt so old because I used to be able to stay wide awake for longer than that, but not anymore.  It didn't end until 2am and I have felt hungover (only 4 cran and vodkas) ever since.  Wow, 31.  = /





Thought of the day: Have you ever taken a really fun class where you ended up learning a lot more than you thought you would without even realizing it?  I have a few favorites, (spanish, literary theory, nature writing, creative fiction writing, etc.) but one of the most memorable was a memoir class I took at UMASS.  I learned so much about memory and also myself in the process. I was able to write about the fun college times and stop trying to relive them, which seems to be a struggle that alot of post-grads go through.  I also figured out how much I love writing, especially about experiences on the reservation. 

Facing the candles

So, I have been avoiding facebook and this blog for a couple of weeks because my birthday was coming up and for some reason this was the first time I was not excited, at all.  For weeks I have been thinking about the past and certain people from the past and I can't get them out of my head.  It just happened randomly and then my birthday came and my husband (who always likes to make a big deal out of my birthdays) asked what I wanted to do and I really just wanted to forget that I'm now officially in my thirties and not do anything.  It's still bothering me, but I think I know why this suddenly happened.  We are down to our last 11 months on this island.  Hawaii has become a big part of my life.  I decided to come to school here 13 years ago, after years of saying that I would only go to Syracuse University (where I got accepted by the way) because it was my dream school.  I only applied there, but later during that last year of high school, I decided I should have a backup school just in case.  When I went to a college fair, I looked for schools that were far away from Washington state. I wanted to be completely on my own.  Chaminade University was there and I applied.  When I got the acceptance letter I was excited, but not as excited as when I got the acceptance letter from Syracuse.  In the end, it was about cost and Hawaii ended up being cheaper than upstate New York.  Go figure. So, I came here, went to school, partied, was a serial dater, and then suddenly during my last year of college, I met my husband.  Everything seemed to go by so fast.  We moved, and moved, then came back, and now here we are, after almost 5 years of being back, we are down to our last 11 months.  This is the longest I've ever lived in one place and it's really become my home this time around.  It's sad and scary to think about leaving now.  This is a first for me because I have moved my entire life and I was so excited just a couple of months ago about being able to find out where we're going next (we find out in August).  I kind of feel like I belong here, but then again, that's also how I felt about Boston, so I guess it's just nerves and the next place will feel like home too, wherever it is. 

Thought of the day: During a conversation with a coworker, we talked about how some people stay in the same place forever because it's home and they're afraid of leaving, even though there might be more opportunities somewhere else.  I thought about how a lot of Natives stay on the reservations because it's home to them.  My mom left and I wouldn't be here stressed out about being 31 if she hadn't.  What makes certain people decide to leave home?  For me, it was proving to myself that I could do everything on my own and being able to take risks without worrying about what anyone else thought.  Those risks led me to where I'm at now, so moving turned out to be a good thing, but there's just something about the idea of "home" that always calls my name.  Sometimes I'm jealous of the people who grew up in one place and talk about it all the time.  But then I think about how I wouldn't have been able to experience everything I have if I hadn't moved. In the end, I'm a wanderer and I'm okay with that.

Visual History

My husband had been wanting to go to the Pacific Aviation museum for the past four years now, but something else always seemed to come up. That could partially be my fault because I always hated history class in high school.  Somehow I managed to do well in my college history classes because I'm decent at writing papers, but I still doodled in the margins of my notebook and wrote notes to my friends and made weekend party plans.   I also skipped a lot of class to go to the beach.  The only history class I actually paid attention in was the pacific island history class I took my junior year of college.  Something about princes and princesses gets my attention every time.  The funny thing though, is that I love movies based on history.  Especially, movies that involve Natives or African-Americans (Wind Talkers and The Tuskeegee Airmen).  I really feel like the delivery of the material is the most important step in teaching.  As a student, I loved to read, but not boringness that came in the form of a text book with a kajillion dates and facts that I had to remember for a test.  Most students I know are the same way.  They are able to learn through a combination of visual, oratory, and tactile lessons.  The museum uses all three.  You are able to see the planes, watch the film, listen to the documentary portions, and actually try flying in a flight simulator.  If only I were a history teacher, I would definitely have field trips to the museum every term.  It seems like such a great way to put students in the atmosphere and really get them engaged in learning about WWII and all of the things surrounding that era.  Here are some photos (from my instagram ofcourse)....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thought of the day: How do you make something boring (but exciting to you) seem interesting to someone else?  This is something I think about every term as I have students who complain (without fail) each time on the first day of the term, how much "they hate English." Fortunately, for them, I was once a student and know exactly how they feel, so by the end of the term, they have learned "how not to hate English" and they will also remember how much fun they had in the process.

 

 

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Charming Spaces

I finally updated my iphone! It's been over a year and I still would have had the old settings if it wasn't for my addiction to Candy Crush Saga.  That's the only reason I use facebook anymore!  I couldn't add it to my phone without the update. So, while I was updating the apps, I decided to add some too.  As a result, I now have Instagram, which I have been playing with all day today.  I was trying to decide what to take pictures of and ended up taking pictures of stuff on my desk at work.  This made me think of the different spaces that Natives spent alot of time in.  I looked up teepees and found some interesting things here: http://nativeamericans.mrdonn.org/plains/teepees.html

I think every space where you spend a lot of time should have some element of the things you love most.  I love my family, faith, nature, art, and literature.  I only took a few pics of my desk and the building (I'm sure I will be adding more later, I love this app!). 

 
Thought of the day: Where is your favorite space and what elements in that space represent your personality?  My favorite space is my living room.  The book shelf with all of the books and pictures of my kids, the black & white city scape art on the walls, and the plush sofas with pillows in bright jewel tones all make me content and happy.  It is a great place to be at the end of day.

Just sweat it out (stress that is)!

Between the two graduations, the boys' birthday party, teaching, paperwork, and trying to squeeze in time to finish my book, I have been really stressed out.  Throw in lack of sleep and I was in a particulary foul mood yesterday.  Then I felt like people were taking advantage of my niceness and I almost erupted, but managed to stay calm, but thoroughly frustrated.  Then I went home and everything seemed to dwindle down. Family always makes things better.  After a delicious dinner of soba with these really good noodles (House Ramen) that my husband found at the grocery store, we combined the boys' birthday money with the yard sale money from a couple of weeks ago and went on a small shopping spree for the family.  Our Wii (which we've had since 2006 when it first came out) suddenly stopped working and (after numerous attempts to fix it) we figured it was time for a new one, especially since we use it so much.   Our older son wanted to use his birthday/tooth fairy money for skylanders giants, so along with that we ended up getting a Wii U.  It's all set up and I can't wait to try it out later this evening!  The retail therapy definitely helped improve my mood, along with a little red wine.

This morning on the way to work, the tension started to appear again, but while driving I thought about this blog post I read last week.  It was so good that I actually ordered the book for my kids from Amazon.  Read the blog post here: http://freespiritpublishingblog.com/2013/05/06/guest-post-flying-frustrations-on-a-spring-evening/

The key steps to stress management provided by the children's book in the post are: name it (the problem), tame it (a solution to the problem), and reframe it (find something positive from the problem).  I went through these steps in my head and they actually worked.  This got me to thinking about the Native approach to stress management.  One interesting thing that I found was about sweat lodge ceremonies.  They were introduced as a way for Natives to re-purify themselves.  This reminded me of my life before my day job (which I started in December) when I went to the gym with one of my friends every day during lunch time and we sat in the sauna after our workouts.  We talked about; relationships, jobs, future plans, kids, shopping, etc. and the steam (plus the girl talk) always seemed to leave us refreshed, as if it had cleansed all of the stress and carried it away. 

Read about sweat lodge ceremonies here: http://www.barefootsworld.net/sweatlodge.html


Thought of the day: How do you stay stress-free?  My favorites are retail therapy (even something as simple as going to the grocery store for dinner items or a magazine), reading, writing (which is why I'm able to update this blog so much), and looking at random fashion stuff online, check out this video about scarves from Coach (so cute!): 

Donations and Secret Obsessions

On a recent assignment for my students, I had them watch a video and then write a paper examining one issue and stating how the research process was used in the film to discuss the issue.  The documentary "Alicia in Africa" told of the AIDS epidemic and how it plagues families in Africa, leaving many children without parents.  One paper I received that really made me think examined how each person spends their money.  The student exclaimed, "Some people spend $20,000 or more on cars they don't really need, while there are children in Africa fighting to keep their parents alive with antiretroviral drugs that cost a mere $30 a month.  We can do something about this, but we don't." Another student explained how he "turned the film into family movie night to teach his kids about the world and showing compassion for others." Needless to say, I was proud of them.  At the particular university I work for, the mission is not only to educate students academically but also on another level, which is hard to put into words. 

The documentary is heartbreaking, but you can't stop watching.  There is something about culture in general that attracts people.  The film is filled with cultural elements that attract viewers, then hook them with the cause.  We learned about three different appeals in argumentative writing; rational, emotional, and ethical.  This film contained all three, but there was definitely emphasis on the emotional.  I've seen it a few times, but each time I end up getting lost in that world.  It's like when you read a really good book from cover to cover and then when you're finished it takes an hour or so to get back to reality.  This film does exactly that.  Check it out here:

http://www.aliciainafrica.com/


Thought of the day: Is there some secret obsession you have that you spend a lot of money on?  I, for example, love purses.  I spend a lot of money on them and then lie when people ask me where I got them or how much they are.  I say things like, "The store was having a really good sale so it was this much (insert percentage) off," or "It was a gift."  I lie because I feel guilty and then have conflicted feelings, while trying to justify my purchases.  I mean, I work several hours a day, so shouldn't I be able to splurge every now and then?  Last year though, I made a New Year's resolution to give back as much as I could.  So I donated and stopped shopping, cold turkey, okay okay, except for the trips to Target (another blog post because I can't explain in one sentence how I have a LOVE/hate relationship with that store).  This year, my resolution was to work toward reaching certain goals (writing my first book, 10 pages left!!!) and eating healthier so I can finally wear the collared Burberry shirt my husband got me back when I was a size 4 (before kids), but I haven't forgotten how good it felt to donate.  In the video, Alicia Keys mentions toward the end that "everyone has this gap in their life, an unsettling feeling like something is missing that they can't explain.  Giving back to others will fill that gap."

Earning feathers

My son just celebrated his 7th birthday this past weekend.  Then, yesterday I attended my second graduation this month.  Last weekend I attended the Wayland graduation as a faculty member and yesterday I was a staff member at the Chaminade graduation.  It's a strange, but great experience to see the university life from all angles.  I always leave with memories replaying in my head of my own college graduation, which seems like forever ago.  However, because my son's 7th birthday was thrown in the mix this time, I was also reminded of when I was 7.  I lived in Greece back then, on a small island (Crete) and an even smaller Air Force base.  We always had cultural days at school, celebrating every culture with food, parades, and performances.  Close to Thanksgiving, my second grade class learned the lyrics and sign language for a Navajo song called "Go My Son."  I went home and showed my mom the signs.  She knew the song too and it also reminded her of when she was in elementary school.  It also happens to be a very fitting song for graduation.  Check out this Youtube version...

Thought of the day:  I love love loved the movie "The Neverending Story" when I was a kid.  Isn't it funny how things can take you full circle, like we are always retelling the same story, but at the same time that story is constantly changing.  My mom learned the song in elementary school, I learned it in elementary school, and now I have to teach it to my son because his 7th birthday and all the graduation stuff reminded me of it.  We've each learned the same song, but in different ways.  It's the remix, but the song is still the same. 

Journey to Motherhood

For Mother's Day...

They asked women on the radio what they wanted for Mother's Day

Flowers, gift cards, chocolate, sleep

I agreed

Then Mother's Day came, the day after your birthday, two weeks before yours

And I realized what I really wanted for Mother's Day, I already had


Thought of the day: Who knew how hard it could be to get pregnant?  It seems like infertility is on the rise these days.  I have polycystic ovarian syndrome and so do so many other women I know.  I also had a miscarraige 5 years ago. It was one of the most depressing things I've ever gone through.  I remember how I cried continuously for days on end until I couldn't cry anymore. I thought about this alot on Mother's day and how fortunate I really am.   How could I ever put into words how happy I am to have my children? 

How scary is too scary?

I started working on a young adult novel a couple of years ago and it is now down to the final 10 pages. In the past couple of months, I have submitted query after query. Everyone keeps saying the same thing: "It sounds very intriguing, but is not a right fit for us....Don't give up though. We're just one agent/publisher and there are many more." I realize that most first-time authors submit to dozens of publishers before they finally find one, but it does get frustrating. I keep wondering if something is wrong with my hook, maybe the wording is not catchy enough and I should change it....or maybe my book is just a little too creepy for young adult fiction?

It's pretty much about a teenager who sees a ghost. The ghost is the little sister of one of her friends. The reason for the little girl's death was unknown, she just got really sick one day. But, after seeing her, the teenager finds out there is so much more to the story and becomes entangled in several different stories involving her future and her mother's past. That's not exactly how the hook goes (don't want to give away too much), but it's the general idea. Every time I submit the query letters, I keep asking myself if I would want to read this book. Of course the answer is always yes, I mean I wrote it, so it's interesting to me. But, for some reason, even though this is a fiction story, the ghost or spirit seems more real than a vampire or zombie. I think that might be a problem, but not sure. Most ghost stories in young adult fiction, are meant to really scare the reader or in some cases they're really funny. In this story, however, everything is so realistic that the creepy vibe might seem a little intense. The book is about unlocking secrets and is more about adventure than anything, but the hook does make it sound creepy. I guess I should work on that.

Fishing tales

This past weekend was very eventful...
Friday night: We ate dinner at a circus-themed restaurant (Farrel's) where there was a lot of singing.

Saturday: We had a yard sale in the morning and sold about 75% of the toys that clutter my kids' closets, then that evening was parent's night out (which the kids actually loved and kept asking when the next one is). For date night, we had dinner and drinks at Dave & Buster's while playing Texas Hold' Em, then we watched Olympus has Fallen (a little graphic, but excellent movie that had me on the verge of an anxiety attack).

That led to... Sunday: Our almost 7 year old has wanted to go fishing since my husband came back from deployment last year. We're always so busy, but this time we made it a point to get up early, get fishing supplies and head to the pier. There were only a few other people there and the fish only seemed to be biting for one guy further down from us. I don't like seafood and didn't particularly want to see a fish dangling from a hook, but since we'd been there for almost an hour and a half and nothing was happening (so I wouldn't have to worry about seeing the fish), I decided to try... A few minutes after taking the fishing pole, I leaned over the cement ledge and peered into the water below. I saw a red fish swimming around and suddenly got excited. My husband knelt down and looked, but couldn't see anything. So for a second, I thought I was just willing a fish to be there and seeing some kind of mirage because it was so hot out and I just wanted something to happen so we could say we caught a fish, then pile into the car with the air-conditioning on full-blast.

So, I looked again, and suddenly there were three red fish. Then, I could feel the fishing pole being pulled from me. I tried to reel in whatever was tugging on the line, but I haven't been to the gym since I started my day job back in December and my arms were not prepared. So my husband took the pole and kept trying to reel it in. We could see the water splashing below and then the line snapped. "Are you serious?" I exclaimed. "I caught us a fish, and you let it go." Just as witty he replied, "You didn't catch a fish, you caught some kind of monster." This led our son to ask, "What if it was a shark?" Then, for the next two hours we kept talking about what would happen if we caught a shark, how we would cut the line before it pulled us into the water, how I would just throw the fishing pole into the water because I am not trying to see a shark and get eaten, what kind of sharks swim in that water, what kind of string is actually strong enough to pull up a shark, etc. All the while, our younger son waved and said "bye" to all of the airplanes that took off or came in above us, not the slightest bit concerned about sharks. It was a great day.

So, how does this relate to the blog (which has mostly been about my two cultures?). Well, referring back to the episode of "Our America: Life on the Rez," Lisa Ling examined how Native Americans are returning to their roots and natural resources to combat the issue of living an unhealthy lifestyle plagued with diabetes and obesity. They are now returning to; hunting, fishing, and gardening. Becoming dependent on yourself is one of the greatest passages to freedom. http://www.oprah.com/own-our-america-lisa-ling/Previews-Life-on-the-Rez

Date night opportunites

TGIF!! =) That means tomorrow is date night. The daycare that my youngest son goes to does "parent's night out" on the last Saturday of every month. This is the first time we're going to do it because by the time the weekend comes, we are so exhausted from work and school. The weekends usually end up being devoted to family time, lounging around the house, the beach, or sleeping. So when we do have opportunities to go out, we try to make the most of them.

We still have no idea what we're going to do tomorrow night, but thinking about it made me think of two other things: where young couples on the reservation might go for date nights and a discussion, which was mentioned at the NALS conference. (A few people from the conference and I talked about how the reservation land was divided up among the different tribes and if some tribes just got completely cheated out of that deal.)

In my profile information, I mention that I love watching documentaries. My favorite series of documentaries include; True Life on MTV and Our America with Lisa Ling on OWN. On one episode of Our America, Lisa Ling visits the Pine Ridge reservation. Pine Ridge is the reservation I happen to be affiliated with and after watching that documentary, I wondered what date night opportunities exist there. Ofcourse there's always the movies. The first movie theater on Pine Ridge opened up late, last year, November 9, 2012. Aside from the movies though, there are no bowling alleys, ice skating rinks, miniature golf courses, or laser tag places. So how does date night happen? According to the documentaries, many turn to drugs or alcohol, and tout the lack of resources as a reason. But when there are no places to go, sometimes the best date nights can come to life with natural surroundings. Bonfires, star gazing, long walks, and camping are all options. One of my favorite, romantic movie scenes is from the 80's movie "Space Camp." The two main characters are sitting on the back of a truck looking at the stars and talking about their future as astronauts. Why wouldn't the young people take advantage of these options? Could bitterness be the reason?

This brings me to the second thought; Were some tribes cheated out of the reservation land arrangements? Our conference for example, was held at a casino on a reservation, where the tribe was able to bring in a lot of money. It was nothing like the reservations constantly shown on documentaries. Business seemed to be booming and the houses were beautiful. All I could think was, "How come Pine Ridge didn't get this kind of opportunity?" It was nice to see the other side of Native Americans, the ones who are doing really well, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed. Shouldn't they have some sense of obligation to give back to the other Natives? This awareness of my disappointment made me feel like I also have some sort of obligation to give back. I don't have the money that the casino does, but maybe this particular blog post will make people realize how lucky they actually are and they'll stop for a moment to think about others, even when it's on their date night.

Friends that look like you: A tale of college roommates

The other night I was hanging out with a friend and we somehow started talking about gymnastics and I mentioned that Ally Raisman looked a lot like her. She googled pictures of Ally and said, "Yeah, I can see how she kind of looks like me. Isn't it weird when there are random people who look like you?" "It is. I don't think I've met anyone who's looked like me before," I replied. It was true, I haven't really met anyone who looks like me, but I've met a few people who could've passed as my siblings. One of them, happened to be my college roommate, who I continue to write about because, even though we burned bridges years ago, at one time we were close friends and sometimes told random people we were sisters. And they believed us.

The summer before I started college, I was working as a score keeper at a basketball tournament in Colorado Springs. There were people from all over the world there, but none of them looked like me. So, three weeks later when I found myself in Hawaii face to face with my roommate, who was half Black and half Thai, it was strange. Really strange. Then, she told me she was from Colorado Springs, where I had just been, and all I could think was, "What in the world is the universe trying to do here?" She even commented on the weirdness of it all, "How did they manage to put the only two half Black, half something else girls on campus together as roommates?"

We were so much alike, but as the days passed, the stark differences began to show. I have always been an organized and goal-oriented person. A lot of people hate that (which is a discussion for another blog). My roommate was one of those people. She always seemed annoyed with me and I was never around to do anything to cause her to be annoyed. I was taking six classes, playing intramural soccer, and working at a grocery store. By the time I got back to the dorm, it was usually 10pm and I was exhausted. My roommate, on the other hand, liked to party. Her and her friends made fun of me whenever they did see me for being "so perfect." They didn't realize how much I wished I could be like them and just have fun, but I had goals and really strict parents. Somehow even when you finally go off on your own, your parents still have a grip on the reigns of your independence. Especially when one of your parents is my drill-sergeant dad. When I was younger, he could just give me a mean look and I would start bawling and confessing and apologizing for the most miniscule things. If my roommate and her friends would've had my dad, they would've understood, why I was "so perfect" in the beginning. But they didn't and we ended up hating each other. I moved out.

The second semester came and her friends had left. She befriended my new roommate and soon we all ended up hanging out. I was different this time. Soccer season was over, I wasn't taking as many classes, and I had realized that I was actually okay on my own. This new sense of self-awareness presented opportunities for: dating, drinking, and partying. Boys and bathroom confessionals about said boys turned me and my ex-roomate into friends, and eventually sisters. We could identify with each other and would often have long conversations about being mixed and how other people viewed us. We had the same circle of friends and all of us were pretty close, but there was something different about our friendship that we could never really explain. We had gone through so many of the same things; racist comments from people who didn't think they were being racist, how difficult dating was, how even though you want to say you are just one of your races, neither race really accepts you. Her dad had also been in the military, so she knew about military life. She understood why it is so frightening to think about what will happen when you don't have your military id anymore. In military communities, there are so many mixed-race people, you belong, no matter who you are.

Our similarities started to outweigh the differences and made us inseperable for two years. Then, senior year came. Everything started out fine, but then we became roommates again. I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach when I found out we were going to be roommates again. I knew that was the reason we'd hated each other before. You can get tired of people, even if they are your best friend. We went out, did everything together, and then she started dating her boyfriend and I found my husband. We stopped hanging out so much and when we did see each other, it was like in the beginning when her and her friends thought that I thought I was "so perfect." My husband was this really nice guy trying to impress me enough to get me hooked for life. Her boyfriend seemed to be the same with her, but for some reason, she didn't seem to like this. I was content. I had grown up and moved on from the partying. I knew that chapter had to end so I could start my new life, but I think she took it the wrong way, like I was giving up my friends to be with a guy. She started to hate me and turn some of our friends against me. So again I moved out, but that time I also moved on and have been relatively happy ever since.

Bingo Nights at Mystic Lake

Mystic Lake is a casino/hotel in Minnesota, where the NALS conference was held. I arrived at this fascintating place the day before the conference. I thought that I was prepared for the freezing weather with my thick, quilted down jacket. Winter has always been my favorite season, mainly because of fashion. The snow was pretty and reminded me of fun times I'd had in Boston. But, I was much more excited about wearing my jacket again. It was the first time I'd worn the purple masterpiece by Laundry, in four years. I thought it was all I needed, but when I stepped outside in the below freezing weather, I knew I was going to regret walking to the store for the shampoo and conditioner that I didn't pack because I was sure the casino would be right in the middle of everything. I was wrong and all ten of my fingers suffered the consequence as they stayed jammed in my pockets, but still felt numb from the cold.

I hadn't realized we were on a reservation and could see my breath forming puffs of white fog as I cursed at the wind for the casino being so far away from everything. The nearest store was a two mile trek. As soon as I reached the convenience store, I let out a sigh of relief and immediately started searching for gloves. There weren't any. Who could have known it would still be snowing at the end of March? I stocked up on snacks for the next three days, like I was about to go into hibernation. I had three bags to carry back with me, and no gloves. I made it back quickly though with no signs of hypothermia. As I headed through the lobby toward the hallway with the elevators, which led to my room, I noticed a long hallway and a sign for bingo.

The last time I played bingo was at my 8th birthday party. My mom had given us bingo cards and had different prizes ready for the winners. My friend won a barbie and I had been pretty jealous until I opened my presents and found Disney barbie, Disney Ken, and their Disney twins. Since that time though, I'd always thought of bingo as a social outlet for the older crowd. Something my mom and her friends might go to. I glanced at the bingo sign and was about to turn away until I noticed in another sign underneath the bright bingo letters that the jackpot was $150,000. "One hundred. And. Fifty Thousand Dollars???" I quickly went up to my room, put the bags down, and went back down to the bingo counter to find out more.

The cards were $10 for twelve rounds. You could also purchase specials, for the extra rounds in between the regular rounds. "Have you ever played bingo before," the lady behind the counter asked. "Yes," I quickly answered, nodding. Ofcourse I had played bingo before, everyone has. It was just bingo. "Okay, well it starts at 8 o'clock sharp," she said as she handed me the cards. I went back up to my room, set the alarm on my cell phone, and fell asleep. I was still completely jet-lagged from the extra long plane ride from Hawaii to Minnesota. I woke up at 7:30pm, grabbed my bingo cards and headed down to the bingo rooms. As soon as I stepped inside, I realized that bingo was kind of a big deal.

The front room alone held about three hundred people. I made my way to the non-smoking room in the back, which also held about three hundred people. I found a seat near two girls who looked my age and started asking them questions. They seemed so excited to tell me the rules of the game. Then an older woman and her friend came and sat across from me. She announced that she was a bingo regular and she would help me through the game. She realized I didn't have a dobber, which is a small, ink-filled bottle, that you use to mark off the numbers called. She pointed to the vending machines surrounding the large room, which all had dobbers in them. I went to one of the vending machines and put my two dollars in the slot. I was going to press the first button, when I noticed that all of the dobbers were different. They were all in different colors, some had caps that were diamond shaped and metallic, and some were themed with different holidays. I chose a metallic purple with a diamond cap, hoping the diamond was a symbol of fortune, and would help me win that jackpot.

When I went back to my seat, Linda, the bingo regular, explained how in each round, we were looking for something different. "It's never just a straight line. It can't be that easy," she said with a small laugh. "We like to make things difficult. It will show on the board what pattern you need to get for bingo. Sometimes they do a seven, sometimes they want a smiley face, sometimes they want two corners, and so on. Also, there are free fountain drinks and coffee and snacks at the back over there," she pointed behind me to a long counter where there were soda machines, chips, cookies, popcorn, and a small crowd ready to devour everything. Bingo started and we played round after round, Linda kept asking me questions in between about where I was from, why in the world I would go to Minnesota from Hawaii, and what kind of conference I was attending. At the end of twelve rounds, I hadn't won anything, but I had almost won several times. Linda told me every night there is a theme. That night had been karaoke, which is why all of the winners were able to choose to sing for an extra $100. "Tomorrow night is cosmic night. They will have glow-in-the-dark lights and music during the game," Linda said. "Wow," I had no words.

The next night, I hadn't planned on going back, but as I sat at the table during the conference dinner, I found myself constantly glancing at my cell phone for the time. Fifteen minutes before eight, I couldn't take it. I snuck out, and rushed down the hallway to buy bingo cards. This time, after entering the bingo rooms, I sat next to another bingo regular and a young couple. Everyone was wearing glow-in-the dark jewelry and there were lights flashing. Just like Linda, the new bingo regular I was sitting near asked questions in between rounds about Hawaii and what in the world I was doing in Minnesota.

All of us sitting at this particular table continued to be one away from winning, every single round. By the eighth round, I was hoping anybody from our table would win, even if it wasn't me, I just wanted someone to win. Then they called the fortieth number, which increased our jackpot to $40,000. As soon as they called that number, an older, Asian woman, at the table in front of ours, held up her hand. She ended up winning Forty Thousand Dollars, which was paid in cash to her right there. The young couple next to me told me they were bingo regulars too and that the woman who'd just won had won two nights ago also. "She's so lucky," they kept saying. "The other night she won $10,000." My mouth hung open in shock at this unbelievable bingo world. "That's $50,000," I finally managed to get out. "Yeah, I know," they all replied. "Wow." And that was the only way to sum up what goes on at the Mystic Lake casino every night at eight pm, just "wow."

Making Dream Catchers

This past March I attended the Native American Literature Symposium (NALS) in Minnesota. It was the first conference I've ever been to (as a professor and a Native)and I took away so many ideas that have kept my head buzzing ever since. How can you particpate in something so important and not continue the discussion? So that was primarily the reason for starting this blog; the NALS conference changed my life in a big way. There are so many things that I want to write about from those three days at Mystic Lake, but because of a milestone in my almost two-year-old's life, I am going to start by discussing the idea behind gift-giving.

Gift-giving is done in almost every culture as a sign of appreciation. We give gifts on different holidays and occasions to show others that they are important in our lives. In Native culture, however, gift-giving goes beyond just appreciation. On the final night of the conference, there were about forty of us left. Our number had dwindled as many had caught midday flights back to working reality. We had been going to different sessions from 8am to 10pm each day, listening to themes of; sovereignty, symbolism, cultural texts, violence, and so much more. That last evening together was our chance to wind down and relax and get to know each other in a different setting. We ate the food of the land: buffalo, salmon, walleye, an array of vegetables, and fruit pudding (which is called wojape in my mom's language). We talked at our different tables about where we were from, what we did, how the weather in Minnesota was freezing, and we coordinated shuttle rides to the airport. Somewhere in the middle of dinner, one of the NALS coordinators, Gwen, went to the front of the room where there were instruments set up. She presented Gordon Henry, Jr. & The Northwoods Improvisors (a Native storyteller and an amazing band that created sound effects for everything).

Before Gordon started, he talked about giving gifts. Usually, our ideas of gifts are material or physical items. However, in Native culture, gifts come in many forms. Dancing, singing, and storytelling are all gifts. In addition, one of the most important gifts that Native people have ever given were signatures on the treaties that they signed so long ago. Those treaties gave the gift of trust. Native people put their trust in the settlers to uphold their end of the bargain. Even though that trust was violated, we still continue to give gifts. The reason we do this is because we are now trusting others to change, to improve, to become better versions of themselves, and to inspire others to do the same.

That brings me to my almost two-year-old... He goes to daycare and this is his last week as a pre-toddler (1-2 year old). His last day will be on Thursday and he will become a toddler on Friday. He has grown so much in this last year and a large part of that is because of his amazing teachers. They pay close attention to the likes and dislikes of each child in their classroom. My little one loves dinosauars, dancing to Yo Gabba Gabba songs, and hanging an owl (with his picture on it) on a makeshift tree. The teachers use this information to create activities that will attract the children's interest and help them grow. This is a difficult task considering the attention span of 1-2 year olds is like that of a kitten chasing one of those red, laser lights. I definitely appreciate their hardwork (especially since I was one of them before) and so I am one of the moms who gives teacher gifts.

During Christmas time, I like to give the more common teacher gifts: candy, starbucks, gift cards, school supplies. At the end of the year though, my Native roots kick in and I feel like my last gift to them needs to have more meaning behind it. I want them to feel proud of what they do and realize how much of an inspiration they are to others, especially the children. Most importantly, I want them to keep doing it. This time, I decided to make the gifts. And....because of NALS (once again, important conference that changed my life) I decided to make dream catchers. I used a quote that was on a picture frame. The frame was a gift given to me when I was a preschool teacher and definitely presents the message that I hope to leave them with.

"100 years from now... It will not matter the type of house I lived in or the kind of car I drove but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child" -Unknown

Answering the "What are you?" question

I started teaching college English courses three years ago. Before that I had taught pre-school at a military daycare. Making the transition from 24 children with superhero sneakers, glittery maryjanes, Power Rangers and Dora backpacks was nerve-racking. My last day at the daycare was pretty emotional and for an entire year, I found myself wishing I could go back, sometimes.

Becoming a professor was intimidating, not because of the lessons, or the reading, or where I felt my skill level was, but because of the audience. My new students were not the three, four, and five year olds who gave me hugs and asked me to draw them pictures of dinosaurs or mermaids, they were adults, like me. It was in my first class, where I suddenly transformed into another version of myself. The always professional professor who never bent the rules, answered every email within ten minutes, and provided sources for everything. I became a robot, but still managed to get through to my students by remembering what it was like for me when I was a student who worked full-time, was a military wife and a new mother.

I explained everything as clearly as possible and provided a lot of examples. I engaged them in thought-provoking discussions and group activities that kept the material interesting. Being a robot paid off, and now here I am three years later, but something is still missing. In class, I have taught my students to research the background of the authors whose titles they are reading. They realize how important it is to know what time period the author grew up in, who his/her influences were, what was going on in the world at the time when they wrote the story, etc. If your source of learning comes from another person's work, you should know something of that person's background. My students now use this lesson against me by asking me questions about my background, which is confusing, even to me. One of the first questions my students often ask me is; what nationality are you? I fear this question and always take a moment to carefully think about what my response will be.

  If I say: "I'm half Black and half Native American," the usual response is "Oh, yeah, I have Native American ancestors too." I usually nod and drop the conversation after this. What use is it going into detail about how my mom is Sioux, her first language is Lakota, and most of my relatives live on a reservation, which I used to visit every summer? Sometimes, people will say, "That's funny, you don't look Native American." But, if I don't look mixed, then why did they have to ask what nationality I am?

If I say: "My dad is Black and my mom is Native American," the usual response is "Wow, how did they meet? Where are they from? What tribe? Cherokee?" This is the answer I tend to give and then I just answer the questions. It seems as though the answer about my parents is the preferred answer from everyone because my parents each belong to one specific culture, whereas I belong to two. Even though there are many biracial people in the world, there is something about my combination of races that people seem to be uneasy with. Black and Native American. Could it be because these are two races of American minorities who each suffered through a grim, disturbing past that many would like to forget ever existed?

I hate answering this question, but I do because my self-identity depends on it. I know that I am both. I know that my mother's Native American culture had more of an influence, while I was growing up because we visited the reservation numerous times. I know that the last time we visited my dad's side of the family was when I was ten, so I can't just identify with one race over the other, like a lot of other biracial people do. It would make my life so much easier to say that I am just one of those races, but then people would ask about my extra long, curly hair or certain features, and I would be forced to realize that my identity has already been written, and it is unchangeable. Although I hate the question, hate thinking about my response to it, and hate answering it; I like that the question has stirred enough curiosity and interest about the fusion of my two cultures, that people feel almost compelled to ask it.