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
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, June 10, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
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.
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.
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