Okay, so I couldn’t wait until Saturday. SO SUE ME.
Before I log off and head to bed, I figure I’d start by providing a challenge to any willing and able writers out there.
Write a Shakespearean Sonnet using the Chinese Lunar New Year as a subject. Post them in the comments below.
Happy Writing!
So, it’s been like, what? 1 1/2 years, almost 2 since I last posted…
In internet speak, I might as well have said it was an eternity.
I lot has happened since I last wrote. I spoke for the first time as a feature reader for PAWA. I worked for three non-profits. And…
I moved. I moved out of state for the first time. Always a water child I heart, I moved to a wet and wonderful place known as Washington State. Specifically, I live in Edmonds now, a small town with a ferry and a beautiful view of MT. Rainier.
New place, new job, new everything.
The only consistent in my life has been my desire to write and read for a living and also for the rest of my life. I hope to post more here, in a steady stream of once a week news, advice, reviews, etc. This has been my resolution for a long time but I never seemed to be able to justify writing a post … or anything for that matter.
The reason?
Money.
I hate the word, I hate that it governs everything, and I hate the fact that I have tied my self worth to it.
So, knowing that my self-worth is tied to money — I have purchased the domain rosebooker.com. Starting in a few days, this blog will be seen at this address.
I have place my money where my heart is.
With time, hard work, a lot of writing, and a lot more reading, I hope to get myself to a regular schedule of writing.
To that end, let’s set a date. Saturday, the 13th, I will post again. This time, something with more substance and less of a life update.
Until then,
peace
love
and pancakes.
I caught a bit of insomnia tonight and figured that it was time to write. Sometimes I take this time to write in my journal but I thought maybe now would be a good time to tackle a question a writing Professor once asked her class. The question that she gave us was: How willing are you to fail?
Honestly, at the time, failure was to my mind the worst thing in the world. To fail, to me, was to die. Failure was being left behind while the world went on without you, failure was making mistakes period, it was being a mistake by creating mistakes.
Since graduation, that question kept popping up into my mind.
I’ve realized, that my thinking regarding failure is, itself, flawed. I’ve come to this realization only through living outside of the classroom. There is no such thing as an overall grading system that has been standardized by society in which a person can fail. There are just ways of dealing with failure that are beneficial and ways that are detrimental to a person or persons’ well-being.
At least that is my current understanding.
The two videos I’ve attached are helpful in understanding this. “Mary & Max” for instance demonstrates how two individuals cope with the imperfections of their world and themselves. The young girl Mary is very much like how I was in school. I still, in many ways, believe that everything has a solution. My change in thought though is similar to how to changed throughout the story. A lot of things have solutions, yet sometimes you do not have to solve them.
Words, for example, enter the English language all the time and often, their meaning is lost in translation.
Does that mean English speakers in America should stop using these words? No! Of course not. That would take a color out of the rainbow (or colour, if you are reading this where British English is predominantly spoken).
The idea that failure in and of itself is not the end all be all bad, is still new to many people. No one likes being wrong. Which brings me to this video:
(BTW, science is more like magic pixie dust then writing! Watch the video for reference. Also, ALL WRITERS SHOULD BE RESEARCH STORY-TELLERS, mumble mumble).
I tried to beat back failure and my own self-esteem issues with my grades, my perfect attendance, and my “good-girl” persona. I struggle with a strong since of love and belonging because, unless I worked hard, I did not believe I was worthy of love and belonging. I had to be perfect. I’ve learned that 1) I am painfully not perfect outside of academia and 2) I need to find a way to believe in my own worthiness.
Now, let’s go back to the question my Prof. asked:
How willing are you to fail?
Do you have the courage to be imperfect?
As I continue down the road of adulthood, I hope to be more courageous in my imperfection. I hope to become more willing to fail and thereby be more willing to succeed and get out of my own way.
Speaking of which… given that it is almost 2 in the morning, I should hit the hay.
Peace, love, and pancakes.
Until next time, be good to each other.
It has been 4 months since I graduated from San Francisco State University. The student life for me has ended but the student within me lives on in what is commonly known as the “real world.” The “real world” classrooms are not as comfortable to me as the ones I lived in for 8 years of my college/university life. But, I believe that this is a good thing. I’ve craved a challenge that I could tackle and the biggest challenge I am facing right now is one I have been hiding from within the comfort of the classroom:
The Balancing Act.
What is the Balancing Act? Well, we learn about it early on in school, when we first encounter time management. I’ve always applied time management to academics, eating, sleeping, hygiene, family and friends. It was very linear and set. The key word there was SET. Little changed once the semester started and the books were bought. Nowadays, everything and anything can change with very little if any warning.
Workplace schedules change daily, health care changes, meetings change, settings change. In the past 4 months, I’ve been to San Diego, Germany, East Bay, North Bay, South Bay and if there was a West Bay I would probably been there too but I’m up against the Ocean where I live. The constant uncertainty can be exhausting and very time consuming.
Thankfully, I believe I am starting to get the hang of it (knock on wood). I understand now what my professors at State were trying to warn me and my fellow writers. Once outside the MFA, writing feels like a luxury that one cannot afford.
Yet, as a writer I cannot afford to stop writing.
I must then return to a sense of balance; the balance between self-care, work, and writing.
Self-care is everything that one has to do to stay functional in the world. Doctors visits, health insurance, rent payments, phone payments, car payments, cleaning your room, buying new clothes, washing clothes, washing dishes, buying groceries, cooking food, talking with loved ones, taking your medications on time, watching a funny show, reading, playing videogames, etc.
Work is what you do to pay the bills. From the time you leave the house to go to work until the time you step out of your work office that time spent working. Applying for work is also work, as all us underemployed or unemployed graduates know.
Writing is what I am doing now while listening to Netflix play in the background. Writing is also reading. So reading books on writing or science or math or dragons, etc go into this category. Notice that reading is also a part of self-care. Reading for your writing life and for your life is a good practice, in my book. It lets you have room for really High literature and really low literature. The kale and the cheeseburger books, respectively.
I hope to get better at the Balancing Act. I’m in the process of learning through trial by error. With any luck, I can reach my center of balance and feel the flow of my writing increase in the next month.
Thanks for reading!
Peace, love, and pancakes!
This May I will be graduating from San Francisco State University with a MFA in Creative Writing. I will be the first in my immediate family to have a graduate degree. I am the 3rd daughter of my mother to receive a Bachelors. To top it all off, most of my family on my Nanay’s side are in the medical field, so I’ve gone in a totally different direction from what I was raised with. So, I’m finishing and starting on a long uncharted journey.
And I am terrified.
There is still a lot of work to do before May; finishing up class work, continue working as a tutor until graduation, continue with TAing for one of the best poets in the Bay Area (my personal opinion because well … dammit just read Diwata!) editing and formatting my final creative project (my 40-56 poem manuscript of Dragon’s Den), applying for jobs, moving out after obtaining a job, balancing all this with loved ones, old and new, etc. All these things-to-do keep me very busy, almost busy enough to forget that I am terrified of what lies beyond the egg shell thin Months of April and May.
Yet, I am some how comforted by this fear.
This fear is familiar.
As a writer, I encounter this fear every time I stare at the blank page. Part of the reason why there are gapes of several months between posts is this fear. Fear of screwing up, fear of failure, fear of not doing justice to the potential and gifts that I have been given. All of these fears are silencing. Damning even.
Then, how do writers, people in general, get over the fear of endings and beginnings?
I can’t answer that in one blog. I am, after all, only one Rosie. However, I do know what works for me. So, here are 5 tips to help you young dragons cope with the fear of breaking free of your little eggs:
1) Perfection is a myth.
This is not to say that everything in the universe is comprised of pure randomized chaos and there is no structure. This is just to say that the idea of ONE PERFECT THING is well wrong. Logically, it is wrong. For instance, there are over 7 billion people on the planet. 7 billion. That’s a lot of humans. Each human has their own belief systems. If one belief system isn’t the same as another does that make that first belief system wrong? Unless you are a bigot, OF COURSE NOT! There are too many ways to do one thing, therefore the “right way” mentality is flawed by the get go.
2) We learn from mistakes
This I learned from experience. Growing up, I pursued the straight A life like it was the only thing keeping me alive. However, I can say this with the utmost honesty: I LEARNED LESS FROM CLASSES THAT GAVE ME A’s. The classes I learned the most in were where I was challenged enough that I hit my head against walls. One of my favorite classes at CAL was my AIDS in Africa class. I got a B in the class, one of the lowest grades I ever got and I remember everything about that class; from the feminist angle the teacher approach the subject to the critique of NGO’s and Western ideology.
3) Others learn from our mistakes
When someone sees you try and even if you fail, the fact that you tried has an effect on the person who witnessed your attempt. Think of all the visionaries of the past. Many died in the attempt to improve the world. Most suffered for their dreams. On their backs, so much have been accomplished. For more on this check out Cosmos.
4) Innovations often come from goof-ups
Silly Putty, Artificial Sugar, etc!
5) Nothing ventured, nothing earned
If you never try, and fail, (and try again and again into infinity), you will never know your limits AND your strengths.
So, my fellow hatch-lings, it’s time to break open our shells, stretch out our heads and open our eyes to our own potentials!
As always, keep on writing, painting, and creating.
-Rosie
When the Gods tried to divide the light
from the darkness, the light scattered
and fled into shimmering fragments.
Mica, Hematite
Malachite
Each spark dimmed to hide
from the Gods with their cleavers,
their scissors, their claws.
Emerald, Jade,
Peridot
Each followed the darkness
into the soil and burrowed,
becoming one with the Earth.
Diamond, Citrine,
Amethyst
The light intertwined with the darkness,
the darkness intertwined with the light,
giving birth to shimmering veins.
Garnet, Aquamarine,
Moonstone
The veins swirled around metallic ores
feeding them with their brilliance,
embracing the shadows in a maze.
Ruby, Opal,
Turquoise
Serpentine, the veins grew muscular
arms and legs, thick tails, star tipped
claws, throbbing necks, star dust eyes.
Obsidian, Fused quartz,
Limestone
Alive, the dragons rose
shedding glistening scales
onto the sun kissed surface.
you’re
LOVED
uncondishinally
Some are caught in dew drops
in the filaments of fur and feather
in the sweat of hair less apes.
Silica, Iron,
Titanium
Some scales were harvested
into vials to be pour onto the head
of the adult child, child adult
you’re
LOVED
uncondishinally
where they will intertwine
with her black rose root curls
singing glistening the words
you’re
LOVED
uncondishinally
you’re
LOVED
uncondishinally
you’re
LOVED
uncondishinally
The following is the October 2012 draft of The Street. I dedicate this poem to all who walk the streets. Peace be with you.
Once upon a time, there was the Street,
pavement speckled pebble sharp,
that stretched from one end of the country to the other.
The Congressmen, The Clergy, and the Citizens knew him well
and often walked upon him.
One day, the Street found a Crack-head’s baby sitting in the gutter.
The Street had an idea.
He would raise the baby.
“Who will help me raise the Crack-head’s baby?” asked the Street.
“Not I,” announced the Congressmen.
“Not I,” spat the Clergy.
“Not I,” stuttered the Citizens.
“Then I will,” said the Street. So, the Street raised the baby, all by himself.
When the baby had grown into a child, the Street asked the people,
“Who will help me teach this child?”
“Not I,” proclaimed the Congressmen.
“Not I,” sang the Clergy.
“Not I,” mumbled the Citizens.
“Then I will,” said the Street. So, the Street taught the child, all by himself.
When the child finally bloomed into a woman, the Street asked the people,
“Who will help me protect this woman and help her find work?”
“Not I,” declared the Congressmen.
“Not I,” pronounced the Clergy.
“Not I,” muttered the Citizens.
“Then I will,” said the Street.
So, the Street protected the woman against the sewers,
the soil, and the subway cars, that lie beneath his surface. The Street brought the woman
to a dark alley with a single red light, all by himself, sent her through the door underneath the red light, and carried her heavy footsteps back to the gutter when she came out.
The Street asked the people, “Who will help me get this woman to a free clinic?”
“Not I,” stated the Congressmen.
“Not I,” prayed the Clergy.
“Not I,” stammered the Citizens.
“Then I will,” said the Street.
But all the free clinics were closed.
Nine month’s passed and the woman gave birth to a baby boy.
The woman died in child birth,
leaving the boy with the Street.
“Who will raise this boy?” asked the Street.
“Not I,” said the Congressmen.
“Not I,” said the Clergy.
“Not I,” said the Citizens.
“Then I will,” said the Street.
on two gabbro walls
reflective stones from India
cut and fabricated in Vermont
Tennessee etched the creeping silver
the creeping silver transposed
onto the black gash of shame
onto the mirror preserving our present
presence as marvelously precious
the creeping silver strands streak
across the faces of weeping widows
weeping widowers, weeping mothers
weeping fathers, weeping children
the creeping silver travels off the walls
visits every state in the nation,
every storefront, every front door
every living room, every crib
the creeping silver grows thicker
longer with each passing bullet
train each resounding report
chilling blood underneath blankets
the creeping silver hides in rubber
soles, in neon cathedrals,
in the finger tips holding this page
close to eyes reflecting creeping silver
Week28Year1 (1st Draft)
I dedicate this poem to the victims, survivors, fighters, police, nurses, and all who helped in the aftermath of the Boston Marathon Bombing. This is for you.
Look,
with the first responders
we raise our hands.
From the front lines
we are reporting.
We are running out of
lock-down campuses
our mouths full of blood
to look at the falling Gods
and raise our hands.
We are diving into the Pacific
raising it, opening windows,
looking out at every compass point
back at a series of abandoned lots
back at jails after the novenas
we raise our hands
after the dead tweet
whether we knew them or not
we raise our hands.
In alleyways and in back roads
and in closets and in stairways
remembering wars, occupations, guns,
germs, and steel at the door
and the beatings on the back
we raise our hands.
In river banks,
we are raise our hands.
To the faces of officials and the 1%
we raise our hands
and to all who never change
we go on raising our hands.
For the children dying around us,
the lost years,
we raise our hands.
For the burning jungles
filling our lungs
we raise our hands
With limbs growing out
like poppy petals from pitch
roads, sprawling cancer sites,
along water ways
we are raising our hands
faster and faster
With nobody watching
we are raising our hands
We are raising our hands
and we are keeping the darkness
at bay.
Week18Year2
Yesterday, I posted something extremely personal and also really hard to read (still haven’t re-read it). I figured that I need to write a follow-up posts about/proof of things getting better and how you or someone you love can work things out when they are in crisis mode. So here are some journeys on the path of healing.
First list of journeys!
Forgive yourself for everything, especially things out of your control and yes your brain isn’t in your compelete control; move around, it’s surprising how much that helps; talk to people, but only to a select few ’cause not everyone can help you through this; state your truth knowing that it is not written in stone, you’re not God and those tablets never said you’re worthless; eat something and take your meds on time, sounds simple but damn hard when you’re in crisis; draw, write, sing, dance etc until all ur anger and sadness are gone even if that takes a life time, at least you spent a lifetime making something beautiful; and do small acts of kindness, at least 5 a day, give up ur seat to an elder or a family, do ur housemates dishes without them knowing, write thank you letters, give out food to a homeless person, volunteer somewhere, tell someone that they are loved, etc x20.
Additional journeys!
More Journeys in Getting Better: Treat yourself to something, even if it’s just a cookie or a cupcake (see Kid President on Youtube for reasons why; say thank you to people who helped you in any way (Thanks go out to Camille Dungy, Professor Stec, and Professor Dan Langton for helping me with my MFA applications and for helping me improve as a writer); laugh with a good friend about anything even if it doesn’t make sense out of context (You’re eyes are stupid!); and celebrate every victory knowing that it took a whole lot of people (not just you) to help you get this far. Gratitude helps a lot.
I’m still not close to 75%, negative thoughts continue to drift in and out of my head in rapid succession, but I’m getting there. So, to everyone out there remember: there is hope and even in the darkest of days there is light, even if the light is simply you’re own heart beat or a warm hand holding you up.
Peace, love, and Serenity.
Rosie Logging off.
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