On days like this, I miss the country. It rained last night, cooling everything around us. The wind and trees whisper that summer just might be over soon. I walked as far as I could to get away from the roar of cars and trucks but I've never walked this trail by myself, and when I finally found the curve in the trail where the cicadas drowned out the city, I stopped. And took this picture. ❤️❤️ I'm at this weird phase of transition. Or maybe I'm just feeling stuck. Much like my walk here: do I keep walking into unfamiliar territory? Or turn around because the noise can tune out my thoughts and it's familiar and I've already walked it after all. My children are at school. I'm feeling all sorts of emotions that come with that, covid being the highest and most consuming priority. But somewhere around the worries, I find myself wondering what now? What do I do from here? Where do I go? Do I keep studying for this test for this career (teaching) I'm not even sure about. Do I keep sending 2 completed chapbooks hoping the Universe finds a home for them? Do I keep going through the motions until something leads me where I need to go? I feel lost. Stuck.As a mental health advocate, I'd be remiss not to mention my thoughts out loud, in case someone needs to hear this. Who am I when no one is around to mother? This walk didn't answer any of that for me. I thought as I stood in front of the sunflowers, I'd have some sort of epiphany. The best I could come up with is that society has a warped and all consuming view of what stay at home moms are supposed to be. I left pieces of myself in my children - we create, we laugh, make memories, pray, cry - I speak joy and hope into them. And when they left to seek out peers, I wonder what pieces of them (and me) they've left behind. Who am I when they're not around? There is a story brewing here. More tangible thoughts (probably) will be written into poems. And perhaps, that's always been the answer: I've never stopped being a writer. On my next walk, I think I'll bring a notebook and go a little further. Just some Friday thoughts for you. ❤️❤️❤️ Who do you become when no one's watching?
2 Comments
Hello Readers! Summer Book Lover's Day is August 9 and we are Celebrating ALL WEEK with a HUGE giveaway! I have partnered up with Celebrate Lit Publicity to do an amazing giveaway where you can win a spectacular prize of over 35 books or a $500 Amazon gift card to buy books you love to hold you over until Christmas! Be sure to enter Celebrate Lit's 2nd Annual Summer Book Lover's Multi-Author Giveaway going on now through August 15. Enter here: https://promosimple.com/ps/10ec7/2021-summer-book-lover-s-day So thankful that my poem, "early start" was accepted for Issue 2 of Querencia Magazine. This one was a journey, written during my training as a Patient Family Partner Certification for Momma's voices. There was a point in the training, were we had to do a 2 minute storytelling pitch. I was reliving memories and the guilt and anger washed over me. I had to remind myself that my kiddos are healthy. She is indeed fierce and NINE. Having a traumatic birth cannot let me just remember all the good....my body only remembers the tears, the closing in of itself, the endless bargaining. Anyway, here it is, 'early start'
This was not how I planned the start of motherhood. But here she is, encased in glass, tubes and wires surrounding her and a machine that voices her heartbeat. And there I am, sitting beside her, bargaining to a god that I’ve believed in all my life that this isn’t how its’ supposed to be and how could we both fail at the thing we were supposed to be good at? ... more over here: hiccups (page 32) My poem "someone who looks like me" published in Marias at Sampaguitas Mahal issue (July 2021)! Join us for open mic night tonight!! Feel free do download the pdf below OR follow here for issue two. ![]()
My poem, 'the jungle that birthed me,' is out at Rigorous Mag. ![]() "All my life, I’ve been told about how women like me should be; submissive, small, light skin, and quiet as a mouse. The picture of timidness, compliance, one who rarely..." for more, click here. Book news:I should have done this seperately, but let's be honest. I'm a mom with 2 kids and my "me time," is ticking. BlurbFor her 18th birthday, Lenora Grace Williams is given a box. Aside from trinkets and photographs, there are three handwritten letters from her mother, written before she died. While reading the letters, Lenora wrestles with finding her faith, following her heart, and forgiving the secrets and heartache her mother left behind. Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58260483-letters-to-lenora Amazon preorder: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096N3BTFF/ref=sr_1_1? releasing 6/21/2021Let's be honest here, I forgot what my monthly goals were and was only reminded about it being Tuesday....a few hours ago. SIGH. I'm continuing to write when I can - about faith, pmdd, shifting identities and seasons in motherhood, advocacy - and if the poem is enough to stand on its' own, I submit to journals that I come across. I was going to wait until the end of the year for this list, but I'm going to do a 5 month "check in," for the sake of accountability. Submitting to journals and getting rejected obviously isn't fun.....and half the time, I don't know WHY I even subject myself to the "thanks but not thanks," email. But I once read somewhere that all it takes is just one yes....the one that matters.... that keeps me going. I have no idea where that yes is going to come from but I believe in that "one day, it will happen." SOooo here are some stats for you: Since January 1st, I have submitted to 17 journals/lit mags for essays, poems, and completed chapbook. 10/17 REJECTIONS 3/17 ACCEPTANCES 4/17 AWAITING RESPONSES It's only the 1st of June and we haven't even started our submission process yet. But there you have it. 5 months into 2021 and this poet was rejected up to 10 times out of 17. And I'm still standing - ha! How's your submission process going? 2021 Submissions, Acceptances, & Rejections (so far)JANUARY1.) Submitted a poem called, "the voice," to Please See Me (rejected) 2.) Submitted pmdd & me chapbook to Porkbelly Press (rejected) 3.) Submitted pmdd & me chapbook to Perhappened Press (rejected) FEBRUARY4.) Submitted a poem called, "the cry of the struggle," to Dropout Publishing (rejected) 5.) Submitted a poem called, "the cry of the struggle," to Second Chance Lit (rejected) 6.) Submitted a poem, "my anxious self," & prose, "dear anxious believer," to Pearshaped Press (awaiting) April7.) Submitted pmdd & me chapbook to Selcouth Station (awaiting) 8.) Submitted 2 poems, "cry of the struggle," and "this is how I'm surviving," to Revue Post (rejected) 9.) Submitted a poem called, "me too," to Brave Voices Magazine (rejected) 10.) Submitted a poem called, "the jungle that birthed me," to Rigorous (accepted) 11.) Submitted 3 poems, "thou shalt remain nameless," "growing up girl," and "the state of things" to Antiherioine chic (rejected) 12.) Submitted 3 poems, shower, cry, repeat," "lessons in motherhood," and "the things we carry" to Fahmidan Journal (rejected) 13.) Submitted a poem called, "this is how I'm surviving," to Marías at Sampaguitas APRIL Contest (WON 3rd place)! May14.) Submitted a poem called, "lessons in motherhood," to Literary Mama on 5/6/21 (rejected). 15.) Submitted a personal essay called, "raising babies in the hyphen," to The Nasiona for their True Stories en Vivo call on 5/12 (awaiting). 16.) Submitted a poem called, "early start," to querencia magazine on 5/12 (Accepted for July 2nd issue). 17.) Submitted a poem called, "here's what I know," to The Lannang Archives on 5/27 (awaiting). Years ago, I answered a call to submit a sweet, clean Christian novella. I wrote Letters to Lenora in a month. It would have been my second attempt at a novel but falling short - by thousands of words. I had just finished writing Storm of Hope and was in the midst of my postpartum depression healing. I don't know what I was aiming to write about exactly, but I like stories that have realistic endings and I've always gravitated towards the faithful. I remember thinking about this girl who were on the cusps of leaving the nest and suddenly being given the chance to get to know her mother. My own story bleed into the pages. In the storm of pregnancy anxiety and ptsd, I had, at the time, written 'goodbye' letters to my sweet girl. I was that afraid of Preeclampsia, and while the fear would spiral into something else later, I truly believed (and to a certain extent) that if lightning missed you the first time, it would not miss the second. I remember wrestling with the what-ifs. And then of course, we were living in our nightmare. A second preeclampsia that hit me suddenly. Another stint at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) and a mama writer unable to discern her jumbled thoughts. What if my girl found my letters years later? What would she think of me? Of these words that is supposed to bring comfort, but instead brings more heartache. While I get to wrap my arms around my babies, Lenora has to settle on words written by a mother who was afraid...who was in pain and in fear..... So this novella, Letters to Lenora, was indeed published in this anthology. I forget since its' been a while, but the general consensus was that after 6 months of publication, we collectively unpublished this anthology. And friends, let me tell you, I had forgotten all about this particular story. I went on to write poetry, 'not your token,' and began submitting to different literature magazines and presses. The other day, I was cleaning up my google drive (as one does on a Wednesday) and happened upon this story. I read it. I cried. I remembered the pain and fear. But I loved the hug and hope it brought me. I loved reading about Lenora's mom and her faith. I loved reading about Lenora's outlook on her future. If I could glimpse into my children's futures, I would hope they follow the path they forged and hope that they leave a trail of kindness and goodness in their wake. Anyway, this is my book news! Letters to Lenora will be published very soon. I'm hoping for an early/mid June release!! I'm waiting on my cover, currently, and will be doing a cover real soon!! Blurb: For her 18th birthday, Lenora Grace Williams is given a box. Aside from trinkets and photographs, there are three handwritten letters from her mother, written before she died. While reading the letters, Lenora wrestles with finding her faith, following her heart, and forgiving the secrets and heartache her mother left behind. The story of ours began like most; I heard your heartbeat and joy propelled me from dreamlike stupor to scheduling baby shower and maternity photography sessions, deciding on nursery decor and what names would match you. When I received my preeclampsia diagnosis, my heart sank and everything on my carefully crafted to-do list dissipated, along with the idea that this story of ours would be easy. Motherhood welcomed us at 31 weeks. It also welcomed strength, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. There would be no crying at our reality or our missed bonding time as you were wheeled away into a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) over an hour away. Instead, I had to summon whatever will and adrenaline coursing through my body and demanded it heal so I can be closer to my heart. Tears would come later. And as I sadly learned, tears would come in waves that crippled and made me wonder where that strength went all those days and weeks I spent by your isolate in the NICU. The story of ours paralyzed me.I don’t know for sure how I lived to see you celebrate your first birthday, when every image I’d see, you were surrounded by tubes and wires and your heart monitor constantly beeping. Somehow I did learn to move freely. I learned to save my tears in the shower. I learned to whisper prayers of gratitude every night as I watched you sleep. As I started to accept the idea that there would only be the three of us - you, me and your dad - I learned I was again expecting. This did not bring me joy. I met this news with anger and I tried for a long time to be happy. You were a beautiful four year old. I survived our first year and I was becoming less afraid of your future. When I heard the heartbeat, I didn’t want to know the sex. I couldn’t give this heart a name. I didn’t want to write to-do lists and there was no dream like stupor, either. I was a mom on a mission and my mission was to live so I could go home to you and our life. A history of preeclampsia could mean I was a ticking time bomb again. A history of premature birth meant I would be revisiting my nightmare in an enclosed NICU space. A history of traumatic birth meant the possibility of not surviving. And history usually repeated itself. I packed my bags at 30 weeks and waited anxiously for 31 weeks. It came and went. I wept and almost believed we were going to make it to ‘full term,’ at 38 weeks. When I woke up with a headache and felt nauseous at 34 weeks, I knew it was time. My vision blurred and my blood pressure was elevated. My heart had already shattered when I was told I’d be welcoming another bundle in a few hours. I thought I welcomed him in my arms. I thought I kissed his head as he was wheeled to the NICU. I thought I was doing okay until I wasn’t. Until I didn’t hear him crying even when he was next to me. Until suddenly, the idea of leaving you and him seemed like a rational action. Motherhood has defined me in ways I never knew I'd be defined by. While I knew motherhood gives you a different identity and purpose. Mine came with a two time Preeclampsia survivor, a parent to premature babies, and NICU graduates. I also had to include on postpartum depression survivor - an identity that I didn’t know I’d endure and survive. And while the story of ours is still writing itself, I am hopeful that you and your brother can overcome any obstacles in life. After all, the strength I had to push through my storms were reflected in your eyes. You gave me courage. I choose to live bravely because of you. My purpose isn’t to understand why the story of ours began the way it did but how our story could give a voice and comfort to another. My purpose in advocating for maternal mental health came because of the way our story began. Resources https://preeclampsia.org/ https://www.thebluedotproject.org/ For more of my preeclampsia and postpartum depression story, please see here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B073MVG4R4/ I sometimes wonder why I keep hitting the send button to these press/lit mags when I know that rejections are more common than acceptances. But such is life, I suppose. After months of rejections, it was wonderful to get a 'yes.' I submitted a poem that Marias at Sampaguitas were holding for National Poetry Month and my once rejected poem, "this is how I'm surviving," came in 3rd place! Claustrophobia comes at me in moments between dusk and nightfall. The world closes in, and when the last light goes, so too, does mine; ... for more, click here. I don't do this but I'm torn between continuing with my YA paranormal/folktale retelling OR rearranging them to make it as a novel in verse. Hmmm, what do you think? Here is the first part. Chesa It is 2:30 am when I am jolted awake. I cannot tell whether it was the nightmare or the turbulence that woke me. I blink rapidly a few times to adjust to the dimness of the cabin. The low hum of whispers, the soft snores from the family next to me seemed to settle the apprehension I felt. This uneasiness that something wasn’t quite right with me. With my family. The situation I find myself in. 2:30 am. I am only 15 hours of my 19 hour flight, from the home I’ve ever known to California. United States of America; a place where I, with black curls and brown skin will never be welcomed. I wonder if they already know what I am? |
Hi, there!I drink too much coffee, read too many books, and in between raising miracle babies, I find time to write.
BooksCategories
All
Archives
July 2024
|
Hi there! Here's a quick bio |
|