Stats

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Sorry I’m late. I hope everyone who celebrates during this time had a good time with friends and family.

Do you create lists such as top books read in 2016; number of books read; numbers of books sold; number of books written? I think we all tend to keep stats which gives us a sense of accomplishments.

Here are a few of my stats for 2016.

  • I’ve read 247 books
  • I’ve been to 3 reader/fan conventions (Left Coast Crime, Malice and Bouchercon)
  • I’ve read books by four authors I met at reader/fan convention (Alexandra Sokoloff, Karin Salvalaggio, Susan Elia MacNeal, Liz Milliron)
  • I had 94 authors, for the first-time, appear on my blog

What stats do you have?

CHOOSING THE GLASS HALF FULL

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by Kay Kendall

Tradition says that when a calendar year draws near its
close, people often describe their feelings about the year that has passed and
the one that looms ahead. 2016 appears likely to be nominated for the dubious
prize of the worst year ever—or at least in recent memory.


Wherever we looked in 2016, there were troubles galore.
The weather was extreme. Global populations were fleeing miserable conditions and
causing disruption in nearby peaceful countries. International relations were
frayed. American presidential politics were extreme.


Finally in the last quarter of this benighted year, I ran
into a personal health scare. This was amplified by the fact that exactly two
years earlier my husband had endured a similar health crisis. After coming down with a pinch of PTSD, in order to keep
myself from plunging into a pit of despair and staying there, I vowed to manage
my own head. It became almost a full-time job, but I did it.

When I was young—to pick a
number, let’s say when I was less than 25 years old—I enjoyed experiencing my
strong see-sawing emotions. Mood changes made me feel alive. I loved the wild
feelings of euphoria and actually did not mind a touch of mild despair.

Over time I realized that
being emotional could be overdone. After all, I never yearned to go on the
stage.  When I married and raised a
child, I began learning to control my emotions. One emotion I could never
control, however, was dread. Playing the game of What If came naturally to me.
But whenever I got stuck playing that game in my head, the What If questions
always came out with bad answers. Nothing ever came positive.

Then I learned I have an
anxiety disorder and actively sought to control my own head. Reading in psychology
and philosophy enabled me to see that whatever moment you are in is your only
reality. If you are too busy worrying about the future or regretting your past,
then you are not fully alive to the wonders of the present.

One of the habits I’ve
acquired that helps me most is to seek evidence that the glass is always half
full, never half empty. This in turn leads to a feeling of gratitude. I have
had many blessings and much good luck in my life. By emphasizing these things
rather than sorrows or slipups, I have found more joy in my everyday living.

Now I study the habits of
people who handle trials and tribulations with grace and forbearance. Even
though I have dodged the recent health scare with the assistance of fantastic
medical professionals, I know that there will be more ordeals ahead. That is a
fact of life—and of aging.

Often I think of the story I
was told about two boys who were given the task of mucking out stalls filled
with manure. One boy dragged his feet, whining and complaining. The other boy
set to cleaning the stall while he whistled. When asked about his happy
attitude, the second lad explained, “I know there has to be a pony in here
somewhere.”

And that is how I spend my
time these days. I am always looking for the pony.  
~~~~~~~
Want to read the first 20 pages of Kay Kendall’s second mystery, RANY DAY WOMEN? Go to her website http://www.austinstarr.com/
That book won two awards at the Killer Nashville conference in August 2016—for best mystery/crime and also for best book.

Her first novel about Austin Starr‘s sleuthing, DESOLATION ROW, was a finalist for best mystery at Killer Nashville in 2014. Visit Kay on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/KayKendallAuthor

Science Fiction: A Bastion of Hope

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by J.M. Phillippe


Social work, I tell people, is about holding hope for others when they are unable to hold it for themselves. More often than not, I meet people when they are in the midst of some sort of crisis. That crisis has painted their world pretty dark, and optimistic isn’t very high on the list of things they are feeling. And yet, the very act of going to therapy is an act of hope — it’s taking a chance that there may be another way to feel, another way to live life. They come with a spark, and it’s my job to help them nurture and grow that spark. I help them see the strengths they already have, and learn to accept that being human means having imperfection. When all else fails, I sit with them in their darkness until they can contemplate the existence of light again.

The world feels very scary to a great deal many people in my life right now. Here in the US, the electoral college just elected a man that the majority of the nation did not vote for, and he is pushing for policy most of us oppose. I have teenage clients being told by bullying classmates that they will be deported, Jewish clients being threatened with swastikas, trans clients terrified for their safety, and countless female clients terrified for their rights (including the right to not be sexually assaulted). Facts are being re-branded as opinions, and science dismissed as an elitist and biased view. People don’t know how to tell if the stories they are reading are real or fake — and too many people don’t even care. If it sounds like the truth (or rather, like what they already believe), that’s good enough.

It’s times like this that I hold on to one of my first and greatest loves: science fiction. Science fiction and fantasy have covered all this territory before. I think I have managed to read a story or see a movie about every kind of terrible thing that humanity can do to itself, or have done to them by some greater power. I have read every kind of ending as well, from the dark and nihilistic, to the fiercely optimistic. The most recent was the latest Star Wars movie, whose tag line is this:

While I can’t assume to know the motivation of every author out there, I can’t help but think that the reason why so many writers create such dark worlds is to show people a way through that darkness. However big the odds, there are always heroes willing to take them on. However hard the path, there are feet willing to walk it, and however horrible the consequences, there are people willing to risk it all. For hope.

Hope is one of the great themes of science fiction: where it lives, how it endures, what it can accomplish, what happens when it dies. You cannot tell a story about human beings without also talking about their hopes and dreams. My particular interest in science fiction and fantasy is the way it can take the human condition to the furthest stretch of “what if” and provide a possible answer to what humans would do then. And more often than not, what humans will do, whenever given even the tiniest chance, is hope.

Like many others, I found 2016 to be a very challenging year. I don’t know if we all just collectively only focused on the bad and missed the good (though a lot good happened as well), but it seemed like the year when a lot of people realized, as the great William Goldman (of The Princess Bride) said: “Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” None of us are buying this year.

Still, it’s my job to hold hope. The only reason I have been able to is that I spent my childhood practicing this skill. I usually needed it about midway through a book when everything in the story started getting darker and darker. I definitely needed it right before the end, when it seemed like any sort of happy ending would be impossible. But I stuck with it (and didn’t skip ahead) and even if all the characters would not survive the story, one thing almost always did: hope.

So I’d pick up the next book, and the next, and the next, and get the same message again and again. However dark the world, there were good people in it. However horrible humanity could be, there were other humans willing to stand up for the weak, for the innocent, and for the best in all of us.

And that is why I can look at 2016 and understand — the story is not over yet. I don’t know if 2017 will be a dark chapter or not, but I do know that in the end, however long this series goes, the good will win. We just have to keep flipping the pages, and we’ll get there eventually.

* * *
J.M. Phillippe is the author of Perfect Likeness and the short story The Sight. She has lived in the deserts of California, the suburbs of Seattle, and the mad rush of New York City. She works as a therapist in Brooklyn, New York and spends her free-time decorating her tiny apartment to her cat Oscar Wilde’s liking, drinking cider at her favorite British-style pub, and training to be the next Karate Kid, one wax-on at a time.

Writers’ Lessons from Paranormal or Supernatural Holiday Stories

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Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life

by Paula Gail Benson
I
watched It’s a Wonderful Life when
NBC broadcast it earlier this year. Letting myself get caught up in George
Bailey’s story and Clarence Oddbody’s struggle to get his wings, I began to
think about how some of our most memorable holiday stories involve a
supernatural or paranormal element. Consider Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Where would Scrooge
have been without those ghosts? Even Miracle
on 34th Street showcases Santa’s, or Kris Kringle’s, magical
capabilities.
What
is it about Christmas that brings makes us ponder the world beyond that we do
not know and only through religious texts, unique circumstances, and fiction catch
a glimpse? Does this preoccupation stem from the fact that during this cold time of
year, memories of the past draw close? Or, does the nativity story give us the
courage to ponder how humans may connect with God, angels, and dearly departed
who may be looking out for us?
A Christmas Carol (1938 film)
In
all three of the Christmas stories I mentioned, the supernatural or paranormal
creatures have the power to show humans what they may have been unable to see.
For George, how the world might have been if he weren’t born. For Scrooge, how
his actions had and could influence others. And, for Susie and her mother, how
believing, even if you’re not certain, can help you lead a happier, more
fulfilled life.
Often,
when writers think about creating paranormal creatures, we consider allowing
them to swoop in and rescue humans, like super heroes. But, in these Christmas
stories, that doesn’t occur. A reader might wonder why Clarence doesn’t ask
Gabriel if he can tell George that Mr. Potter has the missing money. In 1986, Saturday Night Live featured a sketch
introduced by William Shatner, who said the lost ending for It’s a Wonderful Life had been
discovered. Phil Hartman, playing Uncle Billy, remembers where he left the
$8,000 and learns from Clarence at the bank that Potter made a deposit in that
amount. George (Dana Carvey) and the crowd gathered at his house become an
angry mob, hunting down Potter (Jon Lovitz) and beating him to a pulp. It’s
just wasn’t the same as Clarence taking his lead from George’s suggestion and
by example showing him no man who has friends can be a failure.
I
decided to do some background research on the story, “The Greatest Gift” by
Phillip Van Doren Stern, that became the basis for It’s a Wonderful Life. According to Wikipedia, Stern was an editor and
author of books about the Civil War that have been described as authoritative
and respected by scholars. In 1938, he woke from a dream that inspired his
4,000 word short story, which he completed in 1943. When he could not find a
publisher, he sent it around in 200 Christmas cards. Eventually, it was
published and came to the attention of RKO Pictures, which optioned it due to
Cary Grant’s interest in playing George Bailey. Later, Frank Capra acquired
the rights and the role went to James Stewart. I found a copy of “The Greatest
Gift” available through Amazon. One of the reviewers pointed out that the names
of the characters in that story weren’t the same as those “in the original”
movie. I guess writers whose work has been adapted for the screen have been
facing that criticism a long time.
Speaking
of Cary Grant, he later played, not the struggling human, but the divine
intervenor in The Bishop’s Wife (a
role reprised by Denzel Washington in The
Preacher’s Wife). In that story, Grant’s angel, named Dudley, created more
havoc for the humans, but in the end, found he had to allow them to make their
own decisions, even though he had fallen in love with Julia (Loretta Young),
the Bishop’s (David Niven) wife.
So,
in remembering these holiday stories with paranormal elements and considering how
they were constructed and created, what have I learned as a writer? Here are my
thoughts:
Miracle on 34th Street

(1) Successful movie adaptations often receive more credit than the original source.
(2)
A ghost, an angel, or even Santa can never “fix’ a human’s problem, only help
the human find his or her way.

(3)
Even if a lesson is hard learned, humans are invariably better off by allowing
some of the mystical qualities of the season to transform them.

Here’s wishing each
of you a wonderful holiday and a new year of happy writing!

A Time for Giving… Away

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by Linda Rodriguez
It’s 10 days until Christmas—days
when people are shopping and buying presents to give to people who
don’t really need any more stuff to cram into their overcrowded
homes. I have informed my family that I absolutely forbid them to
give me any stuff this Christmas. It’s not that I’ve turned
into Scrooge or the Grinch this year. It’s just that I’m in the
throes of downsizing out of a big old house with three full stories
plus attics and two-car garage, all packed with the stuff of 42 years
of living and raising kids, plus the inherited belongings of several
generations before us.

I have to keep driving past the small
yellow house where we will move once we have cleared out this big old
money pit and sold it to our oldest son, who wants to make the
repairs we can’t afford and rent it out. Seeing the cheerful little
casita to which we’re eventually moving, which has no stairs and
everything brand-new and working just the way it’s supposed
to—plumbing, wiring, cooling and heating, flooring, windows,
appliances—fortifies my will and sends me back to work on my own
version of the Augean stables.

I have sorted out the too-numerous sets
of fine stemware and china, taking boxes of it to my daughter, my
oldest son and his fiancé,
and my sister. Youngest son has driven up to the city to help me pack
boxes and gone back with his car packed to the gills. He’ll return
this weekend to help and take more back with him. I’m on a first-name
basis with the driver for Big Brothers, Big Sisters, since I’ve been
on his pick-up route every week for the last three and he sees I’m
scheduled for weekly pick-ups well into 2017.

The
biggest problems are the books and papers. This is the house of a
writer/editor/teacher and a publisher/editor/scholar. We are drowning
in thousands of books and pounds of papers. My solution, as I try to
move methodically through the house one room at a time, one floor at
a time, has been to start with the books and papers and carry on that
sorting and discarding process every day on a continuous basis while
packing up the things in each room which must go. Ideally, by the
time I’ve finished all rooms on all floors, plus the finished
basement, two attics, and the garage, I will also have finished the
books and papers. (Please don’t laugh at me like that. Allow me my
illusions. They’re all I have to keep me going.)

I
have tried to make lists of what to keep and what to give to family
and what to give away or discard, but I keep finding new things that
are not on any of those lists and having to make decisions all over
again. This leads to odd philosophical questions, such as, How can I
never have anything appropriate to wear when I have so many clothes?,
or What kind of misspent life results in three huge boxes of cups
with the insignia of universities, conferences, and bookstores?, or
How is it that we have four of those huge scholarly collections of
Shakespeare’s plays and poems with essays and footnotes that are
designed for 300-level university Shakespeare classes?, or Where did
all of these old shoes come from?

I am determined to make it easy on us.
I’m doing a first pass through each of the downstairs and upstairs
rooms, packing up and moving out everything that we know we won’t
take with us, thus, no hard emotional decisions right off the bat,
just hard labor. Then, we will have to tackle the difficult
choices—Which of these wedding gifts from dear friends, many of
whom are now gone, will we give away? and Which of the teapots, many
hand-painted or handmade, that my youngest son started giving me
every year from the age of six will I part with? and Which pieces of
furniture from my husband’s grandparents and great-grandparents will
we give up, surely not the china cabinet and rocking chairs that his
great-grandfather made himself?

Surprisingly, I have found that each
box I move out of the house leaves me feeling more positive and
energetic about this massive undertaking. I realize that may change
when the time comes to make those tougher decisions, on teapots, for
example, but right now, I’m feeling great satisfaction every time I
close and tape a box and set it to go to one of the kids or my sister
or to set out for my pal, the Big Brothers, Big Sisters driver. So
wish me luck.

Linda Rodriguez’s book, Plotting the
Character-Driven Novel is based on her popular workshop. Every
Family Doubt, her fourth mystery featuring Cherokee campus police
chief, Skeet Bannion, will appear in June, 2017. Her three earlier
Skeet novels—Every Hidden Fear, Every Broken Trust,
and Every Last Secret—and
her books of poetry—Skin Hunger
and Heart’s Migration—have
received critical recognition and awards, such as Malice
Domestic Best First Novel, International Latino Book Award, Latina
Book Club Best Book of 2014, Midwest Voices & Visions, Elvira
Cordero Cisneros Award, Thorpe Menn Award, and Ragdale and Macondo
fellowships. Her short story, “The Good Neighbor,”
published in the anthology, Kansas City Noir, has been
optioned for film. Visit her at http://lindarodriguezwrites.blogspot.com.

See Ya, 2016

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December is traditionally the month
of reflection—a time to look back at the year to assess goals and accomplishments.  My husband and I were talking last night, not
so much about which goals we met, but rather about 2016 events that made us happy. While
engagements, new jobs and houses for our kids top the list, I’m very happy to
report we finally finished our house without killing our builder.

My mom would’ve loved this
house—the setting, the birds and animals, the river and pond, and especially
the snow at Christmas. 

I miss Mom a lot
at the holidays. One of my favorite holiday memories is Mom making cookies with
the kids. While unpacking, I found the cookie cutters in one of the boxes
marked “Christmas. ” I think I’ll head into my new kitchen, whip up a batch of
gingerbread dough, and invite the neighbor’s kids over.


What’s on your list
of “good things” for 2016?



Cathy Perkins started writing when recurring characters and dialogue populated her day job commuting daydreams. Fortunately, that first novel lives under the bed, but she was hooked on the joy of creating stories. When not writing, she can be found doing battle with the beavers over the pond height or setting off on another travel adventure. Born and raised in South Carolina, she now lives in Washington with her husband, children, several dogs and the resident deer herd. 

You can also visit her online at the following places:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

The Other Research

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by Bethany Maines 


 After reading Paffi Flood’s article about that new Beaver Bum smell, I don’t feel so bad about today’s google searches, which include best easy-open pocket knives, MAPP gas, and a variety of facts about the Tacoma Police Department in 1922. My search history may imply an interest in violence, safe breaking and the local politics of the early twentieth century, but at least I have not learned anything horrifying about ice cream.

 It has been noted on more than one occasion that mystery writers tend to have rather disturbing research patterns. But really, of course we do. No one wants to get that detail about corpse bloat wrong. So embarrassing – how could I face the other writers at the conventions? But the other, less disturbing, research rarely gets mentioned. What gets served in high-school lunches these days? Hint: tater tots are still going strong. What are the three laws of robotics again? (Answer here) What brand would a black, vegetarian, female computer hacker smoke? Turns out it’s either Newport Menthols or American Spirit Organics. What do ballet dancers do strengthen their feet? (Video here)

 My point? There’s a lot more research that goes into a work of fiction than just what happened to the dead guy. But that research isn’t particularly titillating. It’s simply the stuff we bore you with at cocktail parties. What I find interesting is that almost every person I’ve ever met has been an expert in something, from baking, bagpiping, needlepoint, and cars, to wood working, plumbing, or how the brakes on busses work. I never know when I’m going to need that expertise, but I like to keep track of my various experts. After all, I never know when I’m going to need to know how to crash a bus full of bagpipers. Not that I would ever publically admit to mentally cataloging my acquaintances by how useful they could be to future research…

***
Bethany Maines is the author of the Carrie
Mae Mysteries, Wild Waters, Tales
from the City of Destiny and An
Unseen Current.  You can also view the Carrie Mae youtube video
or catch up with her on Twitter and Facebook.

Finding a Moment . . .

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By AB Plum

At this time of the year, bloggers often:

·        Review accomplishments or missed marks during the past year.

·        Set goals, accomplishments, and hopes for the coming year.

·        Or, intermingle both approaches.

Here’s a quote I think does all three—leaving, as do all good stories, much to our imaginations. 

“But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19 KJV).

Ponder, for me, is the key—and is implicit in review, set goals, intermingle. Theology aside, this single, lyrical statement conveys, I think, one of the most poignant stories in the English language.

Pondered grabs my imagination while tugging at my own heart. I know the Sunday-School backstory. Yet even out of context, universal feelings of fear, uncertainty, and anxiety hover just below the surface. The vagueness of things—unspecified here, but known to Mary—imbues them with the potential to overwhelm this child-woman.

If we know the backstory’s bare bones—a young girl engaged to an older man, discovering she’s pregnant in a society hostile to such an embarrassment and even more hostile to the theological heresy—we can feel our whole being ache for the looming complications.

In the mid-twentieth century, one of my best friends revealed her unexpected pregnancy. Unexpected but admittedly because of her own actions. Her devout Lutheran parents banned her from their home. She was sixteen, living in Middle America, facing no good choices.

But if we’re not familiar with what “all these things” were that Mary kept, we can still empathize. We can admire that she doesn’t fall apart or rail against the incredible maturity she’s asked to demonstrate. We can grieve for the tumultuous events we know she will face in the days immediately ahead and the heartbreak that will come too soon.

Theology, culture, ethnicity, age, historical time frame—all fade as we read that Mary pondered … in her heart. In her heart—not in her head.

As the craziness of Black Friday and Cyber Monday and Last-Chance-Sale-Today escalates, I hope to find time to ponder. May you and those you love find joy and peace in a few quiet moments.

AB Plum lives and writes psychological thrillers in Silicon Valley. Her latest book, The Early Years is available https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B01M8MGL2X.  Look for Book 2, The Lost Years in mid- to late January, 2017!. 

We’ve Come a Long Way, or Have We?

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We’ve Come a Long Way, or Have We? by Debra H. Goldstein
When you checked out the
Happy Thanksgiving listing of the Stiletto Gang’s books (https://www.thestilettogang.com/2016/11/happy-thanksgiving.html),
did you notice the one thing they all have in common?

The books and poems are
written by strong women and whether dramatic or comedic, they feature women
capable of finding solutions. The women writing these books and appearing on
the pages can often be characterized as steel magnolias. Their independence,
career choices, relationships, ultimately are of their own choosing.

What a change in society our
style of writing reflects. Historically, women writers often tended to use
initials or male names rather than their own names because they felt books by
men would sell better. Think P.L. Travers, S.E. Hinton, P.D. James, J.D. Robb,
or V.K. Andrews, to name a few. They also had to conform their writing to
certain norms.

In Little Women, Jo could be a tomboy, but in the end, she still had
to wear dresses and bonnets.

Books written in the 1940’s by Janet Lambert and
others depicted women in supportive home roles or confined to becoming teachers,
stewardesses, or nurses. Even young adult mysteries like Nancy Drew and Cherry
Ames limited the roles and interaction of their main characters. While they
might step outside their norms because of curiosity or needed action to solve a
crime, they usually ended the books with a jovial attitude statement looking
forward to their next adventures.

Recently, I read Silver Wings for Vicki, the first in
the Vicki Barr stewardess series by Helen Wells. I was struck by the contrast
between the eagerness of the young women wanting to fly for adventure and their
understanding of the responsibilities their job entailed. More than being a
waitress in the sky, stewardesses had to be “able to handle all sorts of
people, tactfully, in any sort of situation.” (page 18) They needed to know
health, hygiene, psychology of dealing with people, nutrition and cooking to prepare
and serve meals, languages, and geography. They also had to be

pleasant rather
than aggressive, resourceful, able to wear a uniform with poise, and capable of
representing the airline as window dressing when necessary.

What really caught my
attention was when during her interview, Vicki asks if a stewardess must really
be beautiful and is told: “Real beauty isn’t necessary, but you have to be nice
to look at: well-groomed, pleasant, and not too tall or heavy. After all, a
plane must carry the biggest payload possible, and the heavier the crew the
less paying weight we can carry.” The interviewer then explains why a five foot
eight woman whose weight is proportionate to her height would be unacceptable,
“But the airlines do recognize that American girls are growing taller, and
we’re gradually raising the height and weight limits. Besides, …bigger, roomier
planes are coming into use, and with bigger cabins there’ll be space for taller
girls.”

Reading this book made me
appreciate, as the Virginia Slims slogan went, “You’ve Come a Long Way Baby.”
Or, have we?

Thankful for Positive Feminist Role Models by Juliana Aragón Fatula

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Thankful
for Positive Feminist Role Models.


My s-hero, Gloria Anzaldúa, one of the great icons of Latina Feminist Queer Theory Literature said, “A woman who writes has power, and a woman with power is feared.”  My tía Emma Aragón Medina was my feminist role model and I know she would be proud of the educator I’ve become. I wrote this poem to thank her.

There are two roads going nowhere, going somewhere

Some of us get lost in the dark with no guide

Some of us follow the way of the ones before us

who travelled the path and found the way

My tía goes to the University every day to become a teacher

I watch her grab her books, purse, head out the door, to catch her ride to Pueblo.

Someday, I’m going to catch my ride.  

I love writing. It is my sweet
medicine. Whenever life gets too heavy, or to light. When I feel like I’m going
to stop breathing if I don’t sit down and write. When I can’t sleep at night
because I must write. That’s when I’m happiest.

I love to read, and
if you want to become a great writer, you must first be a book lover. I found
my unique voice from studying great writers I admire: Sandra Cisneros, Lorna
Dee Cervantes, Sherman Alexie, Gloria Anzaldúa, and Shakespeare. But the
feminist role models in my life molded me into the strong woman I am today.

I’m a performance
artist, a teacher, a writer, and a poet. I’ve published two poetry books and a
chap book.  I’ve performed in schools,
nursing homes, coffee shops, book stores, libraries, the Colorado Governor’s Mansion, Universities, in Colorado
and Utah; also for Hispanic Awareness Month for the Department of Defense I
told my stories in Sicily, Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean, los Azores, Kuwait,
Bahrain, Camp Doho, Dubai, Abu Dhabi; and  I’ve
written a couple of children’s plays that were produced at local schools. I edited an anthology for the Pueblo School of Arts and Sciences, I
co-directed the Denver Indian Thespians; and  I spent a decade with Su Teatro in
Denver learning about my history, culture, language and people.

I’m an artist.
I need music, drums, dancing, shouting. I treat writing like a sport. When I
teach writing workshops, we chant and cheer. We get in a huddle and put our
hands in the center and yell, “Uno, dos, tres! Write! Write! Write! We sing Bob
Marley’s Three Little Birds, everything gonna be alright and stomp
and clap to I’m a poet and I know it and
I’m gonna’ do the write thang!”

My
students  ask for advice, or send me poems they wrote.  Now they are seniors in high school and freshmen
in college and remember the Chicano History and feminist literature that I
shared with them. I teach my students  to think about social
justice, global culture and language, When I was a child, there was  no celebration of Chicano
History,  Black History, no writers of color in the books I read.  

The first time I
walked into the public library and saw the rows and rows of books, I felt perplexed.
Who wrote all these books? I was determined to write a book and my name would sit on
those shelves in this library along with Shakespeare, Whitman, Plath, Woolf.

I’m a
writer; I’m going to write until someone tells me to shut the pharmacy and back
door. I want you to laugh and cry when you read my words. I want to zap your
brains with sweet memories and love.