Written Words for My Children. Day 4 of NaBloPoMo.

My beautiful children are still so young, but may one day read this blog, or be embarrassed by it….but, aside from “penning” in cyberworld, I have been JOURNALING the old-fashioned way (pen and paper) for my two children since 2008.

I invested in some matching, fancy schmancy leather bound journals. As I chose them, I worried about the possibility of a third child…should I buy a third now even if he or she wasn’t born yet? What to do?! My level-headed husband told me that I could contact the journal company when the time came and not to stress. So, two journals and about $60.00 later I was set to start writing to my son and daughter. I’ve journaled very infrequently, but continue to fill their pages when time, inspiration and life permits. They’ve seen me with them and of course ask, I merely say it’s a journal and they accept that. They have many journals of their own (composition notebooks) dreams and invention journal for my 6-year old son and an art journal for my 3-year old. I envision handing the journals to my children when they graduate from high school, or college. Or, when they get married or have their first child…. My husband is invited to write to them too, and again when time and inspiration permits, he will. Every entry is dated, including the day and time. I end every entry with “Love, Mama.” I fill it with milestones in their lives or big events about life or the world in general, funny things they say or quirky behaviors that may be fleeting. I recall a point in my son’s life when certain words he said sounded BRITISH. We would laugh, but those moments were so short-lived and I can’t even remember the words he used to say… (I’ll have to check with my husband).

“Ideas can come from anywhere and at any time. The problem with making mental notes is that the ink fades very rapidly.”-Rolf Smith

Pictures, video of my lovelies in their childhood are wonderful, but documentation with my words, in my script and with my take on their life will hopefully be something they appreciate.

ESTA LATER!

Is There a DENDROLOGIST in the House? Day 3 of NaBloPoMo.

“That tree whose leaves are trembling: it is yearning for something. That tree so lovely to see acts as if it wants to flower: it is yearning for something.” ~Diego Hurtado De Mendoza

<-------This tree!****This tree I found as I walked my morning walk yesterday, pretending to be a jogger, with my daughter talking away in the stroller. <-----This tree****what is it? Name, please, anyone? I’ve wanted to know for the last 30 years. Googled it to no avail….anyway, the story of this beautiful tree begins when I was the same age as my son is now. <-------This tree holds special significance to me because it was THE TREE I was going to build my first tree house in. When I was 6-years old, my parents bought a home in the village of Ordot back in Guam, my home island. I was excited to have my own room and not be renting (at that age, I felt the power and excitement of owning something). My mom was eager to start gardening. My dad was happy to start building. In our front yard, my dad and mom planted this short plant, and I didn’t know if it was just a flowering bush or a tree. My dad said it would grow big and become a tree. I was fascinated by its butterfly looking leaves and beautiful pink orchid like flowers. I remember the perfume of the pink and white petals. I remember sitting on the poky Chinese grass, which was vibrant green and carpet-like. The thin blades of grass poked through the thin material of my shorts, but I didn’t mind. I was trying my hardest to enjoy the “shade”, sparse as it was of MY tree.

My childhood home, Ordot, Guam. Wish I had a picture of the tree, but it's to the left of the shot.>>>>>>>>>>. ************I wondered every year if my tree would get big and strong enough to actually hold a house. My father would watch me from our front door as I insisted on sitting in the grass to read a book. I must have been eight or nine, and the tree was now slightly taller than me, guessing about four feet tall. “When is this tree going to grow, dad?” He would say, “soon”. So, instead of watching this tree grow, that afternoon I perfected my cartwheel. My dad was proud and proceeded to cheer me on to do more. I must have done a hundred, at least that’s what my child memory logged in, sure felt like it. I was happy to make my dad laugh.

***********When I moved out of my childhood home to a home of my own in another village, that tree was grown, but not strong enough for a tree house. By that time, I had given up on that dream. And, the beautiful grass was replaced with concrete for a basketball court, which doubled as a parking spot. ***********In 2009, I visited Guam again. I had just sold my Mangilao home and did a drive by to see the first home I purchased. Then, without question, my mom and I drove to Ordot. We visited the tenant who had made this her residence for almost ten years. She raised her children in my old home and was now a grandmother. My tree was now taller than the house. It was still not ready for a tree house, and would never be. The nature, structure and delicate branches could never hold my dream. But, now, I’m okay with that. It is a reminder of a time when my dad was healthy, young and attentive. This tree that I see every morning on my walk will still be special to me. It will still be a place I can hang my hopes for something big.

I ♥ Music. I searched "Screaming Trees" & "Treehouse Song" for music...Ane Brun won. ESTA LATER!

These Gents Cubed! Ivan³, John³ and Henry³…..Day 2 NaBloPoMo!

"Wookin Pa Nub in all da wong paces!" --Eddie Murphy as Buckwheat

Patterns, love them. I’m not mathematical at all, needing a calculator at yard sales to keep my addition and subtraction in check. But, I’m into patterns, symbols and over-analyzing connection when my husband might just say it’s COINCIDENCE. Now, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but when over-analyzing my life, past and present, certain symbols rise up like cream. I’ve wanted to detail this before and I’ve notice this pattern of boys/men in my life many years ago, but with NaBloPoMo, I’m digging deep for good blog posts. So, I’ve had two boyfriends in my past. The first at 21 (John) and the last (Henry) at 28 years of age. I married my second boyfriend. I’ve been attracted to dudes name “John” (and its various forms) and “Henry”. Ivans, not so much as you will read.

*************The Ivans***************** In third grade, Ivan T. stalked me. He was a tan, rotund, robust Guam boy with curls. I guess, he wasn’t my cup of Tang at that age and it didn’t last more than a month—him following me, that is. But, when a third grader says he’s going to marry you someday, with as much conviction that an 8-year-old boy could muster, a girl could freak out—at least I did. In high school, I was acquainted with an Ivan M., green eyes, nice Chamorro boy, not a great conversationalist, but again I wasn’t feeling his flow—his stalker tendencies came into full bloom when I was in college. He was a bag boy at one of the only major grocery chains on island. I worked at a clothing retailer (Sparkle—yes, that was the name—don’t ask) in a strip mall outside of the grocery store. He loved collecting shopping carts and slowly, creep by our store front—I would be the girl hiding behind mannequins. A few months later, the second Ivan’s buddy, who worked in the same store as a butcher, came a courtin’ too. Tall, dark and hella scary with his white apron stained with blood. His name? Ivan. (cue eerie X-Files music).

********The Johns ******* I’ll be more coy here. First boyfriend at 21 (I was a late, late bloomer with a very intimidating to all men of a father), a few dates with another John back when teased bangs were cool and rock bands like Firehouse, Stryper and Slaughter were on the airwaves, and then the final John who “thought” he liked me, when I knew he really liked MEN, but he himself was still not aware of this. (Later verified). ****************************The Henrys**************** Back when Guam still had the wonderful department store, Gibsons, I loved me a comic book sales clerk named, Henry. My parents would drop me off to “stroll” with my other 13 -year-old friends, and we would walk by the comics to see the cutie. Never spoke to him….. Then down the street in the village I grew up in, was a much older Henry. Handsome for sure, great hair, mestizo, macho and mysterious. Never spoke to him either, but gagged and stuttered a lot if he was near. There could be a fourth Henry, which only solidifies that Henry would be a man I married--again, my over-critical brain at work....but, this little Henry was a teenager and I was ten years his senior in our Tae Kwon Do class...already engaged to my one and only Henry....I set young Henry straight, right quick, roundhouse and ax kick included. Kidding.....

But, the most important man to me, is my husband, Henry. The one who matters in the end of this equation. So, there, the dudes I remember most in my girl meets boy world. ************************Day 2, National Blog Posting Month! Accomplished!******************

Esta Later!

I am The Sun and The Moon...Day 1 of NaBloPoMo

"If the SUN and MOON should doubt, they'd immediately go out."--William Blake

*****This morning, the SUN, veiled behind the haze of moisture and clouds made me think it was the MOON instead. I was able to stare directly at the perfect circle in the sky, gray with a white border, which is why I thought the moon was having a late start to its bedtime. If we removed the filter that the earth provides and zoom up close to the sun, minus the reality that we would be burned to cinder, the sun is actually this volatile fire ball of energy--crazy, whipping flames to and fro. Then, my mind, which tries to find symbolism in everything, thought of PEOPLE and how we create filters around ourselves. We filter how the outside world views us, this persona we want people to believe about us. When in reality, we’re like the sun viewed from up close, fiery, crazy, unpredictable.

*****I find this true when I first meet someone. If I have seen them around, I start formulating a judgment about who they might be. They may be intriguing because of their gait, their choice in clothes, the large cup of coffee they drink, the tinkle of their laugh. I may be watching how they interact with their child or spouse. This is the filter or lens I view them and they may be unconsciously casting this net or aura around them, but it’s there. I love being mistaken when I finally get to know someone, or having my initial judgment verified. Most times, I am pleased with what lies beneath and other times, I am repulsed. I know the same is true of those who have met me. I’ve heard many times about myself, “Wow, I never knew you were so funny!” or “You are so on top of things and organized.” *****Anyone who has taken the time to know me might find this true, to an extent. I’m a straight A student when it comes to certain things, but I am flawed in other areas. I have cast an aura around me and this has perhaps misled some and attracted others. *****One particular incident in my past reminds me of how my reputation and the way I was viewed by my girlfriends were in stark contrast to the weakness I shared with them. After a very big break-up with my boyfriend of over five years, I suffered some sort of mental breakdown. To family and friends, I was strong, moving on, kicking butt and taking names. But, for myself, I was shattered. So, sitting in a TGIF’s, noshing on high calorie desserts, I declared my anxiety issues with three great friends, the best at the time. They all became silent and then laughed awkwardly. They thought I was joking, then made jokes about my feelings. I smiled and sucked it up, but a piece of the link between us weakened. For them, they couldn’t accept that I was anything but a tough chick who didn’t take crap from anyone. So, for their sake, I joked with them and promised myself silently not to be so vulnerable with them again. Part of me was flattered that the aura I set forth of being the female Bruce Lee worked, but another part—the one who wears a pink tutu, cried in a field of daisies.

So, nowadays, I’m all things, strong, vulnerable, neurotic, organized, a leader and a follower. And, with the sun shining now, really doing its true thing--I take on writing today, the first day of NaBloPoMo month (National Blog Posting Month). I will focus on entries for the next 30 days, some short and sweet, some long and deep, but I’m predicting, mostly short and deep….I’m a busy wife and mother.

One constant in my life is my writing. I’ve returned to it for solace. Thank you for joining me, the real me. Esta Later!

My Literary Marathon--Screenplay is Kerplunk!

“Write without pay until somebody offers to pay.”—Mark Twain

Two major events happened this past week. First, Alison and I—Guam Books and Beads, made our second appearance at the Jacob’s Center/Market Creek Plaza’s 6th Annual ARTS and CULTURE FEST. The second is something I didn’t quite advertise on Facebook.

I became obsessed with screenwriting and devoured books, blogs and websites on the subject. After five weeks of extreme focus, as much as a mother of two young ones can muster, I completed a 99-page screenplay. I explained the storyline to three people; I didn’t have it viewed by someone else due to time, so I spent hours editing, rewriting and obsessing. I was racing towards a writing competition, the Bluecat Screenplay Contest. The deadline was the day of the Festival-October 15th; so, for ease of mind, I submitted everything the day before. After tweaking the scenes and dialogue, I registered my “product” with the Writer’s Guild of America-West and submitted it electronically with the Copyright office. Major for me. Within minutes, I took the last step and uploaded my work to Bluecat. The major push to do so was to see if I had any iota of talent in this arena. People go to school for this, study for years—so, here I am faking it until I make it.

Screenwriting is an art form and the format is delicious and challenging. I have so much more to learn, but with my submittal, two experts will analyze my work and in three weeks or so, I will receive their assessment. I’ve grown a thick skin and an open-mind in regards to criticism of my writing, so I’m ready. Once I receive the critiques, I’ll have three days to resubmit for the contest—finalists announced in February 2012 and the sole winner in March.




So, now that my work is protected and my “baby” is out there independent, I will share.
The title: The Daddy Blog.
The gist: The story centers around Verona Gilroy, a talented writer, who comes from a tumultuous family past. After both parents die within five years of each other, Verona clings to her older brother, Jack who becomes in all senses of the word her guardian. Jack finds himself a single, young father with squashed dreams, when his girlfriend wants nothing to do with him or motherhood. This drama becomes the focus of Verona’s first blog, except Jack doesn’t realize that he and his daughter’s lives are in cyberspace until a tragedy brings this to light. In a time when blogs or zines were a new amalgamation of the internet, Verona realizes that with the power of technology and the magic of her written word she could forge change. In addition, the return of Garrett Sabre (her first kiss) into Verona’s life forces her to analyze her mediocre existence and metamorphose into something greater, into the woman she was meant to be.

So, there. There’s a layer of late night television mixed in and a sprinkling of my love for the music of Eddi Reader and the badassness of Bruce Lee, but that’s the screenplay.

I’m already knee deep with another screenplay that I’m adapting from 13 chapters of a book I started writing. I’ve had to force myself to stop thinking of my characters, or the crazed cycle begins again. So, I channeled my energy into rearranging my children’s room—cleaning, sorting, dusting. I really think they have a thousand toys. “Only Ben 10 toys in this box, do you understand?!”
So, as my son does math homework and my daughter runs around the house like a wild child, dancing to Maroon 5, I find myself blogging. I hope for the best, but expect a dose of reality regarding my first screenplay. Maybe one day my work will be optioned and eventually produced into a movie, and then you’ll see my name in the opening credits. A Chamorro girl can dream. And! Thank you to another Chamorro girl for digging into my screenplay and offering feedback....I heart you, Alison!

ESTA LATER!

Now that the dust has settled...PIFA 2011

"Change your opinions, keep to your principles; change your leaves, keep intact your ROOTS."--Victor Hugo




I must say that my first time as a vendor at PIFA (Pacific Islander Festival Association) was rewarding. Now that the dust has settled, I reflect on last weekend and smile. As an author, pushing my two books and selling my words, it was financially the best event I have participated in. I was the “Featured Author” (along with Alison) of Guam Batik Gallery, with well-known artist from Guam, Judy Flores. It was an honor to be with her, Sandy and their family as well as Islander Registry’s John and Tina Cruz and family. It felt more like hanging out than work. Having my wonderful husband available and not on duty that weekend was a plus as he caught up with quality time with our children.


The business contacts and rewards were great, but the best part of the weekend was meeting cousins, old friends from high school and most important my former John F. Kennedy High School students. Not to mention my bold approach to movie star, Gilles Marini (Sex in the City-the movie, Dancing with the Stars and Brothers and Sisters).


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He was gracious, looked at our booth, took a photo with me and made the Hollywood promise of returning to get books for his daughter, “who loves to read.” Note: I didn’t hold my breath that he would return—cough, cough.


I loved remembering names of high school Geckos from GWHS whom I hadn’t seen for almost 19 years. I was rusty with one other, but he remembered my name and forgave me, I hope. My former students who visited (all A students, interestingly) were awesome; some taking photos with me making me feel honored and silly, and others just happy to chat about updates. So, to Nathan, Christian, Ruby, Anita, Ailene, Chassidy, Sophia, Catherine, Lardner—Go Islanders! And to Penny, Richard and Jerry—Go Geckos!

I loved people watching. The Chamorro Chieftains with their gigantic biceps, tatted and ready to defend, whatever they needed to defend, nice! The dudus (show-off/confident) Chamorro ladies strutting their stuff, beautiful flowers behind their ears, lovely! Yes, I’m generalizing, but it was home for me. I’ve got that dudus girl tendency too, but being half-Korean, I’m my own worse critic…so when I strut, half of me says “HAJIMA!” settle down. Don't get me started on the Caucasian dude who asked me to verify what his Chamorro girlfriend already schooled him on...he asked, "What's be'be' juice?" In the booth full of Chamorro women, we warned him that he was being inappropriate as he repeatedly said it, trying to get the pronounciation just right....Anyway, I digress.










As an author, I’ve gotten used to critics of my work. Those who judge without really looking at my books.

“Is this in Chamorro?” No, but there are a few phrases and words.

“Is this book (Attitude 13) all the legends of Guam?” No, there are 13 short stories, fiction with Chamorro characters, but great idea!

“Are the Sirenas reuniting?” No, I was not in the singing group, The Sirenas.

“Did you know that Chamorros are just Filipinos who sailed to Guam.” Wow, really? I didn’t know that! (imagine my sarcastic tone here).

“Did you know Sirena is my ancestor?” Cool! (in my mind: “Then please buy my book.”)

Griping a bit? Why, yes. Yes, I am. But, I put on a brave face, smile at critics especially if upon seeing my not traditionally islander face, that I am a Chamorro writer, one who is proud and believes in her books. I love the people who take the time to pick up my book, flip through the pages, ask me questions. Even if they don’t purchase, they’ve taken the time to know what my purpose is. So, with that said, I’m looking forward to another festival in San Diego this month. I will smile, be gracious and promote literature.

One woman, who was not Chamorro but lived on Guam for many years and loved the island, read our Guam Books and Beads motto: “For Chamorros on the Islands, Chamorros Around the World and Chamorros at Heart!” She thanked me for including her with the last phrase and for creating the books. And to her and all the wonderful visitors last weekend, Si Yu’os Ma’ase!

Esta Later!

Ready to Bleed Like Hemingway!

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed.—Ernest Hemingway

In my case, the laptop, but I never thought of writing fiction as bleeding. But, it really is. I just completed about an hour of research online for a screenplay I’m focusing on. That’s a big feat considering that I’m making dinner and keeping my children entertained in the next room.

So, I’m taking a break from writing so I can….write some more. Crazy? Yes. I wonder why I even bother sometimes. Why can’t I be obsessed about something else or satisfied with just being a Navy wife, homemaker, mother of two wonderful, amazing kids?

Why? Why is it that when I get a story idea I can’t think of anything else. My brain squeezing out scenes and storylines before I finally fall asleep, praying that I will remember the next morning, something brilliant I created in my head. Why am I fleshing out characters, giving them quirks and making myself care about them like they were real? Why is it that I have a yellow Mead notebook from when I was 19 years old (18 years ago) etched with the notes and outline of Jet City Woman, the novel I was supposed to finish…and someday will, except that damn movie, Colombiana just came out with the same premise I had for my novel. By the way, with a title like Jet City Woman, you know I was listening to some Queensryche. Date myself, why don’t I?



I’ve dusted off the old, almost rusted spiral yellow notebook and started notes in the second segment for my screenplay; I have only shared the storyline with my husband and my buddy, Trini, thus far. Intellectual property…I’m keeping it close for now.

So, back to my inspiration before I have to go off and serve dinner, attend a school function, get the kids ready for bed…..my passion comes in slices each day, which I hope will add up to a finished product, whether it’s a novel or screenplay, the worlds and people I create on a page will soon see the light of day. PEACE OUT and thanks for reading this….and thank you to my buddy, Raquel for forwarding information containing Hemingway’s awesome quote!

And, well to answer the WHY? I love words, I love stories, I love description, I love symbolism….I love teaching with my words. I’ll have to get back to you.

By the way, promoting the writing I do have, hope to see you at PIFA September 24 and 25 where I am the featured author of Guam Batik Gallery….

PIFA Information http://www.pifasandiego.com/
Guam Batik Gallery Information http://guambatikgallery.com/category/slider/
Authorhouse/ Attitude 13 Information http://bookstore.authorhouse.com/Products/SKU-000378025/Attitude-13.aspx



ESTA LATER!