Category Archives: Blogging

“Ask Lisa” – New on Multiracial Media

I have been so busy with various new projects, I’ve neglected to share one of them here. I really meant to, as it’s relevant to my “Writings on Identity.”

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I am honored to say that several weeks ago, I was invited by Alex Barnett (the Multiracial Family Man himself) and Sarah Sarita Ratliff, publisher and writer and co-author of Being Biracial: Where our Secret Worlds Collide, to join the team at Multiracial Media. I accepted and am now run a weekly column on MRM: “Ask Lisa: Advice for the Multiracial community!”

Here is the link to the first column:

being biracial

and the second:

Though I’ve had so many ideas for blog posts here–countless ideas, going backward in time: the Women’s March, The Election, Thoughts on Cultural Appropriation and Who is entitled to Write What–I have been devoting my energies to the column, my private practice, my current novel (Oh yeah–did I mention I have a literary agent now? I have an agent now: the awesome Uwe Stender of TriadaUS!) and most of all … my family.

So, as a place holder for all those blog pieces that are swimming around in my head, I will provide a link to my Multiracial Media column each week. Please check them out and, while you’re there, check out the rest of the Multiracial Media Site, as well as Sarah’s book and Alex’s podcast. So much fascinating, thought-provoking insights for/from the Multiracial Community and beyond.

Wishing you some positive thoughts as we push ahead into the new(ish) year!

Lisa

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aside

I know it’s been ages since I’ve blogged. I’m not even going to look at the date of my last post. In any case, I’ve had a much needed hiatus, during which I’ve been building my private practice, working hard … Continue reading

The House Fire Chronicles: The Things I Wore

Serving cake in my favorite purple sweater

Serving cake in my favorite purple sweater

I don’t write about clothes.  I’m not a fashionista; I don’t think I’m qualified to give anyone wardrobe tips.  But I’ve had to think about clothing—my clothing—a whole lot in the little-less-than-a-year since our fire.

What a strange almost year it’s been.  Living in a house that isn’t mine, several blocks away from the house that is mine.  So close to home but not home at all.  Everyone asks about the house (it’s coming along nicely; we’ll move back very soon) and about the kids (doing great considering.) Everyone asks how our insurance has been (pretty good—not perfect) and of course how we all are.  We’re doing really well, given the whirlwind it’s been.  I haven’t written about the fire for months and months, mostly because after the first few posts, I couldn’t.  I was sick of hearing myself talk about it.  I just needed to live and take care of my family and make the best of the situation we were in.  We’ve been so lucky, to have insurance that really took care of us, for friends that helped in too many ways to count.  For the supportive schools my kids are in, both of which cushioned the blow.  We are beyond grateful for this community.  We are more than fine.  My family is whole and mostly healed and poised to move back into our new-old house.

I wrote early on about the mementos and pictures and trinkets we managed to save.  Enough of us for us to feel like ourselves.  As for the little things we no longer have, we think of wistfully of them from time to time and move on.  Things occur to us, like the wall where we’d marked off our children’s increasing heights over the years.  We’ll never get that back.  But for everything we lost, it seems like there are many more important things we recovered.  Pieces of our identity.

But for me, there’s something I realize I’m still mourning just a bit.  My clothes.  My boots and dresses and silly sweaters and jeans that might have been sort of out of date but who cared?  The things I put on every day that went into making me me.

There were the a-line skirts I’d bought in the 1990s at the Limited, which had held up for some reason.  There was the blazer I’d bought before my daughter was born, at a stoop sale in Brooklyn Heights, tweed, hip-length, by some German designer, which was just about the most flattering thing I’d ever owned.  It went with anything, could turn my casual-mom outfits into work-ready ensembles in the blink of an eye.  Utilitarian sweaters in abundance, one for every mood, every configuration of my body image, every kind of weather.  And dresses, little black ones, flowing, floral ones, more dresses than I needed, but a memory was tied to each.

Right after the fire, the insurance company gave us a lump sum that we were to use right away, a short term advance to replace what we needed immediately.  The fire took place right after Hurricane Sandy, on November 2nd.  Winter was coming, so what we needed were warm clothes.  For my kids, this meant replacing hoodies, easily done since the cut of zip-up sweatshirts doesn’t fluctuate much from year to year.  But I needed sweaters, and found nothing anywhere to replace a single one I’d lost.  (When I shop, first stop for me is always Target, then Kohl’s, before I’ll even consider moving up to Bloomingdales.)  All the sweaters I found were drape-y and thin: no buttons, not even a zipper to close and keep in the body heat.  Otherwise they were skimpy and low-cut with funny, asymmetrical ties.

Here’s the truth: I’d expected to show up at a store and find ALL MY OLD CLOTHES, waiting for me cheerfully from their racks, as if to say: Surprise!  Here we are!  We weren’t in the fire after all!  And there would be a big reunion.  Me and those amazing, quintessentially-Lisa wardrobe finds dating back to 1989.

Of course it wasn’t like that.  Nothing on the racks felt very much like me.  I spent the winter, and then the spring, in a few basics from the Gap and some hand-me-downs from a friend who is close to my size but way more fashionable.  It will take time to rebuild my closet, adapting what I have of a fashion sense to what there is out there now.  Slowly but surely I’m doing it.

I know I am very fortunate; our insurance company was good in terms of content loss.  This isn’t about money; it’s about missing old, faithful duds, my reluctance to replace them with strangers.  Almost a year later, I still remember how each piece felt, how it looked, what it went with.   Some of them I still see in the photographs we salvaged—not always flattering, but a record nonetheless of what I once wore.

Multiracial? Or Multicultural?

imagesCASDTSYLA few months back, I wrote a post called A Daughter by Any Color, about the experience of parenting a child who looks like me, after being raised by a mother who doesn’t.   Today, I wrote another post for the Montclair Patch, our local online paper, that addresses this issue from a somewhat different perspective.  You can read it here.

So far I have one comment from a reader who objected to my use of the word “Multiracial,” suggesting (very respectfully), that I use “Multicultural” instead.   As it got me thinking a lot, I responded (equally respectfully, I hope).  I would love to hear what followers of this blog think of the discussion.  Comment here on this blog to weigh in.

Thanks, as always, for reading!

Lisa

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Guest Blog: Louella Dizon San Juan: What I Learned When You do it Yourself

As promised, today I am thrilled to announce a guest post by my friend and fellow blogger, Louella Dizon San Juan.  Louella is an author/illustrator and playwright. Her staged and published dramatic work, as Louella Dizon, includes The Color Yellow: Memoirs of an Asian American at La Mama Etc., The Sweet Sound of Inner Light at The Public, and Till Voices Wake Us at the Soho Repertory Theater and, more recently, the Echo Theater in Dallas, TX. Louella’s work is featured in the collection, Contemporary Plays by Women of Color, edited by Kathy Perkins and Roberta Uno, and is archived at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, in the Roberta Uno Asian American Women Playwrights Scripts Collection, 1924-2002. The Crowded Kingdom is her first children’s novel and the first book in the children’s fantasy series of the same name featuring the girl heroines, Jada and Jinny.

As a working mother and businesswoman, Louella is an active advocate of empowering girls and women in math and science, and holds both a Bachelor’s Degree in English from Princeton University and a Master’s Degree in Computer Science from New York University. She lives with her husband and two children in Brooklyn, New York.

What I learned when you do it yourself:

Part I — The Self-Publishing Leap

Dear Louella,

Thank you for sharing The Crowded Kingdom with us.

It was not the sharing of the stories, nor the drawings, nor even the insights into my life, that was most difficult.

It was finding someone or some thing, some entity, to take a chance on me — more specifically, The Crowded Kingdom.  I kept a spreadsheet of literar210px-And_to_Think_That_I_Saw_It_on_Mulberry_Streety agent and publisher names:  address, status, contact information, and preferences.  I kept in mind that Theodore Geissel (Dr. Seuss) was rejected 27 times; Madeline L’Engle’s Wrinkle in Time rejected 26 times, and J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone rejected by a dozen houses until the young daughter of the CEO at Bloomsbury persuaded him to accept the wizardly manuscript.  I kept typing “Query…” and pressing “Send.”

The responses started coming back.

Several came with requests to see more.  As time went on, the dialogue with the outside world began.

Dear Louella,

Thank you for sharing The Crowded Kingdom with us.

We found the story interesting.  I think it will make a fabulous 
illustrated chapter book. As much as I would love to work with you, 
and while I believe that your ideas might have market appeal, 
unfortunately...
I don't feel I'm quite the right agent.
I'm regretfully going to pass.
The novel is not in line with our current publishing goals.
We just don't have the resources right now to do it 
justice.

Best of luck with this project and all your endeavors.  
I really hope that you find a great publisher for this!

I began to get nervous around Query Number 26.  The dialogue had not changed.

But I had written and published before, and had seen the impact of my written word on stage.  I took to heart the feedback that this little fairy story was something different, something that grownups and kids could both like.  It seemed to delight my peers in writing workshops, and my teacher, who was a respected and beautifully accomplished writer.  And it delighted my children, my girls, my first and true audience.  Could it not delight other little girls and boys too?

And then my dear spouse gifted me with an iPad Mini for Christmas.

fred_wilma_flintstones_arguingMany a time my electronic gifts from my husband are the modern age equivalent of Fred Flintstone giving Wilma a bowling ball for her birthday:  something truly cool and useful for one human being — “something that I would use myself” — bestowed on another who is, at best, mystified.

But the iPad Mini opened my eyes to the beauty of the electronic book when I downloaded and read Gone Girl from cover to cover.  Of course, Gillian Flynn‘s acclaimed suspense writing stood on its own, independent of the media.  But I loved how the pages languorously turned at the flick of a finger; how I could bookmark pages with an electronic sticky or electronically jump back to a previous page as I easily as I could a real book.  It felt like reading a book when you looked past the flat plane of the screen.

I downloaded a sample of Alice in Wonderland for the iPad and loved it.  It promptealicescreen480x480d visions in my mind of being able to hyperlink and browse other fanciful things if this were that kind of children’s story.

So…

…as you know, I made the decision to self-publish The Crowded Kingdom as an e-book.  I felt that the chance to publish what I wanted, when I wanted, given the outlets now available today through Lulu, Smashwords, Amazon Createspace, Lightning Source and Vook  — among many other options — were too prominent a growth channel to ignore.  On the one hand, I couldn’t quit my job as primary breadwinner and devote one hundred percent to the production and marketing of my craft.  On the other hand, perhaps naively, I thought I had the focus and financial independence to leverage third-parties that could do it for me.

And I assumed that somehow, deep down inside, I had no expectations.

The reality was quite different.

Make sure to Follow Louella’s blog to read Part 2  – Making Contact.  And click here to buy The Crowded Kingdom.   Now out in paperback as well as e-book.

Connect with Louella Dizon San Juan

The Alchemist of Time

images[3]Forgive me O blogging muse, for it has been over two months since my last post.  In the meantime, much has happened.

Our house, which suffered a terrible post-Hurricane Sandy fire is nearing the point where we will be able to move back into it.   My children had an incredibly eventful summer, mostly in the form of day camps to which I sent them so I could finish my revision.  And speaking of the revision, I don’t remember whether I mentioned it here or not.  In any case, I was offered—not representation—but a “Revise and Resubmit” by an agent with incredible vision regarding my book.  She gave me a ten page document on what I needed to change, so I spent the summer changing it.  Exciting, yes, and downright scary, to essentially lop off the second half of your book and write it all anew.  But it’s done-ish, not yet submitted, but in the hands of “beta readers” who have been reporting back bit by bit.

So that’s me.  How are you??  Because, the thing is, I haven’t just not been blogging, I’ve also not been reading many blogs, and not commenting at all.  It was hard to let go; I missed my fellow bloggers and was curious about what they were up to.  But I know myself; once I start reading and commenting, it leads to more reading and more commenting and I often lack the discipline to stop and get back to work!  It had to be all or nothing.  So I gave myself permission, not just to step back, but to step out of the blogosphere altogether for a summer.  As Jodi Aman noted in her guest blog several months ago, we all need to prioritize without second guessing ourselves.

And just yesterday, the inspiring Dahlia Adler did a post on time, specifically making time to write when it looks to the naked eye as if there is none.  Working, writing mothers are known create time out of the ether.  How do they do it?  All too often my way of making time is to rely on the wee hours when everyone else is asleep.  But when you’re parenting, working and trying to be a decent human being, when your life requires you to drive, or otherwise operate machinery, not sleeping can really backfire.  So you find other things that can give for a while.

I have a friend whom I’ve known since college, who has always seemed to me an alchemist of time.   At school, what she accomplished in a day, took others a month.  She aced her courses, wrote plays, acted in them, participated in many student-run organizations, managed a relationship here and there, and taught herself to play the guitar.  Really well, as a matter of fact.   How did she do it?   With a lot of creativity.  Which is how she did everything.

Fast forward twenty-some-odd years: my friend is a successful corporate executive, managing a large staff.  She is also the mother of two little girls.   Spare time, needless to say, does not exist.  Nevertheless, out of the ether, my friend has managed to publish a novel this year.  Her first, but certainly not her last.  I don’t know how she did it.  But I do know that her creative side could not be silenced.  Her imagination was too entwined with her identity to be forgotten.  She had to do this.

(Spoiler alert: this very friend same friend, Louella Dizon San Juan, will be writing a guest blog later in the week!)

There are always things in your life that you can skip, at least temporarily, for the things that matter most.   You might feel guilty at first, for not volunteering to be class parent this year, for dropping book group for a month or two.  But in your heart, you know what you can’t sacrifice.  Your family, for example.  And the pieces of your identity that you hold most dear.   If you are a writer, professional or aspiring, one of those pieces is writing.  You have to do it.  You just have to.

Emotional Scar Tissue

??????????????????????????????????????I write a lot about body image and identity–the connection between the body—shape, weight, height, physical capacities—and the self.  The body you live in is a house for the self; from
your body you negotiate the world.   People make inferences about you based on what they see, and those inferences, whether you believe them, whether you know them or not, are part of your ascribed identity.

But today I’m thinking about the pieces of identity no one can see on the outside.  The Trials, losses, illnesses, upheavals.  Though people can’t necessarily see the tough stuff you’ve been through, it’s part of you.  Being bullied as a child by a “best friend,” losing a parent, enduring the aftermath of a house fire—these are pieces of my baggage, which I’ll carry to my grave.  They are not all of me, but are included in me, inextricable parts of my identity.

I’m thinking about loss a lot lately.  Last week, my husband lost his aunt, a brilliant, wise and sensitive woman.  I’m thinking about the way her illness and death have affected those who were closest to her, her children, her husband, her beloved sister, how the strength of her love and the beauty of her memory will one day heal them.

A week earlier, tragedy struck our town not once but twice, as a college-bound high school senior took his own life, as a terrible accident took the life of the parent of one of my daughter’s schoolmates.   Our town feels like a different place today.

You are forever changed by your experiences of suffering.   You may be far into the healing process by now.  Possibly you have finished healing and are happy despite your suffering.  But you are YOU because of it.

Sometimes the strongest layers of the self come from our emotional scar tissue.

For so many artists, poets and writers, this scar tissue is one of the richest sources of creativity.  Though I am not blogging much these days (my energy is focused on a “revise and resubmit” arrangement I have with a literary agent), over the next few weeks, I am going to devote some posts to fellow bloggers who have channeled their life-trials into creative works—books, blogs, blogs-that-will-be-books—that are sure to touch and enrich the lives of others.