My Story: Women’s March 2017, Los Angeles

:You going tomorrow?

*strong arm*

:is that a yes? lol

Rain cleared away the city’s grime, leaving sparkling pavement and clear blue skies. The crisp air buzzed with excitement. At the metro station, lines stretched around the block with women and men, girls and boys, toddlers and infants, elderly and handicapped. We were all heading east towards the heart of the city, to the gathering of promise, to the march for women.

I was nervous. I had never participated in a rally before, let alone an international march. The news and friends on social media warned of the dangers of participation: confusion, violence, injury, arrest…  But none of these fears could hold back the pure energy—the will—to fight against a deeper and darker fear of uninhibited power wielding its mighty sword of hatred and ignorance.

We mounted the platform, waiting for the train, and soon it grew even clearer that not only were people lining up at our station but at stations along the entire route. People packed inside each train like candies inside a piñata, waiting to burst at the right moment. The march had already started.

“Critical mass,” my friend said.

Better to board the first open train, even if it is going the opposite direction. We rode to the end of the line and back again. People at the train stops stared, gaping in wonder at the sheer volume of individuals packed inside the silver tube. Crowds cheered and chanted:

“Power to the people, power to the people right on!”

Energy spilled out into the streets at each stop. More people pushed onto the train when space permitted. Growing hot and anxious, we exited two stops early.

At the heart of the city it was strangely quiet. Hardly a soul on the streets and no more sound than the usual traffic. Nerves on edge, senses tingling, we walked four blocks and to the right. Suddenly, we saw them: signs and banners, pink hats and costumes, women and men marching together toward city hall. The crowd grew thicker, drawing itself around us as we joined the masses.

We march.

Without a sign, we walked, tense and alert. We listen as pockets of cheers and chanting carry through the people like a wave, pushing us on to our destination. We clapped and shouted, carrying the message forward. We will not be silent. We will not lay down our liberties. We will resist. We will fight.

Low men fly high in the air, waving a banner announcing their support of our enemy. Coward. Face the ones you so wish to silence! Face us whom you wish to oppress, to smite with your arrogance and greed! They fly away and the phoenix rises high before us, guiding us to the center, the beating heart of the city, to the ocean of love and unity which brought us here.

At last, we pass the glittering windows of a great building and hear the siren call of our kindred. We stop and drink in the hopeful energy surrounding the stage at the front of city hall. A beacon in the sea of doubt overshadowing the nation—the world. Women of courage and strength mount the platform and call for us to battle, to be strong, and to spread the word of love and unity which is the only way to defeat violence, to banish hatred, to overcome evil. Like rays of the sun, their words warm our hearts and uplift our spirits. Our fears have been vanquished.

We will prevail.

Follow Your Bliss

I have this pinned to a board that sits in front of my desk. It spoke to me. It said, you have to find what you like. You have to find it, grab it, and eat, sleep and dream it. 

The funny thing about bliss is that it can be anything, and to me it meant one thing and one thing only: story. I love everything involving story. I love words and pictures and music and dancing. All of which can tell a story, and in a myriad of different ways. 

The other part about bliss is that it needs to be something that comes easy, like breathing. Something that you don't have to spend a tremendous amount of time thinking about for it to happen. That's where I came back to writing. It was honestly my first love. Even before art and learning how to draw and paint. I remember when I was in third or fourth grade I started keeping a journal after I received a beautiful hardcover diary with a lock on it for Christmas. I wrote in it almost everyday, and over the years I have filled tomes which now have been carefully packed away in a large storage container.

After looking at this quote everyday for a least a month, it dawned on me... I have to write. I'd written a few short stories and a slew of half-started picture book texts over the years since graduating college, but I felt like I hadn't really written. Nothing I had done was something I still loved once I'd finished it - some of them I actually hated and prefer never to resurrect their skeletal remains. So not only did I have to write, but I had to write something I wanted to read. I needed to write a fantasy story. So I did. I sat down and wrote, then wrote some more, then the whole thing came pouring out of me over the course of a month or so. Then I was done - or so I thought. 

So, here is where I begin my journey as a writer and an aspiring author. I hope one day the random things I'll post here may be of some encouragement to future authors and writers and artist storytellers of the world.