Eligible for awards: The Latina conundrum

I haven't been a published SFF writer that long (my first sale was in 2010), but I've been a journalist forever and January and February is when I start thinking about awards. Because it is the season to put together submissions (in journo-world) and to remind those who put together award ballots that you have work that is eligible (in SFF-world).

The stakes are higher in journo-world, but easier too. I'm an editor, and much of what I'll be considering for submission is other people's work: reporters, designers, photographers, videographers. I'll have two sets of awards criteria and news conventions to juggle as I make my decision about submissions — English-language news media and Spanish-language — from the thousands of pieces we produce at AL DÍA in the span of a year. I'll ask each member of the editorial team to remind me of their best work, and then, when it comes to the young Latinas on the team, will have to push.

Because they're modest.

Because nearly every Latina has had it drummed into her — early and often — that we must be humble and self-effacing. Particularly if we are talented. Even more particularly if we are talented and working in a profession like journalism where advancement comes much more readily if you are a man (only 30 percent of supervisory positions in newsrooms are held by women, according to the 2013 ASNE report).

You might be tempted to think that this is no longer the case with the younger generation of Latinas, but in my experience no matter how bright, well-educated and competent my younger colleagues are, they still shy away from speaking with obvious pride about their work. More often, they demur and minimize accomplishment. In their worst moments, they defer to their male counterparts' opinions about deficit and internalize it as self-censoring truth.

Part of my challenge, as the older Latina journo in a supervisory position, is to actively discourage this cloak of modesty and deference. 

To encourage them to forsake their reputations as nice, quiet, unassuming members of the newsroom and embrace much riskier qualities: authenticity, ambition, audacity. 

Because they possess all of those qualities, they just need to own them. 

Not that it is easy. 

In fact, while I've long been an unapologetically assertive and self-assured journo (I've been called loud, rude and a pain in the ass more than once, usually by discomfited male colleagues), I am more tentative in the SFF writing sphere. No, I'm not a shrinking violet (my formidable mama didn't raise any of those) but I do find myself thinking twice before submitting my stories to venues with daunting reputations; and thrice before adding my titles to the lists of award-eligible stories. 

Damn cloak, so tempting to hide under it.

But if I ask the young women on AL DIA's editorial team for audacity, I can offer no less, and as it happens, it's "award eligibility reminder" time for the Hugos and Nebulas. So here is my short list of eligible work:

• UPDATE: My short story "Ember" which appeared in the anthology Menial: Skilled Labor in Science Fiction from Crossed Genres. 

• My short story "Collateral Memory" which appeared in Strange Horizons June 10, 2013  is eligible in the short story category. Read it, it's a good story. I guarantee it's a voice and narrative unlike any other. If you can't (or don't want to) nominate it, leave a comment on it anyway. Truth be told, there is little I love more than reading people's responses to my work.

• That publication in Strange Horizons also makes me eligible for the John W. Campbell Award, which is given to the best new science fiction or fantasy writer whose first work in a qualifying market was published in 2012 or 2013.  Neither my novel, INK, nor "La Gorda and the City of Silver," (nor any other stories I've published) make me eligible, but "Collateral Memory" does. And I won't lie, it would be cool to be nominated. So if you can ... think about it.  

Ultimately it doesn't matter whether any of the work I submit for my editorial team at AL DIA wins any awards. Nor does it matter if I am nominated, or ever win, an SFF award. What matters, mijas, is that we believe we can. And that we dare to say so, nice and loud.

Updated 1/11/14

A woman's work is never done: The personal is political, and the political is art

The mainstream will be discomfited, but women have long responded to social injustice with art ... in particular folk art, born of the everyday: thread, fabric, wood, paint, words....

Margarita Azurdia's sculpture "The Warriors" was created during the height of the 30+ year armed internal conflict in Guatemala that evolved into genocide and left 200,000 dead and some 50,000 disappeared.

Read my story: Collateral Memory

La superviviente 

Ana María Rodas

Me habita un cementerio 
me he ido haciendo vieja 
aquí 
al lado de mis muertos. 
no necesito amigos 
me da miedo querer porque he querido a muchos 
y a todos los perdí en la guerra. 

Me basta con mi pena. 
Ella me ayuda a vivir estos amaneceres blancos 
estas noches desiertas 
esta cuenta incesante de las pérdidas.

Feminist Cuban artist Ana Mendieta made art that blurred the boundaries of the self, often using her own body as the integral but temporary artistic image itself (as in the pictured "Incantation to Olokun-Yemayá" and "Untitled, Silueta Series.") Critic B. Ruby Rich says: "Her body was her art and she placed it in the ground. In doing so, she was trying to ground herself in the earth but also reconnect with the earth that she was standing on even if it was not Cuba."

Read: Nisi Shawl's Pataki

Listen: Celia Cruz's Ochún con Changó

Jesse Telfair's 1983 quilt was created when she lost her job. It strongly references Civil War era quilts patterned with abolitionist slogans, and pays tribute to the long tradition of African-American quilt making.

Read: Alice Walker's Everyday Use

Quilts
Nikki Giovanni


Like a fading piece of cloth

I am a failure


No longer do I cover tables filled with food and laughter

My seams are frayed my hems falling my strength no longer able

To hold the hot and cold


I wish for those first days

When just woven I could keep water

From seeping through

Repelled stains with the tightness of my weave

Dazzled the sunlight with my

Reflection


I grow old though pleased with my memories

The tasks I can no longer complete

Are balanced by the love of the tasks gone past


I offer no apology

only this plea:


When I am frayed and strained and drizzle at the end

Please someone cut a square and put me in a quilt

That I might keep some child warm


And some old person with no one else to talk to

Will hear my whispers


And cuddle

near

Bordamos por la paz is a collective of extraordinary ordinary women (which started in Guadalajara, Mexico but now has chapters throughout the nation), who embroider a handkerchief for each death that occurs as a result of the brutal "War on Drugs" that has left more than 60,000 dead.

Stitchwork as a surprisingly popular form of protest:
During Pinochet's Chile
Craftivists
Get Knitted

Hago la lucha: La Gorda and the City of Silver

Vintage poster for one of Rafael Lanuza's "Superzán" luchador movies

This past July, at Readercon, I participated in a Latino SFF writers reading with two masterful readers: Daniel José Older and Julia Rios. Since I was doing a solo reading from my novel INK later, I chose to read one of my short stories La Gorda and the City of Silver, which appeared in the Crossed Genres anthology Fat Girl in a Strange Land early in 2012. The story has been one of the best received of any of my short stories, and I had never read it publicly before, so I threw myself into it and tried to match the exuberance and skill of my co-readers.

Like so many of my stories, La Gorda has a political underpinning. Guatemala has one of the highest rates of femicide in Latin America and I knew the fictional luchadora I had created was going make protecting the women and girls of her neighborhood her mission.

The odd thing about La Gorda is that her family life — she is the daughter of a lucha libre filmmaker, and goddaughter to his stable of luchadores — is based on reality. My grandmother actually lived in Ciudad de Plata (City of Silver), the Zone 7 neighborhood in Guatemala I describe in the story, and her next door neighbor was a man called Rafael Lanuza.

Still from Superzán & the boy from space

If you look at the photo at the top of this blog post you will see a poster of one of Lanuza's most popular early films, Superzán y el niño del espacio —Superzan and the boy from space — which, like others of his lucha libre films, was partially filmed in his backyard in City of Silver. I watched, over my grandmother's fence, as scenes from some of Lanuza's luchador short films were being shot, and remember my grandmother introducing the filmmaker to me once. He wore a suit, and a hat, and looked so staid to me — but out of his mind came these wild movies that combined a popular luchador hero and pulpy Sci Fi elements....

While Lanuza went on to earn his fame as Guatemala's leading filmmaker with a non-lucha libre film called Terremoto (Earthquake), the luchador films are the ones my grandmother took us to a Zone 7 movie theater to see.

Still from Superzán & the boy from space

They were super low-budget films (many of Lanuza's actors were his relatives), tacky and over the top, and called forth audience participation on par with that of the Rocky Horror Picture Show at the height of its popularity. But, unlike Rocky Horror, the interaction, the jeers and cheers, were completely unstudied. Just the community reacting to good and evil playing out in black and white on the screen in front of them.

I loved the experience even as I was embarrassed by it.

By the way, my story hinges on La Gorda not being able to become an official luchadora because she is a woman, and while that accurately reflects the world of lucha libre in Guatemala during the 1970s of Lanuza's filmic heyday — it is no longer true. There are luchadoras in Mexican lucha libre these days (though at least one article I've read argues there are still too few of them, and that they are poorly paid compared to their male counterparts).

"The cautionary tale of numero cinco." episode of Angel.

It is interesting to note that as more Mexicans and Central Americans have immigrated to the United States, lucha libre has immigrated with us. So much so, in fact, that the luchadores with their iconographic masks have found their way into more mainstream pop culture. There is a Hellboy as luchador series of books, and even the TV show, Angel, featured an episode with a luchador character.

At their heart, luchadores are populist folk heroes, the defenders of good and of the people. In Lanuza's Superzán movie, the boy from space bears a message of peace, love and goodwill. It is up to the luchador Superzán, along with a couple of indigenous Maya allies, to save the boy from those who would silence him and use his telepathic ability to nefarious purpose.

My stories are often resolved in bittersweet ways. But not La Gorda. Hers is a triumph of community, of ordinary people putting a stop to the predation and evil that takes place in the streets around them.

Because everyone — mask or not — can stand as a hero.

Ándele pues. Haga la lucha.

Nuestras Voces, Our Voices: Emerging Latina writers talk about their work - Melissa Fontanez

Editor's note: this is the tenth in a monthly (sometimes twice-monthly) series of guest blog posts in which emerging Latina writers talk about their work, their process and what inspires them.

Melissa Fontanez is working on a collection of poetry and her first novel. Her poem, “four ways of looking at the moon,” was published in the chapbook Something in the Water. Books, photography and music consume her life, but the love for her family shines the brightest.

Picking at threads

If you pay attention and listen to the world around you, the magic of inspiration is not hard to find.

My poetry reflects emotions, thoughts and feelings I have swirling around inside. The light touch of a breeze sliding along my skin. Standing under a tree at night, staring up at the moon. Watching my daughter purse her lips and the tufts of dandelion floating away with her wish. Listening to the stark quiet of a winter’s day. Admiring the vibrancy and rustle of fall leaves. The pleasure and pain of love. It all speaks to me and has me running for the nearest pen and paper, trying to capture it all. Writing poetry also helps me work out things that may be bothering me, or a way to remember all the good.

The novel I’m working on started with one red thread.

Each member of the writing workshop I belong to was told to close our eyes as our instructor placed a thread in each of our hands. I opened my eyes, ran my finger over it lightly until I started to write. From that prompt, came one of my main characters, Ines. She picked at the thread on her sweater, as she anxiously waited for some news. I can’t tell you what that is; you’ll just have to read all about it when I’ve finished the book, but just that simple, lone thread inspired me to do something I thought I never would.

I won’t sit here and say it’s always easy. Any writer can tell you that. I battle with loving and hating my work. For the longest time it was hard for me to even share it with others. It is a very vulnerable position to be in, but there is nothing else I would rather do.

I can only hope that someone will read my work and be able to identify with it in some way. That’s always my favorite part when I’m reading; to be able to connect with the words and find your voice.

So be open, to everything, and see where it takes you.

Casting Lord of the Rings, the gender swap and POC version

A week or two ago, I posted Annis' "PicSpammy Casting the Lord of the Rings, the genderswap version" on my Facebook page, after someone I follow on Twitter posted it with the comment that seeing all the women cast in men's roles and vice versa really re-emphasizes how few women roles there are in Tolkien's book and Jackson's movie.

It's true. It does. And it is both interesting and frustrating to note Annis' choices. Because all of the women and men she chose for her gender-swapping version are, like the movie and book, very white. I commented on that in my Facebook posting, and writer-editor Kay Holt soon responded: "Might be fun to put together an all-POC version of this. (Keep the gender-swap, though. It's 100% better this way.)"

So, I did. Here goes — in the same order as Annis' PicSpammy, and retaining its strange omission of Bilbo, my gender-swapped, POC version:

Now, I expect you all to comment (what's the fun of this otherwise?) and signal boost it if you like it. 

Updated to correct the PicSpammy/Annis conflation I fell into originally. 

Ink and La Gorda and the City of Silver are eligible for Hugo, Nebula awards

People in the SFF world are starting to talk about Hugos and Nebulas - the big awards where speculative fiction is concerned. As it happens, I'm not eligible to nominate or vote in either (having just made my first pro rate sale recently) but I do have two works that are eligible to be voted in and on.

If you are a SFWA or WorldCon eligible voter please consider voting for my novel INK (published by Crossed Genres Publications in October 2012)  in the best novel category, and for my short story "La Gorda and the City of Silver" (which appeared in the anthology Fat Girl in a Strange Land in February 2012) in the best short story category.

Neither of them is available to read online beyond Ink's "Look inside" feature on Amazon, but the Los Angeles Review of Books reviewed it on Dec. 27 (click here to read); as for "La Gorda and the City of Silver," if you'd like a copy of the short story to read before you cast your vote, email me at svourvoulias (at) yahoo (dot) com and let me know so I can send you one.

Yes, I absolutely know there is only the remotest of chances my work will be looked at seriously in these categories given the amount of competition out there, but that Latina hope-and-stubborness mix is kicking in, so here you have it.

If you can, please vote.

Link to Hugo awards: http://www.lonestarcon3.org/hugo-awards/index.shtml
Link to Nebula awards: http://www.sfwa.org/nebula-awards/

Los Angeles Review of Books takes a look at my novel, INK

Sherryl Vint calls INK provocative (love it!) and writes a thoughtful and considered review of it in the most recent edition of the Los Angeles Review of Books online click here to read. I'm honored, amazed and just a little bit overwhelmed. Please share this link!

Fox News Latino: Sabrina Vourvoulias releases novel Ink

Thrilled to have Fox News Latino showcase my novel, INK! Read about its immigration theme, its link to Guatemala and my love of magical realism:
http://latino.foxnews.com/latino/lifestyle/2012/11/01/sabrina-vourvoulias-releases-new-novel-ink/

Dystopia, magic realism & immigration: INK is available for preorder on Amazon

INK's release date is Oct. 15, but you can...

Preorder from Amazon
Click here to to to Ink's page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Ink-Sabrina-Vourvoulias/dp/0615657818/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1349884504&sr=8-1&keywords=sabrina+vourvoulias

Sign up to win a copy from Goodreads
http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/34404-ink

La Bloga: Show me your INK. Banned books update. On-Line Floricanto in waxing October

La Bloga: Show me your INK. Banned books update. On-Line Floricanto in waxing October

From Genreville: More than Tramp Stamps

Click the link to read what's on Rose Fox's desk at Publishers Weekly currently. My novel, Ink, is one of the books, of course. But ... so is Jocelynn Drake's Angel's Ink (which launches Oct. 16, one day after mine) and Damien Grintalis's Ink (which launches in December). They all sound completely and utterly distinct and different from one another, but it's funny that we all had the same title impulse. I'm blaming it entirely on our (obviously shared) muse who really, REALLY wanted a book with ink on more than just the pages.


Read Fox's posting here: http://blogs.publishersweekly.com/blogs/genreville/?p=2030

Win a signed ARC of INK in a Goodreads giveaway

Three signed copies available — for free! Just click this link and sign up for the giveaway: http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/28126-ink

Advanced Reading Copies of INK are in the house

Well, not my house — but at Crossed Genres Publications. I'll get to see my first perfect bound copy at Readercon 23 (where I'll be part of the Crossed Genres reading on Saturday at noon).

Excited doesn't even begin to cover how I feel...

For review copies of INK please contact publicity @ crossedgenres . com  

Format: Paperback (240 pp.) & Ebook
Release date: Monday, October 15, 2012
ISBN: 0615657818 / ISBN-13: 978-0615657813
Cost: $13.95 (print) / $5.99 (ebook)

Good people, good books, good kickstarter

Beta-readers

 

A thank-you for a pretty thankless job. =)

INK: Of butterflies, and my novel's due date

Advance Reading Copies of my novel, INK, set to be released by Crossed Genres Publications on Oct. 15, will be available soon... I know, because I just read through the final before it goes to proof.

In a word: Aieee! Excited and terrified at once.

Despite the photo at the top of this post, INK has nothing to do with butterflies (but certainly started producing that fluttery feeling in my stomach as soon as I saw the ARCs).


Here's a synopsis of the novel:

What happens when rhetoric about immigrants escalates to an institutionalized population control system? The near-future, dark speculative novel, INK, opens as a biometric tattoo is approved for use to mark temporary workers, permanent residents and citizens with recent immigration history — collectively known as inks.

The main characters grapple with ever-changing definitions of power, home and community. Relationships reshape their lives in ways they don’t fully understand. Magic and “the other” breach borders, both personal and public. In this world, the protagonists’ magicks serve and fail, as do all other systems — government, gang, religious organization, news media and Internet — until two things alone stand: love and memory.

Despite its political underpinnings, INK is primarily a story about relationships: ink and non-ink; history and future; stories and life; and the magic that attends all of them.

INK will be published by Crossed Genres Publications Oct. 15, 2012.

Interested in reading for review? Email me at svourvoulias(at)yahoo(dot)com, and let me know.

Launch date for INK is October 15!

So, the official launch date for my novel, INK, is October 15!

I'll post the cover as soon as it's set, and will post any info about a launch party (thinking, thinking).
Also, I'm definitely planning to be at Philcon. (Am also planning to go to Readercon, but only as a participant since my book won't yet be out).

More deets about everything to follow....

Poets Responding to SB 1070

A new poem of mine is up on Poets Responding to SB 1070 page on facebook: http://on.fb.me/gonkFM

Go read, comment (or not), "like" the page. And be aware that 1070 copycat legislation is proposed for Pennsylvania. (See one of my previous blog posts for a list of anti-immigrant legislation introduced to the Pa. legislature this session.)

In thanksgiving for the 14th Amendment (and no thanks to Rep. Steve King)

Rep. Steve King (R-Iowa), likely chair of a House subcommittee on immigration in the next Congress, has vowed to take on the 14th Amendment's guarantee of citizenship by jus soli ("right of the soil") for the U.S.-born children of undocumented immigrants. In an interview with a columnist for Iowa's Cityview (http://dmcityview.com/2010/11/18/columns/mercury.html) King is quoted as saying:

“The framers did not consider the babies of illegals when they framed the 14th amendment because we didn’t have immigration law at the time so they could not have wanted to confer automatic citizenship on the babies of people who were unlawfully in the United States,” King said.

The 14th Amendment was adopted on July 9, 1868 (one of the "Reconstruction Amendments" adopted immediately after the Civil War) guaranteeing (male) former slaves and their descendants the same rights to birthright citizenship as white American men. Setting aside for a moment any other objections to King's comment, let's just consider that a percentage of the population of the undocumented in the U.S. are the victims (and children of the victims) of modern day slavery - human trafficking - and precisely the contemporary equivalent of who the framers of the 14th sought to guarantee citizenship for. The U.S. Department of State reports:

"The United States is a source, transit, and destination country for men, women, and children subjected to trafficking in persons, specifically forced labor, debt bondage, and forced prostitution ... Trafficking occurs primarily for labor and most commonly in domestic servitude, agriculture, manufacturing, janitorial services, hotel services, construction, health and elder care, hair and nail salons, and strip club dancing. Vulnerabilities remain even for legally documented temporary workers who typically fill labor needs in the hospitality, landscaping, construction, food service, and agricultural industries. In some human trafficking cases, workers are victims of fraudulent recruitment practices and have incurred large debts for promised employment in the United States, which makes them susceptible to debt bondage and involuntary servitude ... combined federal and state human trafficking information indicates that more investigations and prosecutions have taken place for sex trafficking offenses than for labor trafficking offenses, but law enforcement identified a comparatively higher number of labor trafficking victims as such cases often involve more victims." (http://www.state.gov/g/tip/rls/tiprpt/2010/142761.htm)

Moreover, the report states that the primary countries of origin for victims of human trafficking are virtually indistinguishable from the primary countries of origin for non-trafficked undocumented immigrants who have crossed borders or overstayed visas:

"Primary countries of origin for foreign victims certified by the U.S. government were Thailand, Mexico, Philippines, Haiti, India, Guatemala, and the Dominican Republic. Eighty-two percent of these foreign adult victims and 56 percent of foreign child trafficking victims were labor trafficking victims. " (http://www.state.gov/g/tip/rls/tiprpt/2010/142761.htm)

Humantrafficking.org estimates that 17,000+ people are trafficked to the U.S. annually, but all sources of statistics agree trafficking is vastly under reported - and sometimes impossible to distinguish from non-trafficked undocumented immigration. Even in King's implied narrow interpretation of 14th Amendment, a determination of trafficked vs. non-trafficked immigration would have to be made before birthright citizenship was denied to a U.S.-born child of an undocumented person - a logistical and financial (and ethical) nightmare.

Also according to Cityview:

"King wants Congress to pass a ban on 'anchor babies,' place it in statute, and wait for the other side to challenge the prohibition in the courts. If King and his forces lose, they’ll move for a constitutional amendment to change the practice, he said."

I'm moved to think about this as the nation is about to celebrate Thanksgiving - a holiday that commemorates our nation's history of uninvited and undocumented immigration. I have no idea of King's heritage (nor do I care) but unless he is a registered member of one of the Native American/American Indian nations, he doesn't get to use the term "anchor baby" without acknowledging the irony and sheer hubris of it. The vast majority of us are the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren of "anchor babies." Yes, even charter members of the Daughters of the American Revolution and those who trace antecedents to the Mayflower, the Nina, Pinta and Santa María or any of the European sailing vessels that landed on the shores of the "New World." Jus soli is the only reason many Americans can claim citizenship.

The photo at the top of this post is from one my family's Thanksgiving dinner prep several years ago. I wrote back then how significant it was to me that at that dinner, the family who sat around the table included Britons and Americans born in Mexico, Guatemala, Thailand and New York; the children of Bengali and Guatemalan immigrants; the grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren of Greek, German, Welsh and Spanish immigrants.

My own father was what King so disrespectfully calls an anchor baby. My grandparents were in transition from Greece to Cuba to Colombia when my father was born. Who knows what my grandparents' documentation status was - things were done differently then and what I've seen of the official correspondence between my grandfather and consulates leaves much in the dark. But my father was born in Chicago, Ill. - as we say in Spanish, a mucha honra - to his great pride. An American citizen. A veteran of World War II and the Korean War. A Northwestern U. graduate. The CEO of a multinational corporation. A lifelong Chicago Cubs fan. A man who contributed to building up the nation in countless ways.

I'd put my father's bona fides up there against King's any day. And yet, were my father to be born after King takes up the chairmanship of the House's immigration committee, the Iowa representative would propose to deny my father his right to citizenship.

I'm no constitutional scholar (nor even much of a historian) but it seems to me that King's desire to rescind birthright citizenship for a certain "kind" of person born on this soil directly contradicts the intent of Abraham Lincoln and others who sought, through the 14th Amendment, to prevent two types of existence in our nation - one free, the other enslaved.

This Thanksgiving when my immediate family gathers around the long, scarred farm table that holds our board, I will pray in memory of my forebears and in hope for my daughter and her children, that in years to come we come to recognize that not all gifts come wrapped in familiar paper.

And that some don't come with papers at all.

Life is a carnival

As we race toward the end of the year, we're racing also toward the end of the decade.

What were you doing when the calendar rolled over to 2000? How much has your life changed in the ensuing 10 years? (I'm really asking, by the way.)

I rang in the year 2000 with my husband, daughter, parents and Wally Reinhardt, a good family friend, on beaches of the Mexican Riviera - dancing on the sand to live music and watching a "torito" of fireworks burn the first few minutes of the 21st century away. There seemed nothing, nothing at all, that would make a better beginning.

A week or so later, my family would troop to Mexico City for my daughter's belated baptism and the subsequent party - notable for its food and the canary who picked my daughter's fortune from a basket. "You will be happy," my daughter's fortune read. "And although destiny has made you pretty, do not be conceited. Work to keep a noble heart." We were all happy. I remember it on our faces. And around the table, some very noble hearts.

My husband, daughter and I returned from Mexico to our snowy cabin in the woods outside of Hamilton, N.Y. It was - and still is - the little corner of the world best loved by my heart. Coy-dogs and wild turkeys and deer were our closest neighbors. We awaited the yearly crop morel mushrooms, gem-studded puffballs, mayapples and trout lilies on the ground; the crayfish, little jeweled frogs and brown trout in the stream; and the tiny hummingbird nests hidden halfway to the sky.

We settled back into our routines, the day-to-day lives that now, in retrospect, stand as the best of times. Then, little more than a month into 2000, my mother died.

It was the opening salvo of a decade that when it comes to an end on Dec. 31, will have included more sorrows than joys, more destruction than creation, more heartache than heart's ease.

I miscarried a child. And then another and another. We moved away from our beloved woods. My father got sick, suffered, died. Friends I thought I'd never lose, I did. My husband was unemployed for half the decade. We went from poor but solvent to poor and insolvent and worried about just making it from week to week. Depression, PTSD-like effects of childhood sexual abuse, health concerns, surgeries. It seems like the litany of darkness might go on until the end of time.

And yet.

My brothers both married in this decade, as did one of my brothers in law. I have six nieces and nephews now - all amazing little beings as distinct from one another as the leaves I see changing outside the window today. My daughter has grown from an amazing 5-year-old to an amazing 15-year-old and guess what? She's survived my parenting just fine. My husband is employed at a job he loves. Friends I never thought to seek have made their way into my life. I've discovered social media in this decade, and rediscovered every kind of writing I ever loved and had set aside - from journalism to poetry.I also rediscovered the peculiar joy of seeing my words paid, and in print.

Rediscovery has, in fact, been the hallmark of this decade for me.

The social justice activism I set aside after college has re-emerged in advocacy for immigrants. The religion I also wholly set aside is now part of my everyday life. The assimilated Latina gave way to something just a little different - a woman in community. A mucha honra.

I don't think my ups and downs are unique to my decade. We need only look at the highs and lows of the economy; the ways both the best of the American Dream and the worst have taken center stage in our collective lives; the ways we have lived, in Dickens' words, the best and worst of times.

Not too many months ago my family attended the carnival at St. Joe's Parish in Downingtown. Yes, the ferris wheel photo at the top of this post is from that outing. I have always been an adrenaline junkie - no person in news business can be otherwise - and have done my share of facing down fears. Scared of snakes? Then, let me drape myself in them while on a trip to Thailand. Scared of heights? Let me jump out of a plane at 10,000 feet with nothing but a thin tissue of nylon to stop my fall. And still, at the parish carnival, I refused to go on the ferris wheel.(My husband went on it with my daughter.) I had to be coerced, in fact, to go on a horrid pirate ship ride that pitched me forward and backward, with my eyes firmly shut. I'm told the child in the seat in front of me laughed through the whole ride. So, the question is, has this decade birthed fear in me?

The answer is undeniably, yes.

And yet.

I was working on my novel a few days ago (I'll post some other time about how this decade also swallowed whole my last novel). One of the characters is like I was before the calendar page turned in 2000 - seemingly fearless. She climbs as high as she can to get close as she can to the stars. Her explanation? The stars cast their light on us without regard for whether we deserve the illumination or not. Without regard for our fears, or our small, brave stands. Without regard for whether we have become what we imagined, oh say, a decade ago.

This decade has also birthed a sort of awareness of the significant synchronicities in life. The way, if you want (and I do), God sheds light on us. The way, for example, as I'm writing this, my eyes fall on the words of one of columnists in our Catholic newspaper this week:

You know the number of the stars and call each of them by name.

It is a line from the psalms intoned in Morning Prayer - the Divine Office prayed across the globe, every day. I like the rest of the psalm, too. The way it speaks, the way it illuminates the step that bridges closure and beginning:

Heal hearts that are broken, gather together those who have been scattered....

No canary could pick a better wish for a new decade than this. No person could pray for better.