by Lehua Parker | Jun 17, 2023 | Island Style, Mana'o (Thoughts), Uncategorized
1. As you’re packing the cooler, remember a little too much is the perfect amount. The coldest drinks are going to be at the bottom. The beer goes in first.
2. Carry meat tenderizer in your beach bag for jelly fish stings. Pat stings with wet sand; don’t rub. Suck it up and get back in the water.
3. If you’re caught in a rip current, don’t fight it. Relax. Slowly work your way across the current, usually parallel to the shore until you’re free. Once out, if you continue to swim a little farther parallel, there’s a good chance you’ll hit another current that will take you back to shore. Do not tire yourself out by fighting the current or waving your arms or shouting. I’m busy. You can handle this.
4. Ice cold water from the beach showers isn’t cold. Suck it up and get back in that water. No way you’re coming near the car like that.
5. After washing all the sand off, if you walk correctly—high, flat, carefully placed steps, no flicking your slippahs or dragging your towel, you can make it to the car sand-free. Otherwise you have to start all over.
6. At volleyball, old and treacherous beats young and enthusiastic every time.
7. Spitting into a swim mask keeps it from fogging, but unless you’re a tourist or spear fishing you don’t need a mask. Just open your eyes. It’s good for you.
8. If you don’t want someone to pee on your foot, watch out for wana when climbing around the tide pools.
9. When the sun sets, get out of the water. Sharks come in and feed at dawn, dusk, and through the night, especially near harbors and the mouths of rivers. Better you don’t swim there. Everybody knows sharks prefer white meat, and you look way too haole to chance ‘em.
10. Run to the big wave, not away.
11. Nobody ever died from rolling up the beach no matter how much ocean and sand they coughed up. Told you to run to the big wave, not away. Now suck it up and get back in the water.
E ho’omaha me ka maluhia a hui hou kakou, Papa-san.
by Lehua Parker | Jan 18, 2022 | Book Reviews & Announcements, Hawaiian Stories, Island Style, Pacific Literature
YA Hawaiian Cosmic Horror! At last!
Austin Aslan’s The Islands at the End of the World and The Girl at the Center of the World are rip roaring, seat-of-your-pants thrilling Hawaiian YA cosmic horror / apocalypse novels. Set in modern day Hawai‘i, this duology explores what might happen if all of the communication, electricity, and other modern conveniences were suddenly cataclysmically disrupted worldwide.
Cut off from the rest of the world, 16 year old Leilani and her father must figure out how to get from Waikiki back to their ‘ohana in Hilo, a journey that takes them island hopping from O’ahu to Molokai to Maui and beyond. Islanders must figure out how to survive in an environment when 95% of everything is shipped in, including tourists with nowhere to go. The US Military, of course, has their own ways of handling things, and it’s not focused on helping islanders. Factions and gangs form as violence breaks out under too real pressures.
These books check a lot of boxes: YA, strong female protagonist, epilepsy as both a challenge and a savior, multi-cultural, ecology-minded, light romance, set in Hawai‘i with authentic cultural resonances, apocalyptic horror, aliens, local and external big bads, and strong family relationships to name a few. It’s a duology perfect for educators and YA readers looking for a survivalist adventure story with an authentically Hawaiian spin.
Most of the islander-isms rang true, although there were a few times things were a little off. For example, the stink eye was used consistently—that edit has to be from an outside editor’s pen. The story itself is wildly imaginative and grounded in Leilani coming to understand that her epilepsy may be the one thing that saves us all. In the end, family is who you say it is—few things are more Hawaiian than that.
These books do describe the end of the way things are now, so there is some violence and swearing which puts these stories in the 9th grade and up category, but nothing is overtly gratuitous. If anything, its understatement makes these events all the more impactful when they occur.
I highly recommend The Islands at the End of the World and The Girl at the Center of the World. We need more speculative fiction stories with Hawaiians and islanders firmly in the center, where their islandness isn’t exotic, but normal, and their adventures unreal.
The Islands at the End of the World and The Girl at the Center of the World by Austin Aslan are published by Wendy Lamb Books and are available in all formats from most bookstores and distributors.
by Lehua Parker | Dec 20, 2021 | Am Writing, Mana'o (Thoughts), New Books, Pacific Literature, The Business of Writing
I was in the middle of trying to organize some of my short stories for another project when I spotted Lani Young’s Instagram post. She was sending out a call for original short stories written by Pacific Island women for Va: Stories by Women of the Moana. The cover was stunning.
Fantastic! I have the perfect story in mind!
I reached out to Lani for more details. She told me she and Sisilia Eteuati were starting a new press called Tatou Publishing. The submission window for their first anthology was only two weeks long and closing on November 30th, in about twelve days, because publication was scheduled for Dec. 23, 2021.
It was like getting hit in the head by a falling coconut.
I didn’t have time to write a new story. I didn’t even have time to complete the projects I’d already committed to. A publication date about three weeks after the submission window closes is cray-cray. It’s beyond bold and non-traditional, it’s the kind of thing only true visionaries do, visionaries who see possibilities around corners, who get in their voyaging wa’a armed with a mental map of the stars and calabashes of water and taro and start paddling because they know they’ll find land. It’s out there. ‘Nuff waiting around for other people. Time to hele on out and go.
And I really wanted to be part of that expedition. But time. Life. Crap.
But I had just been going through my files trying to get a handle on what was published, what wasn’t, what needed some editorial TLC, and what needed to be chalked up to experience and deleted. As I looked over my files, I thought there were three possibilities. Long shots, honestly, since they’d already been rejected by other publishers.
“Brothers,” a contemporary MG/YA magical realism story, about 1500 words; “Close Encounters,” a contemporary adult flash fiction thriller, about 680 words; and “Nana‘ue,” which walked the line between an adult fable and magical realism and was based on an old Hawaiian legend and set in the ancient past. At 4,000 words, “Nana‘ue” was also significantly longer than the 3,000 word max they were looking for.
And each story had a shark at its heart.
I can’t submit these. They’ll think I’m crazy, a crazy shark lady. They’ll think all I do is sit in my office in the desert thousands of miles from the Hawai‘i and worry about sharks like some Jaws freak. Just sit your ‘okole in your chair, Lehua, and write the story you know they’ll like, the one that’s been itching behind your eyes for over five years.
And for about four days, I tried. But time. Life. Crap. As the clock ticked down, it was time for some hard truth.
If not for this anthology, then where? Who else is going to get what you were trying to say in these stories? And yeah, they’re all shark stories, but this anthology is for Pacific Islanders—sharks are ‘ohana. The worst they can say is, “No thank you.” Well, no, the worst they can say is, “WTF were you thinking? These stories suck. Please don’t waste our time again.”
But really, they’ll probably just say no.
So I did what I tell all my critique partners and students to do: chance ‘em. Full send. All three stories. Maybe they would pity publish one of them.
Maybe.
Remember when I said Lani and Sisilia were starting something new? This publishing experience has been very different. Within a few hours of submitting, I received enthusiastic feedback from Sisilia and Lani on all of my stories. They wanted all three.
At the time, I was excited. Now after reading about a third of the galley copy I have of Va: Stories by Women of the Moana, I’m humbled. The voices, the lived experiences, are raw and honest and incredible. I’ve laughed and cried and thought yes, sistah, I see you.
38 different women of moana wrote about 50 original works, resulting in more than 98,000 words in the anthology. The initial presales placed it #1 worldwide on Amazon in Pacific and Oceanic Literature. Just think about that for a second. According to traditional publishers, none of these stories nor the audience should exist.
Some of the stories and poems in Va: Stories by Women of the Moana don’t adhere to a western idea of story. They’re vignettes, slices of real life and characters that will stay with you long past their reading. I think that’s perfect because these are our stories, in our voices, no filter, no apologies. I find I’m reading my copy slowly, savoring the words, enjoying the journey.
I’m so glad I jumped in the Va canoe. We’re all paddling as hard as we can. We know land and our audience is out there. Meanwhile, I’m going to write the next story, the one I keep putting off, because now I have a destination to sail toward. And I have to wonder how many other Pacifica stories are going to be written and read simply because Lani and Sisilia have shown the way?
Va: Stories by Women of the Moana is available from Amazon, iTunes, Kobo, Smashwords, and other retailers. It’s a trip to the islands from the comfort of your couch for about the cost of a fancy coffee. Check it out. These aren’t the islands you think you know. It’s life, not a vacation.
#realrep #Va #TatouPub #PasifikaBook #Hawaiistories
by Lehua Parker | Dec 14, 2021 | AAPI Books, Mana'o (Thoughts), The Business of Writing
On December 14, 2021, I participated in the Utah Library Advocates Press Conference as a representative of PIK2AR and PEAU Lit. The conference was called in response to the nation-wide organized efforts to censor books in school libraries, often without books going through an established book challenge or review process. Basically, someone complains–who may not even live in the school district–and books get quietly removed from school library shelves. Sometimes these books are simply tucked out of the way in someone’s office; sometimes they are permanently “checked-out” or weeded from the the library’s collection. Regardless, books are being removed from circulation without a proper review.
This is wrong and worrisome on so many levels, particularly since all of the current “problem” books in Utah are centered around BIPOC and LGBTQIA+ themes. At this press conference, representatives from the NAACP, Utah Pride, Equality Utah, ULA, UELMA, UEA, SchoollibraryPALs, and I spoke about first amendment rights, the need for all kids to see themselves as the center of the story, and how parents can have difficult conversations with their children. Not all books are for all children, but libraries need to have books that represent the entirety of their communities.
The following is the mana’o I shared. It’s written to be spoken, not read, so e kala mai, there are a lot of run on sentences.
____________________
Aloha awakea kakou.
My name is Lehua Parker, and I’m here on behalf of PIK2AR—Pacific Knowledge To Action Resources—and PEAU Lit—the literary arm of Pasifika Enriching Arts of Utah. I’m an author of stories for kids and adults that are deeply embedded in Native Hawaiian and Hawaiian island culture.
Do not let the blond hair and blue eyes fool you. I am kanaka maoli, Native Hawaiian and a graduate of The Kamehameha Schools.
Today, you’ve heard my esteemed colleagues talk about the importance of school libraries and authentic representation. I’d like to take a moment and talk a little bit about this from the perspective of an author who writes stories for an underserved readership.
As a child growing up in Hawai‘i, I never saw my family, friends, or neighbors represented in a book. And I know these books didn’t exist, because I was constantly on the prowl for them in both public and school libraries. I was the kid with their nose perpetually in a book—on a bus, at the beach, soccer practice—it didn’t matter, I had a book with me.
But my family and friends weren’t just invisible in books—it was all media. In the rare movie or television show, islanders were always the exotic hula dancer, the bartender, or the crook—never the center or the hero of the story, never seen nor validated, and never without a cultural narrative created and imposed by Hollywood.
Would it surprise you to learn that pineapple, coconut bras, and tiki curses that Bobby Brady faced are not Hawaiian?
Don’t get me started on pizza.
I remember so vividly the first time I saw my community authentically represented in media. It left such a lasting impact on my life, that when I decided to write my first novel, I knew it had to be about—and for—kids in Hawai‘i—that their authentic lives, experiences, and worldviews had to be firmly set as the center of the story.
I wish I could take you all to Hawai‘i to see the impact these books have had on kids. I’ve stood in crowded auditoriums with kids on the edge of their seats—they were that engaged with the idea that someone wrote a story about them that’s in a book.
“Aunty,” they say, “when you had a character say and do this—did you really mean…?!”
And yes, I tell them, I did.
More importantly—with a book in hand as proof, kids are thrilled by the possibility that they too can write their own stories and someone will read them. They matter that much.
I’ve talked with teachers, librarians, and parents—some with tears in their eyes—because for the first time their haumana, their keiki—their students and children—feel seen. For some kids, these books are the first ones they’ve read voluntarily in their entirety.
Think about that for a moment. Reading is critical to success in school, in work, in a child’s future, in our nation’s future. Kids hunger to read books that speak to their lived experiences. Why would we do anything to discourage that?
I want you to know that I recognize that not all books are for all kids. However, we have public processes that help us determine which books are appropriate for which grades in our communities, and it is imperative that these processes are followed. It is chilling to think that people believe we can circumvent proper review processes by bullying others into removing books from circulation, simply because a book is not right for their child.
All school libraries must have books that represent the entirety of their communities.
It truly is a matter of life and death. It is a matter of being seen.
Mahalo nui loa a me aloha no. Thank you for your time and consideration.
____________________
If bullying is not okay on the playground, why are we allowing it in the library? What are we really teaching our children? I invite you to get involved, to educate yourself and others on the critical services libraries provide for everyone in their communities. Rather than worrying about what another kid has in their backpack, send your child to the library with lists of good books you’d like them to explore.
#RealRep #challengebooks #Hawaiibooks #justreadconfunit
by Lehua Parker | Nov 18, 2021 | Mana'o (Thoughts), Middle Grade Books, The Business of Writing, Workshops
After talking with students at Kealakehe Intermediate over the internet for a bit, I read chapter one from ONE BOY, NO WATER, and looked up. Most of the kids seemed stunned. “I’ve never heard anyone read a story that had Pidgin in it before,” one student said.
Another raised his hand. “How did you dare? How did you know you could do that?” Lots of kids nodded. They wanted to know this, too.
I blinked hard. “I just did,” I said. “And if I did, you can too. Don’t be scared. Just do it.”
I’ve been thinking about this exchange a lot this afternoon. It’s why real representation in literature is so important. All kids deserve–need–to see themselves as the center of stories that affirm their lived experiences. Sometimes all it takes is someone telling them it’s okay; they can do this; permission granted.
by Lehua Parker | Nov 12, 2021 | AAPI Books, Am Writing, Mana'o (Thoughts), The Business of Writing
It was maybe eight years ago that I noticed a lot more awareness, more buzz, about the startling lack of diversity in middle grade and young adult literature. In the USA, it started with recognizing we were a multicultural nation that woefully underrepresented the crazy quilt reality of our society. The lack of diverse representation was being talked about in ways and in circles that I hadn’t heard before.
It was the very existence of the conversations that was new, not the concepts. Growing up, I was surrounded by misrepresentation, appropriation, and outright fabrication of my Native Hawaiian—kanaka maoli—culture in media. All islanders were hula dancers, bartenders, or crooks, with the occasional beach bum thrown in. Books, television, and films never reflected my reality of doctors, lawyers, businesspeople, teachers, musicians, comedians, philanthropists, homemakers, and yeah, houseless people struggling in makeshift camps.
With awareness and conversation came movements like #weneeddiversebooks and #ownvoices. Traditional publishers created new imprints and solicited manuscripts from writers of all backgrounds, experiences, and frames of reference. There was a lot of hope.
Then reality set in and things started to get weird.
One of the biggest challenges is that with new perspectives, the stake holders and kingmakers—the acquisition editors and marketing teams—generally do not have the background to accurately assess whether or not a manuscript authentically represents what it purports to. In today’s cancel culture, few are willing to risk being wrong.
Authors are also eyeing the swing of public opinion’s guillotine. Over the last few years, I’ve talked with many established authors who want to write stories about characters who aren’t like themselves—ethnically, neurotypically, sexually orientated, physically abled, faith-believing or disbelieving, from different socioeconomic communities—the whole spectrum of humanity. These authors’ genres and target audiences range widely, from picture books to adult high fantasy, romance, and horror. These are exactly the kinds of stories that will reach under severed readers and bring more threads to our literary tapestry. But they’re scared. They’re convinced writing outside of their perceived and approved wheelhouse is career suicide.
And these stories aren’t being written.
Some authors have pivoted to writing about animals instead of children. Some write fantasy, where it’s easier to blend cultures into something familiar, but new. Others have doubled down and do not describe the physical characteristics of their characters at all. I was part of a panel of authors at an event where a White college student called out a well-known (and really wonderful) White male author of middle grade books. She publicly chastised him for only writing White characters in his series. He gently asked her where that was in the text—and of course, it wasn’t. He had been very careful to only use generic physical descriptions like tall, athletic, old, young, or wearing a blue shirt. The college student had brought her own biases with her.
We all do.
The pendulum’s backlash is twice as harsh as its front swing.
I believe it’s important to recognize that not all stories are ours to tell. But rather than #ownvoices, I think we should be focusing on authentic representation, what I’ve coined as #RealRep (because ain’t nobody got time to spell #AuthenticRepresentation).
#RealRep allows authors the freedom to write all kinds of stories. Writers can easily imagine how it feels to be different or alone or special or even ordinary. Most stories have underlying themes like love, family, courage, perseverance, or adventure and are told through emotions and experiences that are universal to the human condition. Where we are vary is in the specifics, constraints, opportunities, and pressures.
My advice to authors who want to tell stories about people, places, and experiences out of their own wheelhouse is to pause for a second to consider what’s sparking the story. What draws to you this story; why do you want to tell it; what are you hoping your audience will take away from it; how will you do your best to avoid harmful stereotypes, characterizations, and tokenisms; and how would you feel if you were portrayed this way?
If you’re comfortable with your answers, then research, research, research. Google, YouTube, and the library are your friends. Most importantly, connect with this community. Find people who have first-hand knowledge and experience with the cultures, issues, locations, and worldviews you want to explore. Get the nuances and details right before publication, but don’t let fear of getting them wrong stop you from starting. Refinement often comes after the first drafts when you engage beta and sensitivity readers. And it is readers. There is no “authority” that blesses any one point of view or lived experience. You’ll need a variety of responses to see the middle.
Remember, the goal is authenticity, not wide-eyed Pollyanna optimism. It’s okay if some readers are uncomfortable. Just make sure the discomfort is calculated and coming from the things you intend.
To publishers, remember that none of us are fully aware of our biases. We always think we know more than we do. Recognize you don’t always have the staff or experience to identify authenticity in manuscripts, particularly ones that defy expectations. If the story is compelling, engage your own experts to assess if it rings true–and it will take experts because no human experience is a monolith.
If we want to create a more inclusive world, we must teach compassion to children. One of the best ways to do this is to provide them books that allow them to walk in others’ shoes. To teachers and librarians, you are the frontline. Use your budgets to curate collections that serve your entire community.
To those in the corps calling for diversity in literature, keep beating those drums and encouraging people to write their own stories in their own voices.
Writing is an art, but publishing is a business, and like all businesses, it’s profit driven. Buy books you like and want to see more of and leave positive reviews. Create grassroots buzz. It’s that simple.
Authentic representation. #RealRep. Spread the word.
