It's Been a While

Dear Readers,

Okay, so, it's been a long five years since I last blogged. I am wondering if anyone is still reading my stories, or if I am just sending messages into the ether. If you are seeing this, please do let me know. I'd love to write again, but it's always the question of whether I have an audience or not. 

To write or not to write ... that is the question. Looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Cheers.

The "I Can Be" Campaign

I have always wanted to do a photography series that inspire our young generations; it's always been a non-profit/charity dream of mine to help instill a positive message in our society. That said, I want to do a photo project that features the aspiration, dreams, and potentials of our children, no matter the color, race, gender, etc., in a series of amazing portraits. These portraits will feature each child in their "what I want to be when I grow up" poses. For example, if Mary wants to be a policewoman when she grows up, she'd come wearing a police t-shirt and maybe a police hat, etc. My goal is to help kids believe that they can be whomever they chose to be regardless of challenges, etc. Once this is done, I want to share this with the world, highlighting a little about each child on a website. If this is successful, I'll continue to grow the site into something bigger; we'll be able to include more children and feature the accomplishments of our children even more.

With such a dream, I can't do this by myself. In fact, it's impossible to do it with just one person. As a photographer, I have a vision and the skills, but I'll also need the help from parents, children, educators, and other people in the community to make this a reality. I want to involve everyone who is passionate about our new generation and all that they can be, especially in our current political and social climate. If you are skilled in hair and makeup, I want you. If you are a writer, I want you. If you can help plan and schedule, I want you. If you can help in refreshments and planning, I want you. If you are good in props and storyboarding, I want you. If you have good connections with professional career people whom our kids aspire to be, I want you. In other words, if you are willing to help and be involved and start this amazing work, I need you. I'm looking for volunteers to form our little "board" so we can make this into a reality. I know we all have day jobs, and I respect your time. We will always work around each others' schedules. Moms, dads, and children who've worked with me, know my passion, and I hope you'll join me in this inspiring journey.

Tentatively, I name this campaign the "I Can Be" movement. If you are interested, please comment below, and we'll go from there. And if you know friends and family who are interested, please share this with them as well.

Thank you!!

p.s. Once I have enough people to form a board, I'll call our first board meeting. This is an amazing time to do amazing things. Let's do this together!

The Death of a Friend

Dear Readers,

Last week, I received terrible news about a friend's passing. It was unexpected, and I was a little taken back when I first heard it. Juliana was quite the healthy woman five years ago when I last saw her. Due to our respective busy lives, we have not communicated very much since our last meeting. I must admit, now that I have some time to ponder on everything that had transpired, it was I who should be blamed for our lack of correspondence. You see, Juliana was one of the most beautiful human being I've ever known, both in spirit and body. In many ways, she was the sister I never had.

When I was much younger, I found myself without money and a job, trying to make my way through university sans scholarship and such financial assistance. My parents were poor blue-collar workers just going through the days, struggling to stay afloat in a rather dim economy. Being the eldest daughter, I did all I could to be accepted to an institution of higher learning. The university I attended was not the greatest, but it was everything I could have hoped for. I was going to be a scholar, a professor, and earn my prestige and wealth, so my parents would be proud. But the reality of university life was unexpectedly sad. I'd spent almost all of my savings on tuition, books, and lodging, leaving very little to survive. There were times when I was so hungry, concentrating in class was impossible. That was when Juliana entered my life, and everything changed.

Juliana was a few years older than I, a senior in university, and was incredibly smart. She tutored me in philosophy as the professor's assistant, and we became instant friends. Juliana was kind, sweet, and almost unbearably helpful in every aspect of my life during that time. She would bring me my meals, help me in my homework, and buy me simple gifts to cheer me up every now and then when I was depressed. But like so many young girls my age, I did not think too much of her kindness. I appreciated everything she did for me, but I did not make any effort to get to know her. Come to think of it, I was like a sponge, taking, not giving. And it was quite all right for me, because I did not know better.

Years after we first met, after my graduation, she'd still write me; she would call me every Christmas to wish me the best of the season, and she had never missed my birthday; every year she'd send me a card with the same three sentences: "Miss you. Love you. And a happy birthday!" No more, no less.

I never kept any of her cards, never saved a single photograph, never thought too much of anything. I was focused on my life, myself, and everything I had wanted to achieve.

Five years ago, she'd asked me to meet her at a coffee shop just to catch up—she was passing through on her way to a conference. I did go. I did sit down with her for a coffee. But it was only for no more than a half hour. I had made plans with my colleagues—we were to catch the latest matinee that day—and I had quickly made my excuses and left in a hurry.

Now, looking back, I would've done everything differently. Juliana was my dearest friend, and I never really saw it until the day she passed away.

I did not attend her funeral—I could, but I chose not to. But what difference would that have made? The dead does not see, and I, the living, can only hope to learn from my past.

Juliana once told me in passing that sometimes in life, we should aim to be the best friend anyone could ever have, instead of constantly looking too hard for the best friend who never exists. And she was right. She had always been right.

Dear friends, please think kindly of me, for tonight I sleep not.


Yours,
Ms. Lilly Brightbottom
July 12, 2014

The Flower Shop

Dear Readers,

When my colleague and most esteemed peer, Mr. Christopher Yolanda Cornelius Loke, had decided to retire from blogging for an undetermined amount of time a few months ago, I was since recruited to fill his shoes during the interim. Mr. Loke is well, thank you very much, for those who are curious; but of course, to those who know him intimately and personally, Mr. Loke is full of surprises. You never know when he will pop right in and make me redundant—I do love this new position of mine, writing on his behalf, yet staying true to myself. So, I sincerely hope he won't be back anytime soon. Obviously, I mean him no harm, but since writing is my most passionate pastime, I only hope to be blogging for him for a good amount of time. After all, a girl can only hope. Opportunities like this don't come to me freely all the time. So I say, carpe diem, carpe noctum, and carpe coffum (I can only guess this means coffee, and if does not, please pardon me; mistakes are prone to happen when you have a giddy school girl write on behalf of one of the greatest man alive—in my books, at least).

So, as new as I am, I thought I'd start with a little bit of an observation I did a couple of days ago from my little room up in the attic somewhere only dreams were made. It was a Monday when everyone in the city seemed to have lost his mind over the rambunctious weekend littered with fireworks. Working folks walked like zombies in the streets from the lack of sleep, and children were left unattended, running around like sheep without their shepherd. Heaven forbid that one of them would get hit by an automobile if no parents came to claim these lawless changelings. But did I care? Not the very least; I don't care for children, not too much. I do not hate them, but I don't really think I'd like to be surrounded by them. Oh, the chaos they would cause.

Back to the subject at hand, my focus, still from my window, went directly to a young man, most probably in his early twenties, with short-cropped hair and sharp features, standing quietly on the side of the street staring straight ahead at the flower shop right across. Without any pre-knowledge of this young man, he looked a bit gaunt, slim, but not devoid of a good diet. I shall call him T. Why? Because T is a consonant that possesses a sharp treble of sorts—my opinion, of course—and it fit what I saw perfectly. To the T (no pun intended).

In his hands was a bouquet of white flowers. Not roses, but chrysanthemums. About a dozen of them. Him in his crisply ironed trousers and bow tie around his collar, T looked ready to impress. But what with the white flowers, I thought. White is neither a romantic color, nor is it feminine. As a woman who knows her colors and flowers more than anything, I for one was a bit curious as to how the events surrounding T would turn out that day.

Working at the flower shop was an old lady, pruning the flowers and spraying them with water mists. In a corner close to the entrance behind the clear display window sat the bespectacled accounting clerk, a young man with dark hair and a pale complexion. On first impression, this man appeared tired but his fatigue did not interfere with his face, which was clean, alert, and in the most unusual way, sad. He looked lonely, like he was the only man left on Earth. That eyes of his dreamed of things beyond what he saw, beyond the walls before him, beyond the people in the streets, beyond everything in his vicinity. The clerk had a sense of longing in him I could detect. But from up here, behind my bedroom window, all I could do was observe with my keen eyes. I might be wrong about many things, but today I was quite sure of what my heart told me. From the way the clerk hunched over his work, to the intermittent glances he shot at the street with his careful eyes, I sensed something I couldn't put my finger on. It was a feeling of anticipation I sensed. And as soon as the clerk stood, hands in his pockets, turning abruptly to face the busy street from behind the display window, I knew right away what he was all about.

His eyes—dark, handsome—penetrated the recipient of their stare: T, who was still there directly opposite the clerk looking quite as surprised, mystified perhaps. T dropped the white chrysanthemums from his hands, took a step backward and heaved a sigh. The clerk did not move but twitched a smile, a rusty smile, as if he had not smiled for centuries. And T bent down, picked up the bouquet he'd dropped, turned, and walked silently away from the flower shop. There was no joy in his face as he paced himself past the oncoming pedestrians who were unaware of all that was in his heart. A tear glistened from his cheek. My heart hurt for him, and I did not know why. I guess what they say about a woman's heart is true; it holds the darkest secrets of every man who cannot bear to hide them himself.

Behind the display widow of the flower shop, the store clerk removed his glasses and closed his eyes. I saw no tear but the reflection of the passersby who had suddenly come from nowhere, obscuring him from my view. And when I could again have a clear view of the flower shop, the store clerk had returned back to his desk where he would work for another five hours before the shop closed, before everyone decided it was time to hurry back to their wives, families, husbands, and lovers.

There was a story there at the flower shop that day I would write in the near future; it would make a remarkable tale. It would make an author out of me. Maybe one of these days, I'd brave myself to approach the clerk and start a conversation with him. What a day it would be, won't you agree?

That night I dreamed of beautiful things, and among them, white chrysanthemums.


Most excitingly yours,
Ms. Lilly Brightbottom
July 8, 2014

The "Frozen" Tragedy: How My Son Killed Elsa and What Came After

Here's my daily morning routine, without fail: alarm rings (nope, you shall not know when my alarm goes off), I open my eyes, try to imagine today is a holiday (and struggles every time to return to reality), get up and saunter into the bathroom, brush my teeth, sit on the bathroom for what seems like a century, and while doing that try to pick out my clothes in my mind before I even step into the closet. Fast forward a few minutes later, I'm at the kitchen counter sitting on my stool reading my emails while working very hard to spoon my breakfast into my mouth without ever glancing at my food. Then my wife hollers from outside rushing me to get into the car so I can actually be at work on time. Such is my daily routine minus all the mundane details, which, from what I have listed, should not even make a difference in how my morning goes—slow and uneventful. However, things changed a little since I came out of the theater with my family after watching a near two-hour long Disney's Frozen. Yes, Anna and Elsa changed my morning routine, and eventually my life.

After Frozen, my morning routine was incredibly colorful. I mean, I could hear birds chirping outside my window, even when logic told me there was a snow storm outside and the only birds chirping would most likely be from Old Marjorie's fat cat from upstairs—the cat's name is Garfield, go figure. Yes, cats have the ability to chirp to lure birds into their trap, but that would be another story for another day.

So, back to the subject at hand—my colorful morning, yes. Apart from the birds, I would be singing in my mind, which would eventually trickle down to the tip of my tongue, and before I knew it, I'd be humming "Let It Go" all morning long. Then the humming slowly evolved into singing, and the singing became dancing. Yes, I was twirling from my bed to the bedroom in full vibrancy. My morning was suddenly swift and exciting. I saw snow everywhere in my mind, the snowflakes falling and twinkling from my bedroom ceiling—of course, I imagined them, but even so, the idea of a wonderful delightful morning in contrast to the bland straight-liner morning I'd been experiencing was quite a life-changer.

And then came the game of knocking.

Every time I knocked on my son's door, or any door in the universe, I'd start with, "Do you wanna build a snowman?" The answer from the other side was always, "Go away, Dad." And I'd sing, "Okay, bye." Lovely, wasn't it? But wait, there's more.

At dinnertime, things changed a little too. There was much singing involved. I sang everything I said. Life was suddenly a musical. Youtube became the gateway for all things Frozen, from the multi language versions of "Let It Go" to the behind-the-scenes play-by-play clips of the movie. Every day was Elsa day. Conversations in the family was now all about standing strong and making right decisions, including the incessant idea of an independent woman not ever needing a man to make her whole—my wife seemed to grasp on to this a little more than I. Disney songs slow infiltrated my Spotify account, and all this while, my mornings were continuously melodious and Disney-ish to a point where I found myself stamping one foot on the floor whenever the phrase "Here I stand" from the song "Let It Go" appeared in my mind. Before long, the idea of having a reindeer as a pet was not remotely ridiculous at all.

Then one evening at dinnertime, Hayden, my Olaf, started to sob a little. As a responsible parent, I naturally caressed his hair, gave him a pat on the back and asked, "Do you wanna build a snowman?" The sob suddenly turned into a wail. I was surprised, a little shocked. "Let it go," I said, "let it go." He cried more. Then he looked at me and said the most pin-pricking words I'd ever heard: "Dad, you embarrass me." Suddenly, unexpectedly, the colors around me turned gray and the Elsa in me curled stiff into a dead matter. She died, and my son killed her. I looked at my wife; she shrugged and continued with the dishes. I closed my eyes and prayed to the God of Disney, "Why has thou forsaken me?" No answer. "For the first time in forever . . ." No answer. "I really need a fixer upper . . ." Suddenly, a tune; I heard a tiny voice in me, sharp and high . . . okay, it was Mickey.

"We need to first melt and heal that frozen heart," the Mouse said.

Without a second thought I took my son's hand and said, "Love is an open door, you know. You just have to let your insecurities go. Just let it go. And for the first time in forever, you'll hear music, you'll see the light. And before you know it, if you were to let loose and have a little fun in your life and not worry about what people might say about you, you'll be having fun. It'll just be like playing in summer. And before you know it, we'll be blowing dandelion fuzz without a care, and we'd be doing whatever snow does in summer. And no one can take that away from us. No one. Nothing else matters."

There was a pause, he turned back to his food, ate silently, wiped the tears off his face, and let out a heavy sigh.

That night was quiet, the songs just wouldn't play correctly in me. I didn't find myself skipping or singing. My wife came up to me and said, "Give him time, it'll be fine again." The magic was gone. I looked at the Frozen wallpaper on my computer with Elsa staring back at me. I saw no sparkle. The light dimmed and I lumbered myself to bed.

A few mornings went by, Frozen was slowly forgotten, life went back to what it was before. I was now channeling The Walking Dead (the new season has just started, yay!) as I fumbled my way through my morning routine. Toothpaste on toothbrush, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. Then mouth slowly opened ahhh as I brushed and gargled, foam running down the corners of my mouth. I was a zombie. No birds chirped outside. My morning was back to the dinosaur days again.

Then there was a knock. Another knock. Knock knock knock.

"Daddy?" Hayden called.

"Yes?" I slurred.

"Uhm . . ."

"What is it? I'm changing."

"I hope it's not too late . . . but . . . uhm . . . do you wanna build a snowman?"

Immediately, the blood in me started to run, my heart was beating again, the colors came back, and I heard a faint tune returning back to me. Disney had answered my prayers. I swung the door open, lifted him up in my arms and hugged him close to my heart. "Yes, yes, yes," I said. But the way it came out, it sounded just like a song. Our song.

My Take on a Polynesian Dessert—Purple Yam Rolls with Coconut Cream Glaze

Okay, due to popular demand, today's blog entry is about a recipe. Yes, I'm going to share with everyone this delicious recipe I just made the other day. Drum roll, please! It's my newly invented yam rolls with coconut milk sauce. First of all, having lived in Hawaii for almost six years (my past is filled with adventures, yes), I've learned to appreciate and enjoy some Polynesian delicacies. One of my favorites is the pane po po, soft rolls drenched in coconut sauce. It's something to die for, well, at least it is for me.

So, my wife recently brought home some purple yam (I have no idea what to really call it, so purple yam it is), and I decided to be inventive and do something with it—I baked rolls with it, kinda like a sweet potato rolls, but with purple yam. The result was soft, fluffy rolls. Then, the creative that I am, I decided to kick things up a notch and glaze them with a thick layer or coconut cream sauce, and it was literally food for the gods. So, without much ado, here's the recipe.

Mix 1/4 cup of warm water with 2.5 tsp of instant yeast.
Preheat oven to 400 F.

Boil/scald the following over medium heat:
1 cup milk
1/2 cup sugar
1.5 tsp salt
5 tbs butter

Mash the following:
Boiled purple yam; you'll only need 2 cups of the mashed yam.

Now mix the following until smooth:
The scalded milk mixture
The mash yam
1 tsp lemon juice
1 egg slightly beaten

In a mixing bowl (I use a Kitchen Aid mixing bowl with a dough hook), knead in the following until they form an elastic, smooth, and moist dough:
The yam/milk concoction
5 cups bread flour
The yeast mixture

Cover and let proof for about an hour, or until double its size. Then punch down and form into rolls and place them onto a greased cookie sheet. This recipe should yield 30 rolls. Now, I use baking paper instead of greasing the pan for easy cleaning, and it is also quite the professional way of doing things. Anyway, leave the rolls covered and proof until they double their size again. Then plop them into the oven and bake for about 20 minutes.

Once the rolls are cooked, leave them out to cool, and while they are cooling, do the following:
Mix one can of coconut milk, 2/3 cup sugar, 1 tsp salt, 1 tbs flour in a saucepan and stir over medium heat until it boils. Remove from heat.

Transfer your rolls into a Pyrex baking pan (I use a 9 x 13 in. pan) and pour the coconut cream all over the rolls. Let the whole thing cool for a few minutes. To keep the rolls fresh, just cover and seal the pan with Saran wrap (cling film). So there, delicious rolls with very little effort.

Enjoy, and let me know if this recipe works for you. Comment below :) Until next time, have a great week!

Valuable Lessons I Learned in 2013

Surprise, surprise! It's me, yes, 'tis true. I have returned. But enough about me. How is everyone doing this year so far? Good? Working on your new year resolution? Or not? Whatever you are up to, I hope you are all doing real fine. This year I will try to blog more regularly and tell you all about the crazy things happening in my life, good and bad. Mostly good, of course!

2013 was an amazing year—loads of roller coaster rides and adrenaline rushes, but through it all, I've learned valuable lessons that made me stronger and more confident about this new year. First of all, I have a dream job I am in love with. I wear many hats, but I absolutely love what what I do. My family is happy, and I enjoy every minute with them, and that's all that matters. That said, here I am in my pajamas, bed hair and all, writing you my first blog while my pumpkin cake bakes in the oven. It smells heavenly in my house right now, and the kitchen is spotless. Now, that's what I call a home. Okay, I digress again—and you'll see segues such as this a lot as you continue to follow my oh-so-exciting-blog.

Anyway, before I start sidetracking about something else unrelated to the original subject at hand, here are the a few valuable lessons I learned in 2013, and I hope they will also help you deal with life's challenges (and triumphs).

Optimism begats positivity; positivity equals success. Positive people are always successful. They may not always be the richest people in the world, but they are the happiest, because when you believe all things are possible, you are already on the right track. Self-doubt and looking at the cons of everything does not make the situation better. Instead, when you look at the positive side and adopt an optimistic attitude, suddenly, the solutions to your problems start showing up. On a similar note, when you start looking at the good side of a person you normally do not like, you'll slowly find it easier to love that someone. Am I not right?

You can't do it alone. 'Tis true. Big accomplishments are always achieved by team efforts. The smart way to go through life happy and successful is to associate yourself with people who will support and empower you, which leads me to the next lesson . . .

Surround yourself with great friends and people. Just as an employer depends on her employees to grow her business, we depend on friends and families to reach our goals. We can never do it all alone. And that also means you will also need to be the supporter and the friend everyone is looking for. Love and empowerment work both ways. If anything, be the best friend you can ever want and have.

Appreciate everything around you; be grateful and thankful. When you start to feel thankful for everything you have, life is going to smooth-sail through anything. This is because when you are thankful, you don't take things for granted, and when you don't take things for granted, you are more inclined to be kind, loving, and polite. And a kind soul is what the world really needs now. From my experience, when you are thankful, people are also more inclined to treat you better; they are happier to do you favors. And when you have people doing you favors all the time, you are the luckiest star in the sky. Am I not right?

Always know what you want and do it. Focus and work hard. Those are my ultimate mottos in life. When I want something, nothing can stop me from doing everything I can to get it. And I always get what I want. Not because I am privilege in any way, but because I am focused. I sprint-run toward my goals. I am committed, and I am stubborn. Nothing is ever easy and quick, but it is all worth it.

Stay healthy, stay young. Health is so important in my life. I am not perfect at it, but I am trying. I watch what I eat, trying (very hard) to avoid eating out if at all possible. And I find that the simple habit of cooking at home can yield very satisfying results. Staying mentally healthy is equally important. Read to broaden your horizon. Stay abreast with technology, and learn new skills. Just this past week alone, I have learned to cook from three different recipes I was too intimidated to try in the past. And now that I've tried, I'm glad I did. Remember to smile always, as well, which brings me to my last lesson . . .

Be happy, for life is too short to be sad.

And that pretty much sums up everything for me today. Until the next blog entry, remember to smile and believe you can accomplish everything you put your mind to. I've done it, and so can you. Ciao for now!

This Old House

It is almost three in the morning, the night is quiet, and I lay on my bed eyes wide open. My mind is alert, and I find myself unable to sleep. You see, tonight is the last night I will be sleeping in this house, this old house in which I've celebrated many things and mourn a few losses. It has shared some of my disappointments and many of my triumphs. It is my house. It is my home. And unlike other nights where sleep comes too easily, tonight I stare at the dark ceiling and wonder if it will ever miss me.

Moving to a new place is always a challenge for me. First, I am not one who manages too easily the chaos of boxes and piled up collection of things waiting to be sorted, packed, and transferre. Second, I hate physical labor. And last, I am not one who fancies saying goodbye at all.

Bidding farewell to a friend is easy. You wave, blow a kiss, and say adieu. You may even weep a little. But ultimately, you know there is always the occasional phone call and email, or some other mode of communication that does not require any physical appearance. With our current technology, speaking to a distant friend is only a click away.

But when it comes to saying goodbye to a house, a structure of brick and plaster, how do you do it? Do you wave? Utter a few words from the heart? Or simply give it a light tap on the wall and say, thank you for the good times? Does it know you are moving out? Does it care that you are leaving? Perhaps the most appropriate question is, does it remember you?

The silence in my room is punctuated by the breathing of my wife, who, even in her peaceful slumber, furrows her brow. Whatever she must be dreaming at this moment must be quite worrisome. Perhaps she, too, is pondering on this delicate subject of departure. Perhaps.

I close my eyes, a tear trickles down my cheek, and I know I'll miss an old friend. This house, though not much to look at, has been my home, the place where dreams were made. There's still a long road ahead, I think to myself, and I cannot imagine having accomplished so much without its protection and comfort. This house has been my sanctuary.

I place my hand on the wall and smile. Goodbye, old friend, I say, and the old house creaks back. It remembers. It hears. It speaks. And somehow, I know it will miss me, too.

The road ahead is long, true, but I won't be a lone traveler, the old house assures me of that. It has given me a few good friends and enough good memories to live by. And now, as dawn slowly approaches, it hums me a lullaby. I listen as its walls and floorboards sing me a quiet chorus. I close my eyes and dream of the new adventures ahead.

Tonight I sleep.

My Life as a Photographer

Many people have asked me about my photography projects and how it all started. So, I've decided to blog about it,

To many who know me, I've always been a photographer. In fact, before I was a photographer before I became an editor. When I was in college eons ago, one of my roommates had this old camera he was about to throw away. It was a 1950's film camera, all manual without any need for batteries. According to my roommate, it was broken. Curious, I asked for it so I could play with it.

I remember spending the entire night taking the camera apart and fixing it, polishing it, and cleaning out the dust and the mirror inside. When all was done, I noticed that the camera, though old, was not out of order; it was in perfect condition. The only problem was no one knew how to use it. So, I decided to learn.

Fast forward to a week later, I was snapping pictures of people, friends, and family. I did not have a flash component, so I used a lot of ISO, aperture, and speed compensation. Using a film camera required loads of skills, because there was no way of previewing my images before I snapped them. I had to really understand how photography worked, knowing exactly how my images would look before I even took them. I had to be in control. Before long, I was taking model portfolios for model friends and exploring the world of fashion/editorial photography. At one point, I sought the mentorship of Stan Malinowski, a renowned fashion photographer in the '80s. With his help and advice, I perfected my photography skills and started taking wedding and engagement pictures as side projects. Photography was how I supported my family while pursuing my graduate degree.

Today, as executive editor for a publishing house, I spend most of my time reading manuscripts and doing editorial work. But I always find the time to work on side photography projects. Once in a while, I'll get a call for a shoot I can't resist. Nothing excites me more than to be on set with a camera in hand, framing some of the most beautiful faces in the world.

So, without much ado, I'm going to take you through some of my latest projects:

The two B/W portraits above were part of a senior picture shoot I did of a friend. We did the shoot in my garage studio with a FujiFilm point-and-shoot camera and a single continuous light. Since I was using a point-and-shoot camera, continuous light was the best way to go to give the camera sensor the longest light exposure. Using an ISO 800 and an aperture of f/4.5, I was able to achieve a Banana Republic look for my subject. 

This fashion shoot above was one of my favorites. This time, I was using a DSLR camera. The sun was setting behind, giving the subject a natural warm ambient light. With the sun as backlight, I had to make sure the aperture and exposure was correct. I used a fill flash and an aperture of f/4.5, speed of 1/125, and ISO 100 to take this shot.

Shooting in the open is not always the easiest. You have to deal with whatever you have. In the case above, I positioned the model in a shaded area and had one of my assistants block additional light from above with a reflector to prevent unwanted shadows on the face. Bear in mind, this is a fashion shoot, and the face and clothing must be perfect. Prior to the shoot, we applied a simple makeup on the model's face with bronzer on the jawline and nose bridge to accentuate his face. We also applied a bronze shimmer cream on his eyelids as well. For men, the lip color should always be magenta-ish. No reds, no pinks. I used a reflector to light his face and a fill flash to give him some highlights and catchlight in his eyes. The result is quite impressive, I must say.

The shot above was taken in one of the ugliest places in Smithfield, Utah. It was cold and the color was drab. In such conditions, the model's skin will be covered with goosebumps. So, we had the model smother herself with vaseline and lotion. Luckily, the sky was a little on the dramatic side, and I was able to use it as a background, creating a dramatic scene for the shot. For this shot, I did not use any flash, just a reflector to capture minimum highlights on the model's skin. I wanted the model to look like an African warrior queen, but on the fashion side of things. 

Again, this shot was taken at a not-so-interesting location. But by juxtaposing the dramatic skies with the dry weeds, I was able to get a very earthy feel for this shot and make it work. Using only a reflector, I made sure I had enough light to give her dress a sheen, but not enough to give her the punch. I refrained from using a fill flash on this shot because that will take away the natural feel of the frame. 

So there. Those are just a few of my latest projects. I'll have more to showcase in the next few weeks. Please feel free to comment below and tell me what you think of my images. I usually only reserve no more than two photography projects in a month, so if you are interested in booking me, let me know early. 

Thanks for stopping by. Until next time, smile big. You never know who's holding the camera :)

The Christmas Tree

So, I'm starting to blog again after a few weeks of hiatus, more like a few months. I have my reasons. As executive editor in a young—and thriving—house, my responsibilities are high and nigh. Everything seems to be piling up and needing immediate attention. Not like I've never been through this before—and not like I am complaining either—but it's been crazy. Awesome crazy. But hey, I love, love, love my job, and I couldn't wish for anything more.

That said, let's move on to the topic at hand: how do we survive the holidays when we can't afford much else? I was thinking about this quite a bit lately after hearing about my acquaintances and friends who weren't doing so well this holiday season. Between being laid off and struggling with limited finance, life can be hard. So, I decide to take you back to the days when I started out as a newly married man with less than fifty bucks in my bank and a part-time job, trying to raise my young family—my wife was pregnant—and brave Christmas at the same time. And hopefully I make sense at all.

This was, oh, many years back, but I can still remember those days. It was poverty at its best. My wife and I rented a small basement of an old mortuary, paid a small rent, and lived our days believing that life could get better; we had each other, and for the most part, life was simple and good. We shopped at thrift stores, baked pies to raise funds for our utility bills, and dreamed big. Although we did not have much, we were happy. (Only recently did I actually tell my wife that the basement we lived in used to be the exact place where bodies were embalmed and prepped for viewing. As expected, she was glad I did not mention it to her then.)

One particular night, about a week before Christmas, I remember sitting in our low-ceiling living room, wondering how Christmas was going to be. We had no gifts, no lights, no Christmas tree. We did not even dare to mention Christmas to anyone lest we were asked to attend a Christmas party for which we could not afford any white elephant gifts. We invited no one to our little basement apartment, and decided to spend the holidays watching TV and putting together a one-thousand-piece-jigsaw puzzle we received as a gift the year before; that should keep us busy. And with the baby coming in a few months, we were determined to save some extra cash for baby clothes and diapers. Since our parents were not available at that time, we had to plan how to do everything when the baby arrived—from our schedules to finances to milk powder, and such. Yes, life turned a little hectic and complex suddenly, especially in my head.

But no one should feel that gloomy when there was so much to hope for. I thought of my unborn son and all the fun things we were going to do together. I thought of baking him birthday cakes and going out on picnics together. Suddenly, everything felt okay. Things would turn out well. I'd graduate, get a job, and work toward something big for my family. And that was when I ran out to my car and drove straight to Walmart with twenty dollars in my wallet.

When my wife returned from her part-time job, our apartment was dark—I had switched off all the lights in the house . . . except for the one source of light I had anticipated for her to see. Right at the end of the living room on a small table in a corner was a miniature Christmas tree only ten inches tall; it stood there humbly covered with about twenty small lights and a star on its top. My wife's face lit up, and she cried. It was a beautiful surprise, indeed. Right at that moment, she felt a soft kick in her womb, and we both knew life, with all of its challenges, was worth everything we went through. It was not the Christmas tree that taught us that, but the fact that we had each other to share it with.

Today, that miniature tree had grown into a ten-foot high tree with ornaments we've accumulated through the years; every one of them reminded us of every year we celebrated Christmas together, each year better than the one before.

To everyone out there who is going through difficult times, you're not alone. And to those of you who are able, reach out your hand and give. It's not the money we ask; oftentimes, it's a smile and the kind and honest words of a friend that will take us through the darker moments of our lives.

So, how do we survive the holidays when we can't afford much else? By being that miniature Christmas tree. By being that light.

My Halloween Birthday

Okay, I've got to be frank, I was born ___ years ago this day to quite an abnormal circumstance. I was a Halloween baby found in a dumpster by my earth parent. My mom told me once that she'd heard me crying in a back lane somewhere in Asia covered in cabbage and old newspaper. Out of pity and compassion, she immediately picked me up without a second thought, lifted me up, and with a victorious voice, cried, "You are now my son, and your name will be Mos—I mean, Christopher Loke!" Now, don't ask me why my mom was in a back lane somewhere in Asia, or how I came about, but know that this story has never swayed.

My mom only spewed out things about my past when she was mad at me. "Christopher Yolanda Cornelius Loke the Sixteenth," she'd scream, "clean up your pigsty of a room right now or I swear to all that is good and holy I will make you wish you were never born!" And always, without missing a beat, she'd continue, "But,"—a long sigh—"upon second thought, you were never born like all the other babies, anyway. Have I ever told you how I picked you up from a dumpster?" With that, she'd start telling me the story of how I was "found" for the umpteenth time.

And then when I was fifteen, my mom came into my room one evening wanting to engage me in a somber conversation. "It's time we have the talk," she said.

"You mean the birds and the bees?"

"No, silly. It's about your origin."

"My origin?" I exclaimed. Is this really happening? I thought. As if I was from a galaxy far, far away, right?

"Yes, it's about time I tell you the truth," my mom continued, mouth pursed. "You were not found in a dumpster. There, I said it!"

Phew, what a relief. For the longest time, I'd been having nightmares about my birth parents being mutated slugs scavenging the backstreets of the city for garbage as food, and I was a by product of their . . . ugh, never mind.

So, I sat there staring at the walls and then back at my mom before giving her the most courteous smile I'd ever given. "Mom, I'm so happy you cleared that up."

She contemplated for a while before saying, "I am your real mom, and I gave birth to you." With that, she stood and exited the room along with her customary winks and smiles and lots of teeth. I've always thought my mom to be a little on the weird side, but never paid too much attention to it. But today, something clicked.

My mom had left a subtle imprint on my bed—a light greenish slime I'd never noticed before—and I couldn't help but wonder what all this meant. Suddenly, as if I had struck Eureka, memories of things flashed before my mind—I could smell the cabbage and the sour milk. And I loved it. My childhood resurfaced, and I remembered everything, all the way to the day I was born.

The first day of my life was spent writhing in compost in a back alley somewhere in Asia. I was in heaven—there was so much to eat. I looked up and saw my parents, two very distinct shapes staring down at me with round protruding eyes, wet, green, and smiling.

I shuddered at my own memory and looked down to see a trail of green slime leading to where I sat. I am not in Kansas anymore, I thought. My nightmare is real after all . . .

Anyway, I digress. And for whatever that's worth, Happy Halloween. Boo!

(Yes, my name is actually Christopher Y. C. Loke, if you should wonder.)

Hawaiian Author Makes a Splash in the Literary Scene

First of all, let me just say, Brrr! What a week. First, it was the hail, then came the sleet, and now a snowstorm. Great! But I love it. As a lover of spooky stuff, I am enjoying this gloomy weather. And if you are hating this cold and depressing weather, don't fret, for I'm bringing you sunshine all the way from Hawaii!

Yes, I'd like to welcome the fabulous Lehua Parker, whose debut middle-grade novel, ONE BOY, NO WATER, was released last month to awesome reviews. So, how about a round of applause for Ms. Parker!

Aloha, Chris! Thanks for letting me drop by to answer a few of your questions about my MG/YA novel One Boy, No Water, book one in the Niuhi Shark Saga. It’s available from Barnes & Noble and Amazon in hardback, trade paperback, and ebook.

Briefly, tell us about your debut novel, One Boy, No Water.

One Boy, No Water is the first book in the Niuhi Shark Saga, a five book series for MG/YA readers set in modern Hawaii. It tells the story of Zader, a boy who was found abandoned as an infant and adopted by a local family. On the surface One Boy, No Water is about Zader growing up and learning that he can’t run away from trouble; like a series of ocean waves, he has to face his problems head on, problems like staying connected with his surf crazed brother, getting into an elite private school, and dealing with a couple of bullies who’ve painted a target on his back.

While these kinds of problems are ordinary, Zader himself is not. He has unusual allergies to things like water, rare meat, and seafood. He also dreams about a girl and the fantastic adventures they have together, and also about a scary man with too many teeth who seems to stalk them. Underneath the surface is another world that Zader has to navigate—and survive—as he discovers who he really is, how he defines family, and ultimately decides how he will live his life.

In a few sentences, tell us about your journey as a debut author so far.

As I write this, the whole process from roughly plotting the series, selling the concept, writing the first book, working with an illustrator, going through editorial review, ARC distribution, building a marketing campaign, and publication has taken ten months. That’s not typical, I know, particularly for a debut author. Ten months sounds like a whirlwind, but the reality was punctuated bursts of activity surrounding the book followed by long periods of waiting, during which I started building a social media platform and developing a website chock-full of supporting material for fans to discover after publication. The amount of time I’ve spent social networking and on the website easily eclipses the time spent on the book itself by a factor of 10:1. Now that One Boy, No Water has officially published, I’m doing bookstore signings, a blog tour, and gearing up for school visits in late winter/spring. I’m also finishing book two, One Shark, No Swim, for release in August 2013.

One Boy, No Water  is quite an unconventional novel with a huge part of the narrative written in modified Hawaiian pidgin. How do you successfully market such a unique book to mainstream readers in America? And what are the reactions so far among Hawaiian readers?

You have to start with a compelling story, one that captures and engages readers unfamiliar with Hawaiian Pidgin or island culture to the point where they’re willing to work a little harder to read it. It’s important to provide a context for unfamiliar words, so even if the reader doesn’t exactly know what something means, the gist is pretty clear. Kids do this naturally; it’s how they learn new vocabulary and extend their reading skills. For those who really want to know the definition of a word, I wrote a glossary for the back of the book.

Beyond providing context and a glossary, it can be challenging to market something so Hawaiian-style to a mainstream audience. Here too, I think the quality of the story has to carry the day. Being a fish out of water, creating your own definition of family, and eventually choosing the kind of life you want to live are universal young adult themes. I trust my audience to recognize the underpinnings of the story and simply try to tell it in the most genuine way possible, consciously choosing details that I think will either resonate with familiarity or jar the reader into making new connections.

From reviews, readers who are familiar with island culture find it authentic, funny, compelling, and obviously get more of the inside jokes and foreshadowing than those who have never lived in Hawaii. I say lived, because vacation Hawaii and everyday Hawaii might as well be on different planets for all they really have in common. Thankfully, reviews from mainstream readers have also been very positive, some even going so far as to say they feel like they’ve been to Hawaii for the first time.

What are your expectations and goals for One Boy, No Water and how do you plan to achieve them?

Over time and with more experience, my expectations and goals for the series have changed. Right now, newly published as a debut author, I’m happy if a book signing earns more than I spent on other books while in the store, a far cry from my original hope of paying the kids’ college tuition or for a nifty family vacation. I’ve learned that professional marketing campaigns and leveraged distribution channels are paramount for significant sales, no matter how well something is written. Without them, there’s always the promise of word of mouth, social media marketing, a book award, a positive review by a prestigious industry powerhouse, a serendipitous something that happens which raises awareness and drives sales, but these are long, slow processes, and unlike The Hunger Games, the odds are never in your favor. While I will continue to do whatever I can to make the Niuhi Shark Saga successful, I’ve found I’ve had to refocus on enjoying the journey and less on measures of financial or literary success.

Thank you so much, Lehua, for dropping by. It's always great to hear from authors who are actually doing it. 

ONE BOY, NO WATER is available through all major online booksellers and eBook readers. You can always order it from your nearest bookstores if they don't already carry it. For more information about ONE BOY, NO WATER, please visit the official site at oneboynowater.jollyfishpress.com. 

A Little About Lehua Parker
Lehua Parker is originally from Hawaii and a graduate of The Kamehameha Schools and Brigham Young University. So far she has been a live television director, a school teacher, a courseware manager, an instructional designer, a sports coach, a theater critic, a SCUBA instructor, a poet, a web designer, a mother, and a wife. Her debut novel, One Boy, No Water is the first book in her MG/YA series the Niuhi Shark Saga. Book 2: One Shark, No Swim will be available in August 2013. She currently lives in Utah with her husband, two children, three cats, two dogs, six horses, and assorted chickens. During the snowy Utah winters she dreams about the beach.


Facebook author page: www.facebook.com/LehuaParker
Blog: www.LehuaParker.com
Twitter: @LehuaParker
Goodreads: Lehua Parker

Write the Story That Matters

So, I've been busy lately among other things, but when I was approached to guest blog for The Mormon Letters, I was delighted. I'd always wanted to write about the LDS writers dilemma, and I thought this was the perfect opportunity.

So, without much ado, here's the link. Read and comment. Thank you!

I Heart Authors

As you already know, I just spent the weekend at Park City, Utah, attending the LUW Annual Roundup, and let me tell ya, I loved it. I got to meet with amazing authors who love what they do. I was impressed with their energy and passion. The entire roundup reminded me of an international airport where people have a clear idea of where they are going, and they are about ready to hop on the next available flight, eager and excited.

But the most amazing thing is that both traditionally and self-published authors were there to present, mingle, and network with each other without prejudice. They were there to support each other in honing their craft and in becoming successful authors, which was what I admired most. After all, when all of these labels are stripped from us, we are all equally the same--authors of books. And that's what's most important.

During my pitch sessions at the event, I'd had the opportunity to meet with some of the most passionate, persistent, and talented craftsmen in the writers community. And after visiting with them, I return to my office here in Provo with a greater sense of appreciation for my job. So, to writers all over the world, I salute you; you inspire me.

You've made my job a spectacular one, and I thank you for it.

The True Meaning of Happiness

Lately, I made a conscious effort to pay attention to the people around me in order for me to understand what made them happy or sad. I was particularly interested in their facial expressions, their topics of conversation, and their overall mood--was there a smile, a droop of the brow, or a reminiscing gaze. Those were but a few of the things I looked for in everyone I talked to and saw.

My finding, though inconclusive (since I was not performing a professional research), suggested to me that happiness had much to do with the material possession of the individual. In other words, our happiness could very well be directly correlated with how much money we earn or have.

People who smiled more often were those who had little or no financial worries. Those who furrowed were mostly from people who were trying their best to make ends meet. Occasionally they would feign a smile for their children or at church, but the truth was, behind closed doors, they were pulling their hair trying to figure out how to pay the next bill and feed the kids.

But that was mere observation, nothing more. So, I decided to look into my past. I flipped open my photo albums and studied every one of my pictures. I wanted to see my own facial expressions during the course of my life. Here's what I found:

1. During my college years when I was poorest, I looked skinny and malnutrition. I smiled but my eyes seemed to wander elsewhere. I appeared to be hollow, figuratively. 
2. Then I got married, things went well because my wife became my anchor. My smiles turned into laughter, open-mouthed, teeth glaring. I looked a little healthier, my hair was full and my eyes bright. 
3. But the financial problems did not go away. The honeymoon period was over, we spent all of our wedding gifts (monetary ones), and reality sank in. My photos now showed a more tired version of me, always holding a baby or a feeding bottle. My eyes wondered a little more now--off camera somewhere my little boy was probably trying to destroy the kitchen or the Christmas tree. The late nights of thesis-writing and a full-time job with minimum wage were quite apparent in my expression. The bags under the eyes seemed a little more obvious, even under the bright flashlight.
4. Then I graduated and got a job in the publishing industry. Life took a new turn, and we were able to pay more of our bills and move to a better apartment--the previous one being the basement of a funeral house. My pictures were now usually at dinner settings around food or some kind of celebration. The smiles were brighter and the eyes had a glint of shimmer. I also noticed that there were more friends in my photos, some I could not even remember their names. But friends nonetheless. I was also spotting more colors in my attire.
5. Then I got promoted to a better position, which meant more pay. Oh, talk about the backdrop of my photos. Now they were either taken in Vegas or somewhere in California where roller coasters and big Mickey Mouse signs appeared in neon and glitter. My arms were now more fluid in movement, oftentimes frozen amid some kind of action. My mouth appeared to be talking more, and there was a sure sense of confidence and glow in my expressions--although many close to me might argue that the glow was actually from my greasy forehead. But no matter, the change in expression and colors and settings was obvious enough.
6. I can proudly conclude that financial stability influences, one way or another, the way we think, talk, and live. Our wealth--or the lack of it--has a huge bearing on our mood and emotion. 

For all that I know, I am happiest when I have money--the extra cash to take the family out for a movie, to buy a few good friends dinner, and to sleep soundly at night without having to worry about the next bill. Some may regard their religion or spirituality as the main source of their happiness; I do not contest that. To each its own.

But to me, it is definitely money. With money, I can take care of the people I love--my family and close friends; I can reach out to the poor and buy a bum a drink. With money, I can pay for my son's piano and swimming lessons and eventually his college tuition, I can buy pretty clothes for my wife and take everyone on an awesome road trip. I can afford to turn on my A/C or my heater a bit longer, I can make sure the next meal isn't a hit-and-miss. With money I can breathe a little better and smile a little broader.

But the most important thing about money is that it has the power to put a genuine smile on someone's face--whether it is a smile of relief or of contentment--and more often than not, those smiles are all I need to be happy.

Guest Blogger Jennifer Griffith Dissects the Comedic Elements in Her Latest Novel in One Serving

Okay, I have to admit, I was half-kidding when I told Griffith what I'd like her to blog about. Though the mere idea of it was lengthy, it was something I'd always wanted to read or write about when I was in graduate school, but didn't. 

So, acting on sheer whim, I pulled this dissertation title off the top of my head when her publicist asked if she could guest-blog on my site, half-elated that I'd finally found a great author to write on the subject—Griffith's latest novel BIG IN JAPAN is one of the funniest and most heart-warming books I've read so far, and I was thinking to myself, who's more fit to write on the subject than her. But at the same time, I fear that she might pass out upon learning about her topic. Thank goodness she didn't. On the contrary, she braved it so well that I was very impressed. 

Griffith is one of the most brilliant and funny writers of our decade. Her narrative is simply clever, humorous, and filled with l'amour. It's definitely one book worth talking about. Women will love it, girls will swoon, and men will learn a thing or two about love.

So, without much ado, let's give our very talented Ms. Jennifer Griffith a big round of applause. Take it away, Jennifer!

---

Thanks so much for letting me guest-write on this great blog, Christopher. It’s an honor.

First, I have to say that when Chris asked me to blog, he gave me the following topic: “Juxtaposing Dramatic Sequences with Comedic Narrative Appropriately through Effective Pacing and Character Mapping.”

No, really.

It scared me too, and at first I thought it was a joke, like someone assumed I had somehow morphed into a different person and was being given an assignment in the graduate level courses in the English Department.

But he wasn’t kidding.

BEYOND THE SALAD BAR
So, I’ve been trying to pick away at this for about a month, break it down in my mind.

Unfortunately, my mind keeps wandering to its lowest common denominator, the place it always seems to go when things get too complex: food.

As it floats through my mind, this topic seems to always trigger … The Sizzler. Of all things! You know, that steak restaurant with the salad bar bigger than my living room by a factor of five. And you’d think I might be making some kind of analogy here between making a great plot just like piling on the fixings for a perfect salad. But that would be for someone who eats healthy food.

Not me.

I’m all about the Malibu Chicken. If you haven’t tried it, turn on your Smartie Phone and locate the Sizzler nearest you and get your hungry gut down there and order it. It’s a breaded chicken patty with a slice of ham and a slice of Swiss cheese melted on top. And as delicious as it is on its own, hot and juicy with the saltiness of the ham and the melting tang of the aged Swiss, the thing that makes it the ultimate delicious treat is the dipping sauce, some kind of mustardy creamy frothy heaven that comes in a 2-tablespoon cup on the side and makes me wish it came in a one-cup bowl, and keep that cheesy Texas toast coming. (Because it serves as a great dip for the toast, too.)

The great thing about this meal is the alternating flavors in the mouth. There’s the crisp chicken, the meat of the meal, with great other meat added atop it.

Ready for the analogy? That’s the PLOT and the strong SUBPLOTS that give the reader the satisfaction only a protein-strong meal can give.

The next flavor is the tangy cheese. That’d be the CONFLICTS. They give depth to the plot, a contrast and bring out the best of the PLOT.

Then there’s that frothy, cool sauce on the side. It’s the joy of the meal. That’d be the humor that keeps the whole thing delightful.

MALIBU CHICKEN IN A BOOK
In my new release, BIG IN JAPAN, I tried to make the perfect Malibu Chicken. (Although in Japanese it might be pronounced mah-ree-boo chik-ken.)

THE MEAT OF THE STORY
The big chicken patty is Buck Cooper, a 400-plus pound Texan good-guy with a lame job and a lame life and no girl, who goes to Japan and accidentally falls into a new life in the sumo arena. The changes he undergoes, from the beginning where he’s floundering and totally invisible in his cocoon of fat to the end of the story—this is the character-mapping part, btw—are the crispy, filling chicken in the Malibu Chicken.

THE HAMMY SUBPLOTS
The slice of ham would be the subplot—Buck’s inexorable attraction to a girl who is waaaaaay out of his league. Romance isn’t the main bulk of the menu, but it adds such good flavor. (Ham is a close cousin to bacon, and bacon makes everything better.) I tried to craft the romantic elements so they coincide with Buck’s character growth, and bring the strengths of the heroine out little by little.

SAY CHEESE
Now, for the cheese. That’s the conflict in the story. It goes together with the chicken and forms “dramatic sequences.” For Buck, it’s his size at first. Being the elephant in the room that nobody notices has always been his handicap. But in Japan, everything changes. He’s got conflicts like he never faced before—and they pile up—higher than his 6’6” sumo topknot on the crown of his head. It’s the tanginess and the bite that gives it the flavor of something beyond a Chicken McNugget. Sumo has a darker side (most pro sports do, I’d imagine), and Buck must battle his way through—for his very life depends on it.

FROTHY JOY
Now, for my favorite thing: the frothy sauce of happiness on the side. I have the sauce on every single bite of the Malibu. And on the toast. And sometimes I ask for an extra container because it’s just so fabulous.

The sauce is the funny stuff, the light and cool part of the book, the thing that makes the story joyful, a delight to read. Of course, as an author I plunked in stories I thought were funny for Buck’s experience in Japan—like going up to the vending machines and not finding candy bars, but all manner of other things. Not everyone is going to find the same things super funny, but I figured if I threw them in really often (as though I tried to put them on every bite), eventually it would entertain some reader somewhere.

For me, it was important to liberally lace the story with “funny,” since my own experience in Japan had so many humorous things I wanted to fictionalize and share with readers someday—er, now, I guess, since BIG IN JAPAN is now, at LONG LAST!!!, in print, thanks to the incredible support and enthusiasm of the good folks over at Jolly Fish Press (bless their hearts!)

A SATISFYING MEAL THAT’S MORE THAN CHEESY CHICKEN
I have to say, it’s been great getting feedback on the story since it’s been in my head and my computer for so long. Reaction has been so fun to see—some readers saying it’s an action story, others resonating with the romance, others with the characters, others with the culture or the exotic sport, and still others with the humor. Now that I’ve broken down Chris’s assignment SO academically (thanks to those gourmet chefs at the local Sizzler!), I can see he’s right—that there’s got to be a juxtaposition of the dramatic sequences and funny stuff. And don’t forget the romance! Otherwise you’ve just got cheesy chicken.

---

So there you have it, Griffith's clever dissertation written alongside her favorite dish! BIG IN JAPAN is now available where books and ebooks are sold. 

Griffith is currently touring and promoting her latest book. For more information on her events and where to buy her book, please visit her official book site at http://biginjapan.jollyfishpress.com.

The Power of Failure

Failure. It's a word that I am quite familiar with. As much as I want to think I've done wonderful things, I'm still forced to face its shadows every day. Naturally, as human, I fear the moment I lose everything I have, falling back to square one. Failing. I've failed before--a million times--and yet, no matter how bad the situation was, no matter how I thought I'd never succeed again or climb out of the hole I was in, I am still here doing everything I love doing. In retrospect, failing has made me stronger, not just because I learn and move on, but because I know it is an inevitable process, and as part of the natural order of the universe, I am made to be resilient and survive. It's evolution at its best. It's the survival of the fittest. And every time I fall, I learn yet another way to rise, each time higher than the past.

So, if failing is something we can conquer and overcome as humans, why do we fear it so much? Why do we not trust in ourselves that we will succeed? Because we live in a society where every part of us is measured against something else. And because when everyone starts measuring, we tend to look at the differences between us instead of our similarities. Only by identifying ourselves with each other through everything that connects us as humans instead of focusing on everything that divides us can we experience the miracles of life. When we know we are not alone, the journey becomes more palatable, more meaningful, and we become more determined to reach our destination no matter the difficulty. Because there is hope.

I've always hated roller coasters. I'm afraid of heights. I'm afraid of the uncertainty of death. I fear the unexpected. Whenever I stand in front of a roller coaster ride, I tremble; my first reaction is to run no matter what, even if the ride is free and the carriage is made of gold. But when a group of friends who've ridden the ride many times before is there, I feel much better. The fear is still there, but it is not as elevated. Because my friends have been on those rides, and they've all survived, and they are willing to ride with me, to give me the assurance that everything will be fine. Because of that, I am more daring to take the first step. I scream as the roller coaster plummets and rises, but as I turn around to see my friends's faces all alit with the same thrill, I smile. The fact that they are next to me going through everything I am going through makes the ride a magical, unforgettable one.

So, the next time we know of someone who is falling, let us each be that person to reach out and say, "I've been through the same thing. You're not alone in this. I'll show you." We may not all fall together, but we can surely all rise together.

Such is the beauty of life.

The Power of Persuasion

If you already have a book published, you might have already asked this question: How do I get people to buy my books? The answer is simple: Word of mouth!

It really does't matter if you are self-published or otherwise, the process of selling a book is still the same--you need to talk about your book in order for people to start buying it. That's why getting reviews from professional reviewers is one very important step before your book is released. Traditional houses invest a lot of money in the publicity and marketing efforts of any single title they acquire. They print posters, design awesome covers, schedule events, and hire a group of people to tweet and talk about your book online. On top of that, these publishers have a list of reviewers--from Publishers Weekly to New York Times--to whom they send advance reading copies (ARCs) three to six months prior to the book's publication date. All these efforts are set in place for one specific reason: to generate lots of buzz and talk about the book. Because the pundits know what makes a book a bestseller: the power of persuasion.

No matter how you see it, when readers discuss your book, talk about it, rave about it, love it, hate it, blog about it, etc., they are actually indirectly persuading people to agree with their points of view and stand on their side. This, in turn, draws attention to your book, and when people are curious, they usually want a copy for themselves. The process of persuading people to check out your book doesn't have to be argumentative or remotely persuasive. All you need to do is the following:

CREATE A REASON TO TALK ABOUT YOUR BOOK

Creating a buzz is not just announcing your book. It's creating a discussion between you and your readers regarding the issues in your book. If you are writing about dragons and warlords, then you may want to talk about how dragons are actually mythical creatures based on real animals, and how man's need for deity and legends define the dragons we know of today. Of course, I am just giving one example of the many topics you can discuss. Touch on social issues. It is always a good idea to tie the themes of your book to contemporary issues and subjects. Once you spark a conversation, the crowd will come. 

THANK AND ENCOURAGE

One other way to have people talk about your book is to thank everyone who's read your book and encourage them to share it with others. When you have a good number of followers, you'd be surprised how words can spread. The Hunger Games actually sat on the shelf for about a year before things started to warm up. And it didn't really pick up until a small group of fans started talking about it. No, they didn't just talk about it, they were persuading their classmates and families that it was the best book in the world. And that was how the book went on to becoming a NYT bestselling sensation.

TALK ABOUT YOURSELF

The shameless self-promoter (that all writers should be), must not only talk about his book, but also himself. Switch subjects once in a while and start a conversation about how you fell into the drain while texting the other day. Get people to love you for who you are. Be personable and don't build a wall of hoity-toity superficiality just because you are an author. Yes, be professional, but at the same time, be you. Readers love to connect, and they love to be connected. And once you find that connection, you'd be surprised how many people will go out and buy your book just because they love you first. 

One thing every author needs to know when it comes to the power of persuasion is this: it is not you who holds court, but your readers. The power of persuasion does not come from you, but from the people who've read and participated in your discussions. They are the ones who will ultimately be your salesmen. All you need to do is to write an awesome book and start a dialogue. And if you do it right, your book will be selling like hotcakes!

Why Should Writers Read?

This week, I guest blogged on author Jenniffer Wardell's humorous and witty blog about the importance of reading for all writers big and small. Without much ado, I'm going to direct traffic over to her blog so you may comment on my article. Click here for the link.

I hope you enjoy it!

Concerning Blog Design and Aesthetics

I know, I know. You're probably wondering why I am writing about design. Because though we may be writers, we still need to appeal to the public audience. A book needs a great cover to attract its readers, so does a blog. Yes, I want to touch on the subject of designing your blog platform.

First of all, we must understand the purpose of a blog. You probably already know the answer: Your blog is a publicity platform for you. It's free. It gives you infinite exposure on the world wide web. It is where you start "spreading the word." But before all that, there must first be "the word." That's right, you must first start writing about things that matter. I'll reserve the topic of what to blog about for next time, but today, I want to particularly talk about the look and feel of your blog. Yes, today I am all about superficiality. What your blog looks like is as important as the things you blog about.

Like a book, your blog needs to be easy to read. After all, the main purpose of a blog is to be read. If you stifle that purpose, you will have failed in providing your reader with the utmost experience in blog-reading. Though this may seem a little trifle to some, I think it is worth the discussion.

COLORS
The first things we see when we open our eyes as babies are colors. Our vision is blurry, our cognitive senses muffled. But one thing we can recognize is color. We may not know what it is, but we see it--the blurry bleed of colors all across our eyes. And as we grow older, we start to make use of the colors we learn to love. We start to match our clothes according to colors. We love coloring books, we plan our weddings based on colors. Yes, colors are very important. So, when you design your blog, let the first thing you do be color-matching.

Like color matching your clothes, you must know what works and what doesn't. While color-matching is essentially a subjective matter, you must now see things from your readers's perspectives. After all, they are your audience, without which your blog will have no purpose, unless you write solitarily for yourself.

Unlike printed matter on which the color and saturation of a certain color is determined by the amount of ink used and brightness of the paper, the way your blog looks depends heavily on computer screens. And since we all know very well that not all computer screens are created the same--some are dimmer, other way too bright--depending on user preference, it is important that you pick colors that read well across all screens and all levels of brightness. While all the elements around your blog post can be complimentary in color, the actual part where the text is must have a certain level of contrast. This is where the golden rule of color contrast comes in.

THE GOLDEN RULE OF COLOR CONTRAST
The rule of color contrast is simple: only use font colors that will produce a mid-level contrast against dark colored backgrounds instead of a stark color contrast. Example: If you have a black or dark background (mostly fantasy blogs and such), never use a white or a bright colored font. Believe it or not, it hurts the eyes just after the first sentence. Just know this: if your background is very dark, then you must avoid font colors like white, red, yellow, and anything primary and bright. Instead, you will want to use light gray and pastels as your font colors. But my advice is to keep it simple, like a book. Keep it light or warm gray. Your readers will thank you for it.

Now the rule is a little different when it comes to light or bright backgrounds. This is the time to use a higher-level of contrast. A white background goes very well with a black font. However, a dark gray works better. Whatever color you choose for the font, make sure you don't bring the contrast all the way to the max. Bring it down a few notches until it is comfortable for your eyes. And if it passes your comfort reading level, then it should be sufficient for your readers. White colored backgrounds are always easier to work with than dark colored ones.

LAYOUT
Let's talk about layout for a second. While there is no fixed rule, my advice is to keep it simple, yet elegant. Don't use a busy layout with moving GIFs and images that go everywhere on your blog. While it is important to advertise your book cover, it is also as important to not over clutter. Use only elements from your cover art that help connect a universal theme for your blog instead of using every element there is. Make sure the elements don't distract from the post itself. And make sure all of the navigation fonts on your blog is clear and readable. For me, simplicity is the best policy.

SUBSCRIBING VIA EMAIL

One thing I really love about Blogger is that it allows readers to subscribe via email. Make sure you add that to your blog (if you use Blogger, that is) by adding the gadget on your layout settings. Once that is done, place it on the top of your blog. I've subscribed to a few blogs via that method, and I must say, it is such a pleasure to have my favorite blogs sent to my inbox every week. It is also easy to read and convenient. I often read on my smart phone, so it works extremely well for me.

COMMENTS
Comments are important on your blog. Whether they are good or bad, they do spark discussions about your blog posts. And when people are talking about them, you have done a good job. Of course, it is always advisable to only write blogs that will encourage a healthy discussion, so as not to sabotage your reputation online.

In order for us to encourage open discussions, remove all securities on the comment settings of your blog. This means no Captcha Phrases, no mandatory sign-ins, and no pre-existing accounts required. This way, you open doors to more comments and possible discussions. Yes, once in a while you will still receive some spamming, but Blogger or Wordpress should be able to catch it for you. If not, just go and delete them. After all, you should be monitoring all of the comments on your blog anyway.

THE RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
This is important as writers: Do not ever delete readers comments unless they threaten the national security of your country. And in that case, you should be reporting it to the police or FBI. Hopefully, things don't go that way. And if it does, consider that as something to add to your future book's plot line.

Never retaliate or go on the defense when you have negative comments. Always be courteous and thankful, no matter how much you hate that comment, or don't agree with it, never, ever, ever start an argument, or worse, an online fight-a-thon. Just express your thanks and act fairly as a good moderator should. You'd be surprised to see how many people will come to your defense if that ever happens.

Well, that's it, folks. I hope this post helps you in your blog design and interface. And if I've missed anything, please feel free to add. I'd love to hear your comments and how you make your blog work in terms of esthetics and functionality. Do share. Until next time, have a blast of a week!