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"A Note from Naomi" Archives
June 2009
Your First
They say that you will always remember your first. In my case, I almost forgot.
It was a tan hatchback that was absolutely no frills—yes, an AM-FM radio but no air conditioning. During its twilight years, it shook when I attempted to accelerate past sixty miles an hour—especially on inclines like the Grapevine, a highway stretch that cuts through California. As a result, speeding tickets were kept to a minimum, but I did get my share of Hollywood stop violations (no fault of the car).
It was small but still magically had enough space to transport my dorm room furnishings (lamp, rice cooker, linens, books and records, even a bicycle, but no actually furniture).
I drove it regularly to San Francisco from Los Angeles, and later to Little Tokyo from South Pasadena six days a week. Unfortunately, without a proper trunk, it was a magnet for break-ins; one time my dry cleaning was stolen a block from Skid Row. One afternoon in San Gabriel, a young teenage couple tried to carjack me, but I refused to get out of the car. I offered them all I had in my wallet—forty dollars—and that apparently was enough because they walked away from the car with the twenties in their pockets.
I didn't have an endearing name for my first like others seem to have. It was simply a Toyota Tercel, which my father had purchased for me new from the local dealer without any consultation from me or my mother.
"What do you think?" he asked, his face beaming after he drove the car into our driveway.
Tan, although my favorite color to wear at the time, wasn't my first choice for an automobile. But what could I say—this was a gift and it was new. So I naturally beamed back.
Memories of the Tercel have just recently revisited me, as my husband and I visited the Toyota USA Automobile Museum located in a nondescript one-story building in the Southern California city of Torrance. My husband, a Toyota man who has clung onto his 1987 Cressida despite the protestations of his mean wife, was the one who had first heard of the museum on a public access cable channel. The museum was created to commemorate Toyota's 50th anniversary; its first office was established in Hollywood in 1957.
I didn't know quite what to expect from a Toyota Museum in Southern California, but from the moment we arrived, employees wearing hard hats and vests as part of an emergency training session were immediately hospitable and helpful, leading us to the museum curator, Susan Sanborn. Susan herself had called and e-mailed me in response to our request to visit just a couple of days earlier. I was frankly shocked at her efficiency and the general friendliness of the other employees, who really had nothing to do with the museum itself.
Enhanced with signage and historic timelines, the exhibition space had rows of cars, much like a car dealership. Only these cars were not new, but vintage, including a 1959 Toyopet, one of the early models to be introduced to the American market. (Apparently the Japanese executives thought the word "pet" would fly in the States. It didn't.)
There were Land Cruisers, which apparently were widely used by U.S. forces in the Korean War, race cars, Priuses, Corollas, and even a couple of Cressidas. When we left, Susan generously gave me a book, "Quest for the Dawn," which documents the early origins of the Toyota Motor Company. I was later fascinated to read how a innovative man, Kiichiro Toyoda, had a vision to enter car manufacturing in the 1930s from a successful business of creating automated looms for making cloth. At the time he started, most of the cars in Japan were made in the United States.
As we drove home in my husband's Cressida (if we're lucky, it'll retire in the exhibition someday), it suddenly occurred to me that my own first had been a Toyota.
So here I publicly state and apologize, "Dear Tercel, I'm sorry. I almost forgot all about you."
Happy driving this summer,
Naomi
May 2009
Life in Translation/Transition
At one point in my life, I told my husband that I would never teach. "I'm no good at it," I explained to him.
I had tried it before—a summer intensive class in the 1990s—three hours straight. I still feel sorry for the students. It's hard to be up there and lecture for that length of time. It's probably even harder to sit there and listen to the rambling idiot—specifically me.
But since that experience, I keep finding myself in front of people—leading, facilitating, and organizing writing workshops. I like informal, impromptu environments. My mind actually works better when I can quickly respond to a piece of writing rather than plan out a detailed curriculum.
Now I find myself committed to teaching two rounds of a writing workshop, 10 sessions each. This is not an ordinary class, however. It's at a retirement home and is conducted bilingually, in both Japanese and English. Funded through an NEA grant for Creativity and Aging in America, this writing class is organized through Poets & Writers, Inc.
Out come my dusty and tattered Japanese-English dictionaries, their poor spines broken and covers torn. What is personification in Japanese? What is conflict? I take out an old copy of classic Japanese writer Natsume Soseki's Botchan in translation and go to the Little Tokyo branch library to find its mate in Japanese. Locate Banana Yoshimoto's Kitchen in both languages underneath a pile of books in our bedroom. ("Why does she call herself Banana?" one of the students asks me. One of the random questions that I must research before the next class.)
In the beginning, I feel like I'm treading water. I haven't studied Japanese literature since I was in Japan in the mid-1980s. In fact, I haven't been in Japan since that time.
But slowly, slowly as I go back and forth in my dictionaries (as well as receiving corrections in class), I find myself picking up difficult kanji (Chinese characters) again. To hear the patter of Japanese phonetics again is both soothing and nostalgic. Then as I use some Japanese American works such as Hisaye Yamamoto's Seventeen Syllables, published by a Japanese publisher in English with Japanese notes, and Toshio Mori's Yokohama, California, in both Japanese and English, something resonates with my students. I hear their stories grab hold of the five senses, incorporate an element of surprise and plot. And while conducting a class in two languages can be tedious for both teacher and students, we find our worlds—not only literary—opening up to new sounds, rhythms, emotions, and histories.
Japanese actually was probably my first language. I was born and raised in California, but my Japanese immigrant mother took me to her homeland for a summer when I was three, the prime time for early language acquisition. When I returned to Altadena, I spoke Japanese to a towheaded neighbor boy. The toddler, of course, somehow understood everything I was saying. How much can we understand one another when we really want to!
Happy writing and happy Mother's Day.
Naomi
p.s. For those interested in mystery writing, I'm also one of the co-chairs of the inaugural California Crime Writers Conference, cosponsored by the Southern California chapter of the Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime/L.A. It will be on June 13-14 at the Hilton Pasadena.
April 2009
This Victorian Age
In high school one of my favorite classic writers was Charles Dickens. There was just something fascinating about his dark themes, his vivid, sometimes even over-the-top characterizations (especially his use of names), and his complicated plots involving hidden identities and family secrets.
Recently I've been obsessing about him and his work again. PBS has been broadcasting adaptations of his novels, including "Oliver Twist," "David Copperfield," and "Little Dorritt." Dickens' young life is reflected in many of those stories. At the age of 12, his once well-to-do family had been banished to a debtor's prison while he had to work in a blacking factory pasting labels on shoe polish bottles. Over time, his family's luck changed for the better and Dickens himself enjoyed phenomenal success in his lifetime.
Contributing to his popularity as a writer was a new technology—advances in the printing process. (For a fascinating article, see this.)
Most of Dickens' novels were first released in serialized form. Working on multiple projects, he was always on deadline and apparently always met them, aside for a time when he was grieving a young relative's death.
This past month, I've also been consumed with deadlines of my own. Due to the Internet, I've noticed a rise in serial writing in general and have been touched by the trend in my own professional life. I'm currently contributing to my second serial for the Japanese American National Museum's web site, Discover Nikkei, and starting this month, will have a mystery serial, "Heist in Crown City," in the English-language weekly in Japan, Asahi Weekly.
"Heist in Crown City" is set in a high school in a seemingly idyllic town and based loosely on my own teenage experiences in the very Mayberryesque community of South Pasadena, California. What's been great fun in not only working with the editorial staff in Japan is also communicating with the illustrator, who is a Frenchman who lives in Fukuoka. He has a wonderful web site in both French and Japanese.
If you've ever lived in Japan, you'd appreciate this masterful slice of life depiction of a neighborhood sidewalk on trash day.
I can't say that my serial is anywhere close to the league of Dickens as its purpose is to entertain and help students of English, but I must say that it's been quite wonderful to figure out how "spin a yarn" over a series of 25 installments. For writing for pure entertainment's sake is not a bad goal at all.
Hope to see you at the L.A. Times Festival of Books!
Naomi
March 2009
Nature of the Beast
I've been thinking about animals these days. Not because we have them, unless you count the warubozu (bad boy) squirrels proliferating our neighborhood. But because I've been revisiting Japanese folktales that have found a way into my fiction.
The household that I grew up in did not consist of conventional storytellers. There were no long-winded tales told at the dinner table. But because I was an immigrant's kid, I was exposed to my share of Japanese folktales—more told through books than orally. It's ironic that Japan is being so criticized for whale hunting right now, because so many of these traditional stories are all about saving animals from death and cruelty. My all-time favorite, the Tongue-Cut Sparrow, is about a mean old woman who snips off a sparrow's tongue and her husband who comes to the sparrow's aid. In Urashima Taro, the protagonist fights off attackers of a sea turtle and, as a result, is transported to another world. In the Crane Wife, a young man (or old couple, depending on the version of the story) saves a beautiful white crane from being hunted.
I've been using the Crane Wife story in my presentation of my middle-grade book, 1001 Cranes, and I've discovered modern-day interpretations of the tale. There's a Portland-based band, the Decemberists, with its Crane Wife CD, and an anime available on YouTube (it's under its Japanese title, Tsuru no Ongaeshi).
These stories, of course, go beyond animal rescue. The Crane Wife, for example, is all about self-sacrifice and gratitude. This concept of martyrdom is a bit disturbing, but then most folk tales travel in uncomfortable places, especially before we prettify them.
In my search for inspiration for my next middle-grade book, I've discovered a wonderful online exhibition from my neighborhood museum, Pacific Asia Museum. It's called the Nature of the Beast and explores the depiction of animals in Japanese art from the Edo Period, with integration of modern-day representations, including manga. I've always been a fan of art from this period of time, and the museum does a fabulous job in presenting information and paintings.
Children are still listening to fairytales and folktales, thanks to teachers like my girlfriend Jane Shirk, who integrates music and crafts in teaching a multi-week class for 4-6 year olds.
We talk about Shakespeare, Poe, and others as being the classics everyone needs to read, but for me, folktales happily were my early foundation.
Happy spring.
Naomi
February 2009
Just Run
I'm doing two things that apparently a lot of Americans have embraced this year.
First of all, I'm running. A lot. Enough to hopefully finish a half-marathon within three hours and 30 minutes (can you imagine running for more than two hours?). I've done 5Ks and 10Ks years ago, but nothing this long. I'm blaming my friend Amy, a vivacious mother of three who's ran her share of marathons and half-marathons, for being my inspiration. If Amy can find time to train with two little ones under foot, I have no excuse.
What I'm learning is that there are some parallels of training for a half-marathon and writing a novel.
- It's awful when you first start out. Those first one-mile, two-mile runs are killer. Your body is not used to what you're putting it through, and neither is your creative mind when you are starting to tackle a book-length manuscript. You feel ecstatic when you first decide, but when the cold, hard reality descends, training/writing is very hard.
- It takes discipline, a little at a time. When I wrote my early drafts of my first novel, I had a very intensive full-time job. I needed to work on my manuscript daily, usually before I went into work. A little at a time, a few pages at a time. Running is the same way. The first week, 13 total miles, the next week, 15 miles, and so on.
- Once you get on a roll, it's magic. The first time I was able to run four miles without stopping, I was so encouraged. Just a few weeks earlier, I was huffing and puffing at the one-mile mark. Page after page you complete, and then before you know it, you have 100, 200 pages. Amazing.
- You need to be in community to measure your true progress. I was elated at completing four miles on my own, right? Then two days later, I ran with a group of people at a formal training for the half-marathon. Guess what? I failed miserably in the beginning. Our practice run started off with a hill and you know what, I hadn't trained on any hills. I was out of breath and my head and stomach began to ache. This was a reality check, and sometimes this can happen to you as a writer when you share your work with an instructor or a critique group. I learned that I needed to practice on inclines, and you might discover that you need to work on plot or the beginning of your novel.
- You need a cheerleader. I was struggling on this group four-mile run and you know what happened? Our "coach," a young man, stayed back to see if I was all right. He told me to rest my hands on my head to relax any cramps. Within a few minutes I was encouraged, and finished the run. In terms of writing, you need your critics (your reality check), but you also need someone knowledgeable in your corner who wants to help you.
- Sometimes you need to reassess. After training hard for a month, I've had to rethink my goal of running a trail race with Amy. This race is apparently comprised of one large hill after another. Since I'm always running towards the end of my training group and that hills are a challenge for me, I've decided to change over to the road half-marathon that finishes in the same park as the trail race. Sometimes with a manuscript you may decide that it's in the wrong genre (or "container" as I like to call it). Summer of the Big Bachi had started off as a "literary" novel and then morphed into a mystery. 1001 Cranes was first conceived as a women's novel, and then became a middle-grade book. Give yourself the freedom to change.
In terms of the second thing I've embraced, I'll elaborate in next month's note.
We have a winner for our Year of the Ox Contest: Denise Damrow, president of the Friends of Signal Hill Cultural Arts, who requested a copy of 1001 Cranes.
Thank you for participating! Keep visiting here because there may be other free book contests in the future.
Naomi
January 2009
OXOX Ox
For the Japanese, the Year of the Ox has officially started. (Most of Asia will be celebrating the new year on January 26, based on the Chinese lunar calendar.)
No resolutions here, just a few things to look forward to in 2009:
I'm currently in the middle of doing research for two possible projects—one a thriller based in Africa, where I spent three months in the 1980s, and another middle-grade book. Both will be a challenge, but I welcome the chance to grow as a writer. And there's always the development of the next two Mas Arai mysteries (#5 and #6) that are always on the back of my mind.
For you, my website visitors, I have two New Year gifts:
- A free download of my short story, "The Chirashi Covenant," which was in Megan Abbott's anthology A Hell of a Woman. Only available in January!
- A chance to win a free autographed copy of any novel (either one of the Mas Arai mysteries or 1001 Cranes) that I've written (your choice) and an additional gift to commemorate the Year of the Ox. Just e-mail me your name with the book you'd like. In the subject line of the e-mail, write YEAR OF THE OX CONTEST. Deadline is January 31. Only one winner will be chosen.
Again, Happy New Year!
Naomi
December 2008
The Great Gambaru
"'Gambaru' means 'to persevere.' To hang in there. When everything looks bleak and rough, to charge ahead anyway."
—Gramps to his granddaughter Angela in 1001 Cranes
Ever since my middle-grade book, 1001 Cranes, came out this summer, I've often read my "The Great Gambaru" chapter at my events. And what I've found is that Gramps' words often console me, the author.
The fall of 2008, marking the economic fall, will definitely be in the history books—no doubt about it. It's times like this that I remember elders who I've interviewed as an oral historian. These elders survived the Great Depression of the 1930s and also the forced removal of Japanese Americans during World War II. I recall that one interviewee told me that he declared to his priest that as a bachelor in his thirties, he definitely wouldn't be getting married because the financial situation was so bleak. In response, the priest chewed him out. How ridiculous! Does that mean that people should not get married and have children during bad economic times?
My subject took his priest's words to heart and did decide to take the risk—he got hitched. Later, he and his wife had some beautiful children. And he lived until well into his nineties with loving friends and families all around him.
I think right now is precisely when we need to bring our best. Wash our faces, wipe away the dirt on our knees, and carry on. For me as a writer, I know that just okay is not good enough. Books, like other products, have to be their shining best. I just turned in my fourth Mas Arai mystery on December 1 and one of my agents said that she thinks that it might be my strongest mystery, plot-wise. I hope that my editor feels the same way.
In addition to producing our best, I believe that this is the time to serve others. I'll be signing the Mas Arai mysteries and 1001 Cranes for the Not From the Mall Holiday Boutique, a fund-raiser for a women's shelter, Asian Pacific Women's Center, on Saturday, December 13, from 11 AM to 1 PM. It will be held at 405 N. Stoneman Ave. in Alhambra. You can also pre-order the books from this form as long as you fax or mail it in by December 11. Pick-up is available at the boutique from 10 AM to 5 PM or else it can be mailed to you.
Don't let fear overwhelm you during the holidays. We'll get through this together. Let's all gambaru!
Happy holidays from Mas and Gasa-Gasa Girl Central.
Naomi
November 2008
The Great Camp Mystery Novel
While I was on book tour last year, a couple of readers asked me if I was familiar with Black Dragon, a mystery novel that was set in Manzanar, the Japanese American World War II detention center (referred to insiders as simply "camp"). I was not.
So I went and got a used mass-market edition of the book since it's been out-of-print. It's been on my TBR (to be read) pile, which unfortunately has been growing exponentially like a sunflower on steroids.
You see, I haven't had much time to chip away on my pile because I'm currently working on the last few chapters of my fourth Mas Arai mystery (look for it in winter 2010). I'm also one of the judges of a mystery novel contest so my reading has been confined to submissions.
But I can't wait until December when I can dig into that book.
Since the time I've ordered that book, some more camp-related mysteries and novels have been or will be released soon:
Kuroshio: The Blood of Foxes by Terry Watada
I've known of Terry Watada's name through his plays and work on behalf of Japanese Canadian redress for those interned during World War II. Kuroshio is a straight-up mystery, I believe, so it's totally up my alley.
Famous Suicides of the Japanese Empire by David Mura
I took a writing class with memoirist David Mura years ago and published his poetry in The Rafu Shimpo when I was editor. Famous Suicides of the Japanese Empire is his first novel and I took forward to reading it.
Unending Nora by Julie Shigekuni
Julie Shigekuni, originally from Southern California, has been writing novels for a very long time and I can't wait to read her novel of Nisei women during the resettlement. (I've been working on a book during that same time period and I'm eager to see her representation of it.)
Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie M. Ford
This debut novel actually will be released in the beginning of next year and has received some strong buzz. Some of it takes place in the historic Panama Hotel in Seattle's International District. (Part of the hotel has been renovated into a wonderful tea and coffee house.) One of my readers told me that I should have my character Mas visit this hotel and I'm glad to see that another writer has chosen it for his setting.
Happy Reading, Happy Election Day (vote, everyone!), and Happy Thanksgiving.
Naomi
October 2008
In Love with Libraries
Do you remember the first library you stepped foot in?
I do. It was my neighborhood library in Altadena, a then new two-story building nestled in cedar trees. In my then elementary-school mind, it was otherworldly, complete with a bridge and manmade stream—a Hansel and Gretel adventure, except that instead of gingerbread cookies, I got to borrow stacks of books, a different set each week.
The next library I had a "relationship" with was the undergraduate library at Stanford, where I received my bachelor's degree. The multi-floor library was called Meyer and interesting enough, was also flanked by cedar trees. I borrowed reserved reading for my classes at Meyer and not a few times fell asleep in one of the cushy chairs upstairs. But I also served in a work-study program at Meyer. From my freshman to junior years, I worked at least ten hours a week in the Language Laboratory on the first floor. John Metcalf was my boss and he and his wife became my surrogate parents during a time wracked with occasional self-doubt. Whatever was going in my personal and academic life, it was comforting to go into the Language Laboratory and wait on people seeking reel-to-reel audio tapes on Beginning Swahili or Advanced Mandarin.
Later, in my professional life as a community journalist and then a biographer, I made frequent visits to the Franklin D. Murphy Library at the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center and UCLA's Special Collections. In Special Collections, the tools of the trade were white gloves, pencils and salmon-colored acid free paper and, of course, laptops (I didn't have one at the time). It fascinated me how we scholars lovingly studied our historic documents, delicately displayed on foam platforms like royalty.
My love affair with many libraries continued after that: Southern California Law Library in downtown Los Angeles, public libraries in places such as Watsonville, Arcadia, and Monrovia, and the wonderful branches in my hometown of Pasadena. I've come to see that libraries come in all shapes and sizes—some are public, others are private; others are high-tech with expensive computer and audio-visual equipment, others are the size of a large closet with a few bookcases. Whatever its scope and size, the intent is the same: to assist people in learning, remembering, and celebrating life.
This month I'll be participating in a special event to mark the circulation services of a new library, The Bridge: JCI Heritage Center at the Gardena Valley Japanese Cultural Institute. Books from the Murphy Library mentioned above as well as other donations will make up its 1,000 titles in English and Japanese. The English collection will consist of books related to Japan or the Japanese/Asian American experience to "provide a 'bridge' of understanding, appreciation and awareness between generations and cultures."
My event, which will feature my new middle-grade book, 1001 Cranes, set in Gardena, will be on Sunday, October 19, from 1 to 3 PM. The Bridge is located on the second floor of JCI, 1964 W. 162nd St., Gardena, CA 90247. Telephone is 310-324-6611.
I've since learned that my Hansel-and-Gretel library in Altadena will be undergoing renovations to be more ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) compliant. And that the Language Laboratory at Meyer is long gone, and so will be the library itself in the near future (it will be razed to make way for a smaller building). But with places like The Bridge being born, I have great hope that other children and adults will have an opportunity to fall in love with both books and libraries.
Naomi
September 2008
Write Now!
All published writers have had this experience: someone at a social event, wedding, or funeral approaches us and shares their great idea for a story. It's epic and high-concept (at least to the teller). When we nod and say, "Well, good luck with it," the speaker says, "No, you don't understand. I want you to write it."
A good idea is barely the seed of a good story. In writing, the most important thing is to put those ideas on paper. That is the only way we can see if the story has legs to stand on, whether we as the writers can create the authentic characters to grow from the seed. Many of us started writing when we were very young, as soon as we began to understand the magic of the written language. Others come to it much later, in early adulthood or even beyond that.
If you fall in this latter category, but still have the desire to write, don't despair. There's help out there, and the newly formed Asian American Poets and Writing group hopes to provide at least part of the solution. The group, steered by recent University of Riverside MFA graduate Ky-Phong Tran and screenwriter Koji Sakai, will be holding its inaugural writing workshops this fall in Los Angeles.
Appropriately called "Write Now!," the two-hour workshops will be held at the Japanese American National Museum, starting on the first Saturday of October and continuing for five consecutive Saturday sessions. There is a charge, at least half or even a third of the expense of comparable classes at area colleges. For more details and a registration form, see http://www.aapw-la.org/workshop.php.
There will be classes for writing the novel, poetry, and screenplay—they are open to all, no matter if you categorize yourself as Asian American or not. I'll be leading a workshop on memoir/personal writing, so if you're just getting your feet wet or desire to write about details of your life, please join us. Enrollment will be limited to five to 12 people, so this will be a cozy, intimate group. (Another reason to sign up quickly.) I'm all about emotional safety—I'm an ultimate fighter against unnecessary meanness. If fear is keeping you away from joining a writing workshop, then this is the opportunity for you to put aside fear and take a risk.
Many of us don't break out in a sweat when we write (hooray for a new air conditioner!), but writing is hard work. Yes, there are ghost writers out there, but especially if you don't have much money for this endeavor, the responsibility lies solely with you. So stop the excuses and procrastination. Life is short. Let's Write Now!
Naomi
August 2008
Origami and the Mask
August is usually the last gasp of summer, the last chance to get away, put your feet up at home or escape to the beach. But here at Gasa-Gasa Girl Central it means gearing up for not one, but two book launches!
August 12 is the official pub (publication) date for my first middle-grade book, 1001 Cranes. And to mark the birth of this book, our dedicated web site, www.1001cranesbook.com, has officially gone live. You'll get to see more photos from my childhood, a sample of what I was writing when I was in the fourth grade (!) and a picture of me sleeping at work (well, it was taken at probably 3 AM). I've also included the reasons why I wrote about origami cranes as well as a paper crane decorating contest/blog, so please e-mail me jpegs of your submissions.
Then on August 19 is the pub date of a superhero anthology, The Darker Mask, edited by Gary Phillips and Christopher Chambers. I have a short story. "Tat Master," in there illustrated by Shawn Martinbrough, and yes, it features a superhero—a Japanese female tattoo artist named Eye who has fled to Los Angeles (specifically Sawtelle for you Angelenos) to escape her abusive gangster boyfriend. It features some hand-to-hand combat, thanks to then 12-year-old Shea Matarazzo for helping me envision some of the violence. Kudos also must go to Mark Schreiber of the Japan Times who e-mailed several articles on Japanese tattoo artists and the yakuza.
My favorite description of the author and her pub date is found in Annie Lamott's superb writing book, Bird by Bird:
Finally the big day arrived and I woke up happy, embarrassed in advance by all the praise and attention that would be forthcoming. I made coffee and practiced digging my toe in the dirt, and called Pammy and a few friends to let them congratulate me. Then I waited for the phone to ring. The phone did not know its part. It sat there silent as death with a head cold. By noon the noise of it not ringing began to wear badly on my nerves.
It's all very humbling and important for an author to remember that on the day that her book is officially released, bookstores are not going to be trumpeting its arrival (unless your name is J.K. or Stephanie!). But it's still a day worth noting. So happy pub date, 1001 Cranes and "Tat Master." Hope you have a good life out there!
Naomi
July 2008
Countdown to 1001
So here in Los Angeles June gloom is officially over and temperatures have climbed past 100 degrees some days, making it hard for me to keep my summer resolution to complete most of my errands on foot.
But in this sweltering heat, I'm excited because the release of my first middle-grade book, 1001 Cranes, is only a month away.
This is how Kirkus Reviews describes it in a review back in June:
Relationships aren't easy. They are particularly difficult when you are only 12 years old, watching your parents get ready to divorce. To spare Angie, her parents send her to her grandparents, who live in a small town outside of Los Angeles. Without parents or friends, and with no real ties to this new community, Angie feels disconnected and uncertain about where her life is headed. She is put to work by her stern Grandma Michi making origami cranes for good-luck displays within the Japanese American community, but this doesn't help... it just makes her feel more disoriented. What will happen to her family? Why has her father moved out of their house? Why is Grandma Michi so stern with her, but so caring with another young girl in the neighborhood? She's grown up in an environment of "no monku" but feels there is plenty to complain about right now. Well-written and episodic, this is an easy read that seeks to explain how relationships work or don't, and to reassure readers that it is possible to survive even the worst. (Fiction. 10 & up)
I will have a website devoted to the book, www.1001cranesbook.com. The website will include a blog, which will showcase photos of custom-made origami cranes and crane displays created by you—the readers! So e-mail me jpegs of either 1001 crane displays or folded cranes decorated in unusual ways, and your photo may be featured on the blog! All those selected with receive a special prize. E-mail to bachi AT naomihirahara.com.
I'll be doing numerous events at bookstores, schools, and libraries, so check back next month. The official kickoff will be at the Japanese American National Museum's Summer Festival on the Courtyard on Saturday, August 16 at 4 PM during the Nisei Week Japanese Festival in Los Angeles' Little Tokyo. Come celebrate and fold a crane or two!
Naomi
June 2008
Kechi Fun
Something happened after I returned from New York City last month. I began to really appreciate L.A.
Not in the sense that one city is better than the other, but it hit me that L.A. has a lot to offer, especially in the area of the arts, but most of us don't really take advantage of it.
Perhaps that seed began to take root when I rode on the New York subways and saw Murakami exhibition posters all over the place. "Hey, I saw that show two times," I thought. "In L.A. Before it came to New York."
I know what you're thinking about going to museums and other artistic centers. I don't have the time. And more than that, I don't have the money.
There's a stereotype about people from Hiroshima, my roots, one generation removed. They're kechi. Cheap. They hang onto their money. When it comes to recreation, I may fall into that category. Actually, it may be more out of necessity than frugality. As we all know, writers don't have much disposable income. (Or as my husband quips, "How do single writers survive?")
I'm not advocating people be kechi in all things. If you have the money, please give generously to arts organizations or other philanthropic endeavors. They need the money. But if you don't, especially in this economic downturn, don't think that you're exempt from going to museums and plays.
Most museums in your area offer a monthly free day or evening. Look it up and log it in your personal digital assistant or kitchen calendar. Those who have a Bank of America credit card or bank account can also go to some museums, including the DeYoung Museum in San Francisco and the Los Angeles County Museum, free of charge during the first weekend of the month.
My two favorite recent kechi visits were to the Pasadena Museum of California Art and the Autry Museum in Griffith Park next to the Los Angeles Zoo.
The PMCA is a relatively new institution in Pasadena with the coolest parking lot art—commissioned graffiti. When I visited PMCA in April (their free day is the first Friday of month) their amazing show, "A Seed of Modernism: The Art Students League of Los Angeles, 1906-1953," was still on. Featured in the show were some of the muralists hired by the government as part of the New Deal's Works Progress Administration during the Great Depression. (The WPA murals I was most familiar with up to this time were those in Coit Tower in San Francisco.) Most fabulous for me were those early Issei (Japanese immigrant) artists in Southern California who continued the Art Students League's work even in Heart Mountain detention center during World War II.
In May I went to the Autry Museum to check out their "Cowboys and Presidents" exhibition because I currently doing research on Teddy Roosevelt. While there, I was finally able to experience the "All the Saints of the City of the Angels: Seeking the Soul of L.A. on Its Streets." It blew me away.
I had previously seen the marvelous catalogue that Heyday Books had created for the exhibition (the Berkeley-based publishing house also did the one for "A Seed of Modernism"), but I'd encourage those who love history and Los Angeles to make a special trip to the museum. The space gives appropriate reverence to the material, which makes you think about layers of history and how the echoes of the past remain in ironic and tragic ways.
Here's another kechi tip: join Goldstar, an entertainment resource for discount tickets. (Joining is free.) By advantage of Goldstar's services, I got to see Quetzal and the Pasadena Playhouse production of "Of Mice and Men."
As it happened for the night I attended the play, it was pay as you can night, so the crowd was diverse. I saw two women who worked at my local post office and a group of high school girls who wept at the end and then brightly sang Woody Guthrie's "This Land Is Your Land" with the music amplified after the lights came on. I heard the murmur of the Spanish simultaneous translation behind me (it was just in the beginning of play—I think that the user was making some adjustments). I thought to myself that this is what the arts is supposed to be. And I was glad that I was there.
Happy beginning of summer!
Naomi
May 2008
Go, Gasa-Gasa Girl, Go!
The movie "Speed Racer" may be opening in a town near you, but I have one better for you—the mass market paperback release of Gasa-Gasa Girl on May 19. It has a spiffy new cover to reflect the theme of gasa-gasa, to be in constant movement.
Gasa-Gasa Girl takes place in New York City, and appropriately enough, I'll be starting May off in the Big Apple as well. In honor of the release, I'm launching a Gasa-Gasa Girl Fan Club for those who love Mas Arai and want to be kept abreast of new books, short stories, and films that I'm working on.
Members of the Gasa-Gasa Girl Fan Club will receive:
- an autographed Gasa-Gasa Girl bookmark
- a Gasa-Gasa Girl button
- regular e-updates, including details of my upcoming middle-grade book, 1001 Cranes
- opportunities to meet Naomi and other fans on the road
- chances to win occasional freebies
All who are interested should e-mail me their name, snail-mail and e-mail addresses to bachi (at) naomihirahara.com.
You can also purchase Gasa-Gasa Girl gear with a design by my friend Amy Ota. Do you have a gasa-gasa girl in your life? Then buy that apron, messenger bag, maternity top, T-shirt, or onesie. She'll love it. Just go to http://www.cafepress.com/gasagasagirl
The book season, with the L.A. Times Festival of Books, Book Expo, and the American Library Association convention, is upon us. So, yes, I'm gasa-gasa right now, but loving every minute of it!
Happy May.
Naomi
p.s.
Naomi and Mas have joined the high-tech social networking era!
There's a Gasa-Gasa Girl Fan Club group on Facebook now. If you're a Facebook member, you can join here.
And Mas has a myspace page now. If you like him, be his friend!
April 2008
Downtown Memories
Reading Judith Freeman's The Long Embrace: Raymond Chandler and the Woman He Loved was a nostalgic experience for me—not that I was alive during Chandler's lifetime—but that evoked my own dormant memories of urban Los Angeles. Chandler and his wife Cissy lived a nomadic life in California, hopscotching all around the central heart of Los Angeles.
For most of my early years, all I knew well was the larger Pasadena area. Of course, we did take semi-weekly trips to downtown Los Angeles' Little Tokyo, where the Far East Café, or Entoro, was one of our regular stops, in addition to Ginza-Ya, a small appliance store on First Street. Ginza-Ya was a pre-Costco and pre-Walmart household goods store, barely the size of a child's bedroom, full of boxes stacked throughout the aisles. Seiko watches were displayed in revolving cases, while a high shelf displayed different models of National rice cookers. Next door was Mitsuru Café, with cooks flipping imagawayaki—fat pancakes filled with red bean in hot molds. If my parents were feeling especially generous I would get a manga from Japan packaged in plastic from the bookstore on the next block.
My experiences in downtown extended beyond Little Tokyo after high school. The summer before college I took the bus (line 485—it's still running today) to my job in the gift store at the historic Biltmore Hotel across from Pershing Square. And one summer during college I worked in a moderate highrise on Flower Street at a family law practice as a filing clerk because I was planning on becoming an attorney and write upon retirement. (What naivete and hubris I had!)
A few years later, after graduating from college, I began working for a small community daily newspaper located on the edge of Skid Row. At that time the Los Angeles Mission was literally down the street; it was commonplace to see hypodermic needles scattered outside our building. A row of tents for the homeless lined the alley leading to our back parking lot. Out of that community was a self-appointed homeless policeman, who always made sure that we reporters were safe as we walked back and forth from our offices to the public parking lot across the street.
Some of my most vibrant, surreal memories go back to the Los Angeles Riots of 1992. Our paper, like most other ethnic newspapers, was mailed to our subscribers' homes. After the riot hit, curfew and roadblocks prevented our truck drivers from easily and safely accessing the main post office in South Central. What should we do? A group of us were in the front office discussing our predicament when through the glass window we saw a young man draw out and point a gun at another random person—for no apparent reason. The discussion ended and the publisher decided to send us all home for the rest of the day.
The next day left three of us women—myself (I had gone it to collect some files), our office manager Happy Iino, and Mrs. Hotta, a tough but faithful front-office employee—to temporarily close up shop. We had a gate that came down on the face of our storefront building and as Mrs. Hotta pulled it shut, a stream of looters flowed in and out of the neighboring wholesale electronics company, carrying calculators, radios and other low-budget inventory.
I was worried that Mrs. Iino or Mrs. Hotta might be knocked down in the commotion but those two—both easily over seventy at the time—remained unflappable. Mrs. Hotta, who had served as a nurse in Nagasaki immediately after World War II, had undoubtedly seen worse.
Across the street a young woman called out to the looters, "Stop, that's not right!" to no avail. I, on the other hand, just wanted to get into my car and hightail it out of downtown, which soon would be inhabited by the National Guard with their camouflage tanks.
Somehow, this remains a perfect picture of downtown L.A.—the desperate poverty, the ethnic businesses on the fringes, and yet some semblance of community or moral outrage sewn throughout with very thin thread.
Since leaving the newspaper more than a decade ago, I have gone into L.A. for work projects in Little Tokyo, Toytown (where the Gardeners' Federation has its offices), and the Southern California Flower Market. And while gentrification has transformed some streets I would have once feared my life to tread, there's still that whiff of desperation in the air. For some, that smell may cause a bit of anxiety. But for me, it just feels like a pair of old shoes, worn and beat up, yet very familiar.
Naomi
March 2008
How NOT to Query
One of my favorite guilty pleasures is watching the TLC reality cable show, "What Not to Wear."
Two fashion mavens—Stacy and Clinton—ambush some haplessly clothed woman or man at work or a public place and later make fun of their oversized sweatshirt and tapered jeans in an incriminating 360 degree mirrored room.
It's very evil and biting (that's way I may enjoy it so much) in the beginning, but then inevitably the participant relents and learns that the change in her appearance really may give her a leg up in her career or social circles. First impressions do count (but are not everything, right?).
How is this related to writing? I've been getting some manuscripts sent to me from unpublished writers—both unsolicited and invited. And I've noticed that some, frankly, are dressed all wrong. Publishing is a cutthroat business, so all the more reason to send your beloved manuscript out in the world for the best first impression.
Here are a few tips:
1. Don't think about making your manuscript all pretty, shiny, and organized. No need to place it in a three-ring binder, have perfect binding, and please, no patterned or colored paper. The weight has to be in the words, not how the wrapping looks. And actually, with the Internet, a lot of agents and editors (but certainly not all) are requesting full manuscripts electronically. So all the more reason to keep it simple and pristine.
2. There's no need to include acknowledgments in your manuscript, because aren't you going to thank that agent, editor, and publisher who is going to make your raw text into a book? Long forewords and introductions are also unnecessary, especially if you are writing fiction or creative nonfiction. Just plunge straight into the meat, the beginning of your story, so that the gatekeepers know exactly what you're serving.
3. Don't go crazy with fonts and typefaces. This isn't a high-school pep rally. You don't have to make the letters of your title any larger than the text of your story. Use a plain, reasonable font, either Courier or Times Roman, in 12-point type.
4. Double-space the whole enchilada. Don't single-space within a paragraph and then double-space in between paragraphs.
5. When you send that manuscript, just wrap a long rubber band around that sucker and place it in a Priority Mail envelope or box. No need to Federal Express (unless they wanted it sent overnight). And don't do certified registered mail. That's just annoying. If you're a control freak, then use the tracking feature offered by Priority Mail. It's not that expensive and you can see if it reached its destination through a web site without making some poor guy or gal in the mailroom (or someone like me) have to go to the post office and sign the receipt. When I first began sending out my manuscript years ago, I used manuscript boxes sold by places like the Writer's Store. I guess it's nice for filing and storage purposes, but I haven't used one since.
What about the cover letter and synopsis? I'll save that for another web installment.
Until April,
Naomi
February 2008
The Way of Cha
Cha means "tea" in Japanese and also Chinese, but in the house I grew up in, we called it "ocha." The addition of the "o" is an honorific, which gives the word some level of elevated honor. (In Japan, some waitresses even call beer "o-beeru," casting some doubt on how honorable the item might be!)
At that time, I usually preferred Lipton's black tea to ocha, always green tea, with one exception—the end of the meal. Because if there was any short sticky rice left over, we would pour ocha in the rice bowl and eat with some pickled vegetables, flakes of grilled salmon, or packaged spices. Ochazuke—the perfect coda to a meal.
I realize, however, that I've adopted a peasant's way of approaching cha. There's a long tradition of cha-no-yu, tea ceremony, where beautiful kimono-clad women and men, whip powered, brilliantly hued green tea with wooden whisks in pristine long Japanese tea cups. The sleeve of the kimono is gracefully repositioned so that it may not accidentally fall into the tea and then the tea cup is revolved in precise turns like the moves of a Swiss master clockmaker.
I never was fully turned on by the restrained, disciplined way of the tea ceremony. Just to get into that kimono alone causes my belly to ache.
But then, as I began to do research on the Japanese garden, what do I discover? That its development is inextricably linked with cha, specifically the tea ceremony. Whether it be for rulers or monks, the garden was designed for private contemplation, which goes hand in hand with the principles of cha.
This year on cold and wet winter days of Los Angeles when the temperatures dip down to 40 degrees (I know those in the Midwest and Upper East Coast are laughing!), I'm now adding green tea to my routine. Instead of an antique Japanese kettle, I use a new electric Brevielle Ikon cordfree kettle, a Christmas gift from my parents. The moments afterwards are the same. A quick sip. The patter of rain. An idea flashes. The fingers tap the keyboard. Creativity begins.
Naomi
January 2008
Unleashing Your Inner Mas
For the past three years, I have ritual before the new year begins—I go out and buy an Angry Little Girls wall calendar by Lela Lee. I've been now keeping my schedule on my laptop computer, but being a visual person, I need something colorful and fun on my wall.
The Angry Little Girls comics franchise, which started from Angry Little Asian Girl, cracks me up. The main character, Kim, is a surly little thing with her black eyebrows usually arched in a frown. Although some may deny it, I think Kim's attitude, as opposed to the stereotypical geisha image, more aptly represents the contemporary Asian American female psyche.
Some readers have asked me how I can write from a cranky old man's perspective. Well, Mas Arai, my amateur sleuth, is indeed my alter ego. I like it that he doesn't really worry about what other people think, drives a dilapidated truck in image-conscious L.A., and has dandelions on his lawns (a bad professional reflection as he's a gardener).
Mas does care about the basics—about friendships and family—although he would be the last to admit it. If you haven't met this character yet, you can start this year as the first, Summer of the Big Bachi, and the second, Gasa-Gasa Girl, will be reprinted in affordable paperback (SOTBB on January 29, 2008 and GGG on May 20, 2008). And if you know someone who wants to read the books in Japanese, Gasa-Gasa Girl will be also be released in Japanese by Shogakukan early this year. (The Kinokuniya bookstore chain will most likely have it available here in the United States.)
Also later this year is the release of two projects in August: 1001 Cranes, a middle-grade novel, by Delacorte, and The Darker Mask, a superheroes anthology edited by Christopher Chambers and Gary Phillips with my short story, "Tat Master." You can learn more about 1001 Cranes on the website, www.1001cranesbook.com. I'll be releasing more details—including the cover—as the year goes on.
And last of all, to commemorate 2008, I have a new author's photo. I debated whether to post a smiley shot or a more serious one. I consulted my inner Mas and decided on the latter.
Happy Year of the Rat!
Naomi
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