Why do people choose to write? More importantly, why do people choose NOT to write? It’s something I’ve been pondering and is one aspect I’ll present when I speak this Saturday, April 14, 2018, at the Sierra Madre Library in California’s beautiful San Gabriel Valley. The library is holding an Open House that day with various events. We authors will speak at 11:00 a.m. I’m very curious to hear everyone’s thoughts about writing.
Here are just two of the other authors who will be speaking. Click on their links to see their photos and literary works.
Linda has been a grant recipient of the California Commission of the Arts, Multicultural Grant and created, hosted and produced Latino Filmmakers for Charter Cable.
She produced the film, The Trouble with Tonia, starring the late Lupe Ontiveros. The film received recognition from the Whitney Museum in New York, and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. It garnered “best film” award in the San Sebastian Film Festival in San Sebastian, Spain. And, she was awarded the Silver Star award as Producer from the Houston International Film Festival. It is also listed in, “Aztlán Film Institute’s Top 100 List,” by Chon A. Noriega.
Marcielle is a multi-facted writer, as you’ll see on her blog. I’ve chosen to share with you one of Marcielle’s award-winning poems.
Eden
I startled my mother in the blazing
hallway, her breasts an exotic gift
my lips had never suckled. It was
an accident we met. Never before
had I beheld anyone naked. My sisters
told me of the times they had watched
her. I imagine my mother lifting
herself from the forgiving floral suds
of her bath. This secret time I had
never visualized until now. She glides
on her hose, attaching them with
little posy snaps, and perfumes
herself in her personal
scent. Slithering into her
strapless cocktail dress, her
shoulders glowing, she fluffs up
her hair like a delicate fern,
then entwines the glittering
necklace and presses on the blossom
lipstick which my father will kiss
from her mouth before they
lie down in the room where only they
may sleep. What are these angry wings
barring me from her garden? I remember
the last time she bathed me. I was
five and embarrassed. I turned away,
and she left me in my
unscented water.
Lisa Di Vita 