Setting the Placemats: Reviewing the Journey’s Course

On April 14, 2022 By Aginetta MulimaIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Since January, I have nipped glimpses of the other team members at Snapdragon. I have yet to connect with the blog editors, poetry team, and social media intern. But timing is everything.

My inbox brims with ideas on how to engage users on social media, publishing initiatives, and countdown reminders that my MFA program is ending soon.

I am thankful for the messages from the social media intern, B, with her innovative emails. I await her posts on social media. The smooth graphics defining Snapdragon: A Journal of Art and Healing on my Instagram feed. Petra, the managing editor, remains hopeful that the Eastcoast team members will be able to meet in-person this year. How surreal it would be to see people face-to-face. I am reminded that people are a lot taller than me. For example, I am certain that my internship host, Jacinta, and managing editor, Petra, are tall folks.

When you’re sitting down and looking at one another over zoom, you forget people’s height. I stand at five feet tall and anticipate the reactions to my shortness. However, I know things in-person will be fine with the cool glasses club.

Photo by Orione Conceiu00e7u00e3o on Pexels.com

“We need to have a party for the cool glasses club members,” Jacinta says smiling into her words.

“Yes!” Petra joins. Their young child has entered the zoom screen, as the three of us anticipate an upcoming zoom party. I am glad that I will not lose contact with the Snapdragon team post-graduation. It has been an anchor in my life. Despite the deadlines. Despite the highs and lows of mental health. Despite the weather that swings back and forth like a pendulum.

In June, the next issue will come out. The summer’s theme focuses on place. It reminds me how impactful place can be when you’re at home, on zoom, in your neighborhood, and in the world. How deeply we appreciate one another’s presence in our shared places.

There’s a place for you here.

There’s a place for all of us to go forward, to grow, and to conjure our wildest dreams.

The Writer Visits the Desert

On March 29, 2022 By Aginetta MulimaIn InternshipLeave a comment

I missed the large Sandia Mountains crowning Albuquerque, New Mexico. The city itself brims with decadent murals in Old Town and vibrant local bookshops. I take as many pictures as I can. It has been seven years since I moved away.

As I left the Sunport airport, I thought about where I saw myself post MFA. I want to be here. Here where the sun never hides for long. Here where the orange glow radiates on an old acquaintance’s face. Here where I attended community college and also where I joined the poetry workshop meetings post high school.

With laptop in tow, I maintain my internship duties with Snapdragon. I am in good company. A majority of the editorial team are also writers. The managing editor, Petra, shares their insights on Zoom how to ensure copyright. We are both scurrying to complete our thesis, and there are many things to consider when sharing one’s work in the public domain. Our conversations feel rooted and transcendent. We share a horoscope sign and an affinity for poetry. At one point, we have lived in the same state — New Mexico.

“I missed green chile so much,” I type at the bottom of my email.

“greeeeeen chile,” Petra responds in her next correspondence.

Similar to hot chile, writers stoke their own heat. When done correctly, our bonds keep one another warm through many dry spells and writer’s blocks.

Perhaps, writers continuously look for meaning and bonds wherever we go. During my visit to Albuquerque, I kept writing stories about the people I met. The people in the airport are friendly (despite a late departure). People pull out books from their carry-ons, and people sow in a lot more hope than I could ever imagined.

I watch the short nun, clad in her long dress, clasp her rosary that dangles from her grasp. I watch the plump child, eyes full of amazement, as his two Hispanic parents soothe him throughout the flight.

This internship has brought forth a new set of eyes. Perhaps when people start to heal, it is possible to look at an absolute stranger and want their life to contain ease too. Snapdragon, a journal based in art and healing, opens a door for writers and supporters alike.

I find myself applying that same level of care in my life. What does it mean to be a writer who heals? What does it mean to be a writer who takes their own healing seriously? On the plane trip home, I thought about Alice Walker’s words in We Are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For: Inner Light in a Time of Darkness. As a note, the title of Alice Walker’s book derives from wisdom from Hopi elders.

Walker repeats her own meditative words on not only how to release anger but to cultivate healing power. The words are:

May you be free

May you be happy

May you be at peace

May you be at rest

May you know we remember you

Before I started the MFA, I imagined that my writing needed to be perfect to have impact. Now, I am considering the role of keeping a journal (per my MFA instructor). Now, I am weighing the choice to take care of myself on purpose and encourage others to do the same –through writing. To write means to live. I never imagined that my own writing could be a safer place for me to exist too.

May you know peace.

Lighting the Way

On March 3, 2022 By Aginetta MulimaIn commentary, InternshipLeave a comment

On the cusp of Spring, I am surprised how much the sun matters to me. I need those longer evenings basked in warmth. I need that reminder how things will change for the better. My internship at Snapdragon has undergone a seasonal shift too. The team now works on finalizing the Spring issue. This includes editing, formatting, adding pictures, creating social media posts, and more.

My weekly tasks began with organization. I updated the Google Drive continuously throughout the weeks. Then, I dove into market research. So, you can imagine my delight when the managing editor and editor-in-chief offered me another opportunity that related more to sensing and feeling.

How do you feel about rearranging the poems for the upcoming issue?

I immediately responded via text and accepted this invitation. This was a stream of sunlight coming through the window. It was a challenge to embody an analytical eye needed for research; however, I learned to advocate for what I thought would benefit this journal. It’s trusting your gut (with the inclusion of hard facts).

Yet, I loved the creative appeal even more. In an earlier post, I discussed that this quarter’s theme focuses on pleasure. It feels timely with the news cycle, running on overdrive, to keep all folks updated on how things are around the world. The harrowing ordeal of those in Ukraine; students, citizens, neighbors, and activists. The blooming disparity in Somalia, Palestine, Israel, and the United States too.

More than ever, human rights are disregarded. Yet, it does reveal the stark awareness of how countries can be better, and the people who lead those countries can lead with humanity — if they choose to do so. I am reminded again that people – with their humble and vibrant hearts – are trying to uplift others.

How are people grounding themselves? What brings people pleasure? How are the poets viewing their inner and outer world right now? Which verses will carry people through their darker times?

Perhaps, I am more surprised at the dialogue between staff members. People are open to sharing how they are really doing, and at the same time a crack of sunlight enters. It reminds me of the Sufi poet, Rumi who said “the wound is where the light enters you.”

Perhaps, invoking pleasure does heal parts of our wounds and the ones around us. Perhaps, acknowledging what we love the most allows us to move in that direction.

I am surprised when the sunlight comes, but I am never surprised on how much it means to people who need a light in a tunnel.

The Glasses Club

On February 19, 2022 By Aginetta MulimaIn Internship1 Comment

On Thursday mornings, I meet with two people on staff who wear funky glasses. I never imagined that my internship site would be the meeting place for aesthetics. Yet here we are. The managing editor and the founder of Snapdragon are invested in self-expression. I am grateful for that.

My contribution includes heart shaped glasses. I bought a pair of sunglasses from the DSW shoe store, many summers ago, and converted them to suit my interests.

“I do not know if they will do them,” my optometrist said. “But let’s see what happens.”

The eyeglass company relented — consenting to add my prescription. I wonder how my internship’s editorial team handled their glasses. What is their story?

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

“These are stereotypical art teacher glasses,” the managing editor quips one Thursday. Their frames, one circular and one rectangular, are certainly something you would see your favorite high school art teacher wear. Ironically, they have worked as a substitute teacher during the pandemic — so it all balances out.

Next, the founder has a pair of leopard glasses. The frames themselves are in a cat-esque style. It is similar to what Eartha Kitt might have worn offscreen when she was not starring as Catwoman in the original Batman series (1967).

“We are the cool glasses club,” the managing editor chimes.

“Yes. We are!” the founder adds.

Lately, our Thursday check-in meetings have happened over Zoom but occasionally we utilize Google Chat. Upon entry, I see the same familiar glasses with warm eyes behind them. I am grateful that I see my internship hosts on a regular basis (alongside our additional text messages and emails). Our video calls delve into the assigned to-do lists, but there is still room to obsess over previously read books.

The managing editor and I adore The Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color. It is a curious thing to share space with people who work in the publishing business, and how their own feminist leanings play a part in their work. Perhaps, our glasses are radical AND we choose to represent ourselves as such.

More so, I am deeply moved on how people are interested in collaborating with others who share a similar mission. After all, these past few weeks have focused on research. I am perusing the internet for answers and utilizing writer’s tools that I did not know existed (Duotrope, anyone).

The questions are: What other healing and arts journals are there? Where are we [Snapdragon journal] in relation to them? And, if I might add — where are the additional members of the cool glasses club? We shall find them.

Update: Internships and Healing

On February 3, 2022 By Aginetta MulimaIn InternshipLeave a comment

To find your footing,

you must first be okay with being lost.

When I sat in my advisor’s office, I felt myself shrinking. The room painted in a stark white color did not help. I tried to ground myself. Look at the open pack of brown almonds on her desk. Look at the skeletal trees dressed in snow — outside the window.

In that last semester, I worried. What kind of job will I have? Where do you land with a degree in Writing and Global Studies? I sat there as a woman of color at a predominantly White institution, and I was afraid of failure.

“Have you thought about an internship,” my advisor asked.

I searched for answers. I had devoted time to writing a thesis about intersectional feminism. I wanted a pathway between Black American feminism/womanism and the various feminisms from the continent of Africa.

Settling back on to my advisor’s tossed brown hair and curious white gaze, I didn’t have a solid answer. She couldn’t make that decision for me (i.e., editorial, newspaper, and communications sector etc). I needed to fill that space of where I wanted to fly. How big are my dreams?

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said.

At a majority White women’s college, it felt difficult to pinpoint where to go. Yes, I had worked in the Center for Diversity and Inclusion. Yes, I had other literary friends who were Black, Brown, and Queer. Many of whom belonged to minority represented religions too. Yet, I didn’t know where to go in 2018.

Photo by Tomu00e1u0161 Malu00edk on Pexels.com

In December 2021, I meet with Jacinta W — the founder of Snapdragon: A Journal of Art and Healing. Over Zoom, I feel calm and reassured that I can finish this last semester in graduate school. I navigated the journal’s website weeks prior. I am in awe of the personal bios related to the staff. They are people who strive for human rights and, they carry an affinity for the written word. This is where I want to belong.

Snapdragon is a femme-led literary journal that strives toward creating space for many. I am struck by their stance to accept previously published pieces. I am interested that the work itself does not have to be the best but it does carry resonance. I wonder what that means in an age driven toward perfection. Perhaps, that’s a lesson for many — you are welcome here as imperfect as you are.

The response to the pandemic has pushed many to the brink. I am appreciative that there are writing workshops for medical staff to share their words and art at this journal. I thought about my own mother who seemed to disappear into her uniform. Here comes the goggles, K-N95 masks, the scrubs, the support-compression socks, and much more. Here comes the tired gait from the car to the house.

I thought about what it meant it to own your own healing. Perhaps, that is the tallest order if you are othered in America. As a Black woman, I wanted to bolster myself and find a lean-to that would hold up in many political hailstorms.

For two weeks, I have monitored the incoming emails from this literary journal. Messages included:

How can I help? (A new subscriber)

Do you need volunteers? (An inquiry for partnership)

How can we be a resource? (A thread between staff members in regard to trauma in our larger community).

These are the literary spaces I enjoy. The ones where people become proactive about healing and providing a space for many to be witnessed. I am excited for the upcoming journal issue that myself and additional staff members will work on closer to March. This quarter’s theme focuses on pleasure. During one’s healing, I believe people forget they are allowed to experience big and small forms of joy. What would it mean to cultivate desire? What would it look to conjure this effort as a form of alchemy?

This is a new beginning.

It is a step forward –

a deep desire to be found.

Booking a Future Trip to the Local Bookshop

On November 30, 2021December 5, 2021 By Aginetta MulimaIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

You haven’t visited the local bookshop in more than a year. In fact, you barely drive down main street anymore. Yet, your city has one of the oldest bookstores in the country (let alone the second oldest in the world). In 1745, the Moravian church laid their claim to advance education and literary scholarship. The Moravian bookshop, a blue building with large windowpanes, hosts an entire world within its walls.

Upon entry, you could see the downstairs tables displayed with board games and fantasy books. You remember how your friend from elementary school carried the Eragon and Lord of the Rings series under her arm. In tow, she carried a medieval-type notebook for her secret code language she had perfected. The leather-bound notebook had become an aesthetic within itself in bookstores. You wonder if the kids in the bookshop were considering these too.

After taking a small step, you were on the main floor. The not-to-tall bookcases spanned from travel guides to an anthology of creative nonfiction. Do you remember how the Moravian bookshop displays looked like shrines? There was Ntozake Shange’s body of work. The most notable title, For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/When the Rainbow is Enuf. These delicate shrines were protruding out of a small groove in the wall. In front, a small table carried copies of the writer’s work. You consider what it must feel like for a bookseller to display an author who has died within the last couple of years. You are spiritual – so everything felt sacred. Perhaps, the spirits of former Moravian parishioners still move within that bookshop.

The Moravian Book Shop operates under the ownership of Moravian College. More so, it is managed by a Barnes and Noble College Bookseller. You frequent the Barnes and Noble bookstore attached to the Whitehall mall often. Inside, you watch a former college classmate whiz throughout the store. She has her radio walkie-talkie with her. You exchange a few words with her at the cash register, and she inquiries about your membership program. You do not have one…yet. However, one day you will because you’re buying books monthly.

In front of the register, there are strategic displays of new releases on low tables. Now, that you are in a publishing course. You cannot help but notice how the displays are placed on the outer sides of bookshelves. The decorative imprint fashioned on the spine of a book does not feel like a mystery anymore. Perhaps, you will ask the booksellers at Moravian what they notice while on-the-clock. You imagine what it must feel like to work in a bookstore that fans out into a tourist gift shop. The decorative towels and year-round holiday decorations in the background and/or neatly tucked around the corner. It is a constant stream of retail shoppers.

You wonder if the Moravian booksellers have walkie-talkies too. During your last visit, it felt like a low murmur and you only caught snatches of conversation from the book buyers. You stood by the register and inquired about a book or two.

“We do not have it, but we can order it.”

Usually, you reply “no thanks.” You regard this as a sign to investigate the bookshop further for the next-best book. There you see a bookshelf or two filled with discounted books. Some are vintage. Some are classical reprints. You eye the shelves carefully, and find yourself being pulled by a magnetic force to the poetry section. Perhaps, you ought to revisit the bookshop again.

Loglines, Lifelines, and Lasting Impact

On October 18, 2021October 18, 2021 By Aginetta MulimaIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

It is required that we pen a writer’s statements next term. The MFA graduate program began with a writerly manifesto. I remember typing a letter that stated I wanted to embody Audre Lorde. Her words continue to ring in my ears: “Silence will not protect us.”

I have to usher myself into the world as a writer, and remember that I am not silent. Each word forms a weapon against a culture that would have one swallow their words. It’s the bitter and the sweet on the same palate.

My peers and I have to answer why we are writers. Why did we choose to subject ourselves to being known? In this public display, we are inviting people to engage with our innermost thoughts. This undertaking starts with a classic line of questioning, “why should people care what you’re writing about?” I blinked back at the Zoom screen, and felt a small wallop in my stomach. Does anyone care? I watched the many guest speakers address the class, expanding on their expertise in the publishing industry.

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

As a student, I am to produce an answer that is satisfactory to me and to the person who posed the question. I am searching for a lifeline. On the contrary, I need to write a good logline.

A logline provides a short and sweet summary no more than one to two sentences. Often, people can see loglines when they are browsing a streaming platform. Netflix and their cousins have to advertise their shows. A solid description gets straight to the point. Similarly, books and works of literary fiction work the same way. It’s a lot like providing a well, crafted response in an interview.

As I learned about the various roles in the publicity and marketing department, I thought about the importance of enticement. This book attracts attention. Here is the hook. Here is the curious reader adding said book to their online shopping cart.

I thought about the word logline, and how I would make use of it’s form. Often, getting straight to the point feels impossible.

Logline: This post encompasses my upcoming semester projects as a MFA graduate student, and how hard it is to not be longwinded about a vocabulary word.

Accomplishing: A Verb With An Affirmation

On September 16, 2021 By Aginetta MulimaIn Uncategorized2 Comments

I do not want to talk about accolades nor resumes. I do want to commend anyone who can keep going despite all the odds stacked against them. Whenever I envision my future writing career, I scrounge my desk for affirmations. The word “accomplishment” means a lot of things.

Here’s what I gathered in my MFA Writing Program:

You can feel accomplished by writing the first words that come to mind. Edit later. Momentum matters a lot more than an anxious blank page.
You can appreciate the risks you took in your written work, without hyper- focusing on any mistakes. I often think about Bob Ross and his approach to painting.
You can change the definition of accomplishment when the world feels heavy. Mental health must remain a priority regardless of external deadlines (self-imposed or not).

I hope these affirmations are helpful to you. In my final year, I am tasked with completing a Thesis and a Concentration. I have accomplished the very thing I feared more than a year ago — entering into a graduate program. By subjecting myself to “the ordeal of being known,” I have become freer.

When you start to write your truth, it becomes apparent that you have allowed more people to believe in their own freedom too. I thought about Audre Lorde’s Cancer Journals and Toni Morrison’s The Source of the Self Regard. I thought about the slam poetry night hosted by the LGBTQ+ club in my undergraduate days. Vicariously, I believe that many people accomplished a great deal to write a poem, a story, and an essay about their experience.

Photo by Anna Nekrashevich on Pexels.com

I am not quite sure if success and publication are necessary. Success can often mean that one person resonates with your story. I would hope people feel that way about my sole published essay detailing my eating disorder and newfound friendships. However, my accomplishment and success really should include the first act of telling someone the truth other than myself.

Years later, I may quip about “chasing the highs and feeling the lows.” Right now, I want to think about affirmations and notebooks. If I could leave on any note, it would be this: Just write. Let everything else unfold.

How do you define your own success as a writer? Which pieces are you most proud of?

Museum Outings

On February 16, 2021 By Aginetta MulimaIn commentaryLeave a comment

***Before the coronavirus pandemic, I used to go to my favorite art museum.

The visibility is not too great. The windbreakers and knitted waistcoats break the sightline. I can see my folded pamphlet, the now disappearing receptionist’s desk, and I can see that there are not a lot of people like me here. The costumes and dress-wear are staged around the room. Like Broadway, the lights are grand and huge. The light hovers above the mannequins who are really the ghosts of actors and actresses from the Golden Age of Hollywood.

When I arrived, the museum’s downstairs floor overflowed with people at the check-in desk. Within minutes – I found myself debating whether or not to go back for my coat in the orderly and empty coat room. Costume regalia fills the entire upstairs’ exhibit rooms. Beaded sequin gowns are not for breathing. The cinched waist defining the ribcage suggest that many of the esteemed actresses were petite.

The name cards of Doris Day, Marilyn Monroe, and Rita Hayworth make me smile. It’s a sense of recognition among the crowds of strangers. A familiar voice starts to speak from behind and when I turn I see the milky hazel eyes of the security guard/tour guide. He’s the only other person of color I noticed when I came upstairs.

“There are having a discussion on race on this particular exhibit. The electronic screens downstairs show the time – that may interest you,” he says.

Then, he is gone. The windbreakers, knitted caps, and glamour coats swallow him whole in that crowd.

Perhaps, this panel talk will add other names that do not shine under the costume regalia. I would learn of Anna May Wong by happenstance two years later. I would envision that Hollywood in the fifties was for blonde and brunette superstars who use hair tonic and old-fashioned Frigidaire appliances.

Even within the few dim rooms, I am still searching for color. Maybe the costumes of Lena Horne, Dorothy Dandridge, Harry Belafonte, Eartha Kitt, and Sammy Davis Jr are displayed at another museum. Would the setup of this exhibit change? I linger on the Russian-style fur coat suits with embellished breast-pockets. I hover a little longer at the East Asian style ‘farmer’ wear. These two displays appear with a small tangible scene – a dirt ground underneath and something else I no longer remember. Yet, I do recall if this slice of diversity is enough for me. It isn’t.

Downstairs I retrace my steps and visit my favorite installations. There is Stephen Antonako’s ‘The Room Chapel’ and today I had a chance to take pictures with no one in there. The various colors invoke a different mood or tone for those who enter. I will be saddened when this exhibit moves because the ambiance is cool and balanced.

On the far right side of another exhibit, I hear a young boy usher an older woman to a large painting. In that frame, the artist has painted a closeup of a Cuban woman puffing on a cigar. When the boy and the woman arrive directly in front of this painting, the boy exclaims “she looks like you – but older!” Intermittent laughter glides out past the connecting room. As I turn to leave, I hear an overlap of Spanish words I cannot quite decipher from where I am.

It is time to go. Approximately forty-five minutes has gone by, the check-in desks swells with patrons. Through the fog of jackets, older women with fur-trimmed coats and hats, penciled eye brows and bright red lipstick proceed to cut through the cloudiness of brownish-gray winterwear. I can find the exit now. The path is clearly visible with their presence.

Shuck the Oyster: Find the Pearl

On February 15, 2021 By Aginetta MulimaIn commentaryLeave a comment

Good writers create amazing throughlines. They tell you the weighted sentence (or a single word). This happens before the reader has had a chance to guess at the impact this will have on the narrative. Well, I am a good student and therefore I will try that some other time.

I have been thinking a lot about navigating space these few months. How will I do this? What has changed since undergrad? What has remained the same? What arbitrary rules exist for navigating predominantly White spaces?

I suppose it takes great strength and resilience to keep navigating those spaces even in academia. I signed up for this, paid for this, and I am orchestrating a larger plan (therefore I need to participate in this). The “this” can be anything. For writers, it could mean workshops, academic mentorship programs, additional studies, and the-one-thing-that-makes-me-want-to-throw-in-the-towel.

In my undergraduate days at predominantly White, women’s college, I knew what my options were. I can say this here, but not there. After all, it starts to sound like a Dr. Seuss rap battle between the here’s and there’s. I lean into my supporting confidant and ask for guidance. How do I still show up even when I am struggling to find/build community?

I remember tucking myself away on the second floor of the college’s library. Faded yellow and red chairs (no doubt remnants from the seventies) became my refuge. The dusty shelves spanning from second-wave feminism, outdated parenting models, and hidden gems about world social justice theory line the shelves. I wanted to stay there. I wanted to stay where Angela Davis’ afro seemed powerful on that book jacket, and where Sara Ahmed gave me the needed information about Islamic feminism.

However, I would have to trudge back upstairs and find myself in a less diverse writing circle. I would have to remind myself to not vomit up all of the racialized traumas for the white gaze, and then I would have to honor myself by letting it out anyway (in a different space).

Those feeling surged forth again, recently. I read Kiese Laymon’s memoir Heavy, and soon I found myself armoring with that protective shield. I want to talk about the Black experience (which is not a monolith), but I wanted to delve into how angry I was. Angry about the “lies” I had swallowed to make it. Angry about the inflicted traumas the narrator, their mother, their grandmother, and all of the young folks streaming out of Beulah’s house.

Yet, I kept it cool for awhile, and stayed dormant in my silence. How do you allow yourself voice in a White space? How do you accept that everyone has different levels of anti-racist work before them, and what you really need is balance as a Black woman? I want to hear, listen, and speak. I want some form of confirmation, affirmation, and hell– maybe even validation about what the book talked about.

The hardest part about academic space is that even under the best intentions, some things fall through the cracks. I do not blame anyone. Yet, I am not quite sure if all this shucking has led to my discovery of pearls. My confidant whispers “stay with it or don’t.”

Good writers can become teachable in the uncomfortable situations. Yet, what happens when the discomfort does not serve everyone in the writing situation well. There’s a lot to learn about navigating space, and what responsibilities one has within it.

I picture the large window panes of my alma mater’s library. The windows are large and one can see the encompassing grassy hill that spills into the local park. I used to watch all those people going about their day, and wondered what kind of narratives would they gravitate toward. Who would they choose? What do I choose in this awkward situation?