There is so much that I don't remember, so many missing days. My parents tell me these stories about things I said or did and maybe that's the way it happened, but great chunks of my childhood are a hazy mystery to me. There is one thing I remember, one moment that never disappeared. I remember writing my first book. It had a white cover with thin plaid lines (red, green, and blue) and it was little more than a few sentences about flowers. It wasn't more than 7 pages long, complete with illustrations, but I remember the weight of it in my hand, the sound the binding made when it opened, and most importantly how it felt to have created something. I have known for a long time now that I am supposed to be a writer.
I won't be so cheesy as to call it destiny, but let's just say I've always had a strong inclination to put pen to paper and no matter what else is going on in my life, whether I am stateside or abroad, working or playing, there is usually a notebook in my purse and a pen behind my ear. I like to write everything: random thoughts, poems, song lyrics, essays, angry diatribes, novels, you name it, I've written it. So why am I not a full time writer? Well at first it was because when I was 9 years old my mentor told me that in order to be a good writer I needed to have something to write about. Growing up in Wisconsin, arguable one of the more boring places to be me in, I didn't think I would ever have too much to say if I didn't escape. So off I went in search of adventures, and I found them on multiple continents, in bars I shouldn't have been in, on buses I wasn't quite sure were going where I thought they would, in grocery stores, in classrooms. Everywhere I've been has been a story and I've been writing all along, but something happened during this journey. I stopped believing that I could be an actual full time writer. I mean caviler wishes and tuna fish budget aside, I believe in paying bills. I don’t do the starving artist thing. So I did what I knew how to do, I worked hard doing other things and traveled and launched myself into all sorts of ridiculous situations in search of fun things to write about...and from time to time I published an essay or a poem.
When I lived in Japan I even had a bi-monthly column. But mostly I have just been amassing a stack of full notebooks. Finally two years ago, my mom mentioned (for the millionth time) that I should maybe take some of my poetry and put it together in a book. Christmas was near, so I thought, okay, sure, why not. And thus God, Hair, Love, and America was born. I self published it because I had been taught that poetry doesn't sell (myth) and that it would be harder to find an agent and a publisher than to win the lottery (possibly true). But there was that feeling again. I held the book in my hand and thought...YES. Moreover since I did it myself it was exactly what I wanted. My art, my words, my choice of font, all mine. So then what? I had a party, did a few readings, sold 300 hundred copies, then I went back to my regularly scheduled life of being a traveling nerd. Actually I got a job, where I got to be head traveling nerd. I ran a small non-profit leadership program and took high school students to Guatemala.If you have ever worked for a non-profit, you know that it is not a job. It is your life. Everything else comes second. Weekends? Nights? I worked whole weeks at a time on 24 hour duty. And it was amazing, and kind of insane. I woke up about a year ago and realized I didn't even know where I was. I hadn't written anything since I got the job. So I got crafty. I took poetry and integrated it into the curriculum of our program, and made the kids write. Really it was selfish, but it was the only way I could build time in for me to write, and it turned out to be awesome. Not only did writing provide the youth with a forum to express things they were too shy to say, but at the end of the year I had a stack of about 300 pages of their poetry, gorgeous, deep, kick ass shit. So I took it and worked with a youth committee to produce an anthology called GV The Poetry (which if available online…all the proceeds go toward the scholarship fund, so I have to give the hard sell on that one: https://www.createspace.com/4032128) And with the poems I managed to write, I put together a book called Love and Guatemala.
I will be hosting the book launch on Friday, April 19th at 6:30PM at the Amor Spiritual Center (2528 Beacon Ave S.) for those of you in Seattle, WA. For the rest all three books are available for purchase online. I didn't mean for this to be a commercial, what I really wanted to say is that some dreams don’t die. Maybe I won’t make a million dollars off of my books and retire at 35 in the South of Spain, well so what? The dream was always writing and it continues to be as I navigate the next steps of my career. In the meantime I have decided to become a resource for other people interested in self-publishing their work. I run a writer’s group on the first Sunday of the month for writers who somehow got sidetracked and need to get back on track to heed their calling. We meet from 12:30-2:00PM at Amor Spiritual Center, 2528 Beacon Ave S. Seattle, WA. For those of you not in Seattle, find me on facebook with any questions.
Happy Writing.
Reagan Jackson is a writer, artist, YA fiction aficionado, afro-punk, international educator, and community organizer based in Seattle, WA. You can find her most Tuesdays at the Seattle Poetry Slam or maybe just being nerdy at her favorite bookstores.
