Intersections – What it Means to Me

Diversity in Literature: Intersections

Literature is a preserved collection of the human experience. It transfers thoughts and ideas into a shareable medium. Literature by nature is diverse, but does it represent the expanse of the human condition? Does it provide a truly collaborative snapshot, or merely the most popular narrative?

We are all humans, and like literature, exist in a variety of forms. We are diverse in race, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, culture, socioeconomic status, political beliefs, occupation, etc. Literature helps us understand/comprehend the differences and the connections between us. Literature is at a point of intersection. To expand our minds, we must also expand our exposure to different perspectives.

We at New Plains Student Publishing encourage everyone to have a voice, and are excited to announce a new biweekly diversity blog series: Intersections.

Intersections will feature blogs from alternating diversity themes.

-New Plains Student Publishing

racial identity
What It Means to Me

Written by Caitlin Carnall

I would be lying if I said I had it figured out from the start, writing that is.  For the first couple of years, I was extremely self-critical of my own work and never wanted to share it in fear of judgement from my peers.  

During my fourth year on campus at the University of Central Oklahoma, I was in a Young Adult Literature course and we were studying W.E.B. DuBois’s concept of double consciousness.  The concept encompasses the idea and struggle of an individual’s identity being split and divided into two or more facets.

It was difficult for me growing up with a Hispanic grandmother who blared Latin tunes during Sunday’s chores, singing every word in Spanish, but not understanding what I was listening to.  Not to mention, I would look in the mirror and notice my skin wasn’t as dark as hers, so did I really belong to her ancestry? Or was I just this white girl living in the Mexican neighborhood in Oklahoma City?

When I first began studying the concept of double consciousness, I didn’t recognize that I, myself, was split between three different racial identities: Caucasian, Hispanic, and American Indian.  When speaking directly about the effect of my racial identities upon my writing, I rarely talk about and reflect on my American Indian ancestry for the simple fact that I know very little about it.  On my mother’s side of the family, my great grandmother’s mother was full-blood Cherokee Indian, but we couldn’t trace back the history far enough to take ownership of our benefits. On my father’s side, I know my grandfather was less than 25% Indian.  I reflect most on my Hispanic and Caucasian ancestry in my writing, especially my poetry. The divide between my racial identities add a certain kind of character to my work, where in reality causes me anxiety that I am normally uncomfortable sharing out loud.  However, through my writing, I am allowed to express this struggle I encounter with my racial identities without feeling directly judged. My writing truly allows me an outlet for overwhelming emotion, and it gives voice to a diverse individual. The following is my poem, Tough Meat:    

Girl, you crazy.

Yeah, gram.  You.

Best friend—my fear

Is my best friend.

 

Hold you close, but at a distance.

Like your skin color, like

the color my skin should be—

Stuck to my finger and stuck to my memory.

 

Mine—

Just don’t let anyone catch me

Admiring mine:

Love you at your worst.

 

Oh shit, maybe I’m crazy too.

The skip-a-generation bullshit is real.

We got tough meat—as hard as is—

Always soft.

 

Lithium over easy atop my enchiladas

¿Por favor Abuela?

Over easy brain,

Over cooked heart, impenetrable.

 

Impenetrable

I am crazy, but

We got tough meat—as hard as is—

Always soft.

 

¿Duele?  Swallow pills like Portia

Swallowed fire. Your neuro

home is not a home any longer.  You

know the medicine is there in your food, your brain.

 

I stopped taking my happy pills and

I’ve been searching for the roundness

in light, caramel dermises on the streets.

We got tough meat.  Always soft.

Within the piece, I am questioning my identity as a Hispanic female, but also, I am questioning my future mental stability as the grandchild of a woman who suffers from a severe case of bipolar disorder.  So, not only do I struggle with a divide in my racial background, but also, I struggle with the fear of my genetic mental state. The personal tear I experience when dealing with such issues is flavorful for my writing.

 

“Paradise, USA” by Christine Nichols

Let us move to the island of rattlesnakes.
I will protect you.
Watch me slide off my city-pumps,
walk barefooted on hot
rocks.  Together, let us dance
across the beach, wave our hands
like carefree children, feel grit
rise between hungry toes.
I will ask youspend the night here,
with me on the dunes,
bare-bodied in the sand.
Know that in this garden,
all things are natural.
Take away my weapons.
Let the hiss of the water
conceal their approach.

READ MORE…

“The Tall Grass” by Sharif Shakhshir

The tall grass grows
at the northern edge of the peninsula
where rodents scuttle like electricity.
Mom says, “There is evil out there:
monsters, thieves, gamblers,
and people who aim to gain from your failure.
But there are no badges of honor
for staying home.
The way a brush must leave the pallet
to make something great,
you must leave.

READ MORE…

A Letter to My Year as a Student Editor

Dearest Year,

You were a challenge. You often lacked oxford commas, which I found annoying, bothersome, and emotionally painful. You presented me with many formatting issues. I will still never understand why anyone chooses to center justify anything. Your crown jewel was the day the internet and, consequentially, Submittable broke. It seemed like you never wanted me to be productive. Between your typos and tight deadlines, I felt like I was going to lose my mind.

However, I would not wish you away for anything in the world. You made me stronger. I learned from you that a semicolon is just a period with a fancy high heel. I learned that anything and everything can be funny with just a pinch of sleep deprivation. You presented me with many trials and I am all the better for them. You made this journal grow into something bigger than anyone could have ever wished for. I would not have survived you without the amazing team that works so hard to put New Plains Review together. We came (to class). We saw (all the comma errors). We conquered (the final draft).

via GIPHY