Try to be…
Nicholas Nevarez (He/Him) is an undergrad in literature and writing at CSUSM. He enjoys writing short pieces of fiction and visual poetry and hopes to become a creative writing professor in the future.
Category: Hybrid Texts
Valerie Hall
All For a Plan
Valerie Hall is in her final year studying Literature and Writing studies at CSUSM, working on getting her bachelor’s degree. Most of Valerie’s works center around mental health and political/social injustices, with the goal to contribute to bring awareness. Currently, Valerie is focused on finishing school and continues to work on improving her writing as well as working on a young adult novel.
Nina Takahashi
I Think My Grandfather Is Going To Die Soon
Nina Takahashi (she/he/they) is a nonbinary Nikkei artist from Beaverton, Oregon. They are a sophomore at the University of California, Berkeley intending to major in film and double minor in Japanese and creative writing. As a queer biracial Asian American, Nina makes art to make sense of their world. They are a core officer for Cal’s Nikkei Student Union, a member of the Cinematic Arts & Production Club, and a writer and managing editor for the university blog. Their goal is to publish a poetry collection before graduating college.
Sophia Bauder
The Sin That Killed Her Sanctuary
Sophia Bauder (She/Hers) is an undergraduate student at California State University San Marcos who is currently pursuing a Literature and Writing Studies degree. Sophia has a passion for creative writing with an emphasis in experimental poetry. She uses visuals, such as drawings, within her work to bring her words to life and create a more immersive experience for her reader.
Miranda Morris
Crossing Boundaries Defined Limits
Josh Kim
burn
Ter
fall
distant
useto
Bio
An expression of ideas of what is truly real. What is truly just in our own minds. Joshua Kim uses abstract concepts of questioning to play with the viewer to have the viewer rethink an idea or approach. Joshua is most inspired by concepts of creating realities beyond our own. Really thinking how emotion can be expressed into a piece. This is my reality.
Payton Crawford
Seaside: Audio Submission
Bio:
Payton is a multiracial writer hailing from the backwoods of Arkansas who has called Oceanside home for the last six years. She is a first-generation college undergraduate at CSUSM, majoring in Literature and Writing Studies. Payton’s neurospicy brain finds comfort in writing dark, whimsy poetry that showcases the sweetest and most bitter moments of life. Never one to shy away from experimenting, she is partial to nontraditional hybrid forms and dabbles in spoken word poetry. In a typical hoarder fashion, she saves every slip of writing on the off chance she will one day write a book.
Priscilla Lopez
Pieces of You
Summer is over and here are a few things you’ve missed since you’ve been gone: I graduated high school with honors. Stanford sent me an acceptance letter. But I rejected Stanford. Mom is upset, naturally. The countless tears shed, the endless hours spent dedicated to homework to ensure an acceptance to my top school, seemed all for naught. I like to think you would be proud of me for walking away though. I made the cover of a small fashion magazine no one has ever heard of. I used the money to travel Europe for two months. I visited Jack in London. Tío wasn’t too happy I used his ex-boyfriend as free lodging, but something told me I had to go with what little money I had. Something inside me pulled me away from the confinements of our childhood home and just go. I visited the Buckingham Palace. I stole a book from The British Library for you, your favorite: Frankenstein. I attended an open-mic night and read the poem you wrote about an old love. I know the pieces you wrote about missing were pieces of him, but some of those pieces are pieces of you I miss too. Pieces I quietly read aloud, pieces I swallowed down, pieces I sobbed over in front of a crowd of strangers. Pieces. Jack flew me to Paris but didn’t let me take the reins this time. The Eiffel Tower is much smaller in person, but even the thousands of illuminated lights brought me to my knees. I ate 13 chocolate croissants. Jack watched in awe, but I knew you would egg me on after the first three. Like that one time we played the marshmallow game, you stuffed too many marshmallows in your mouth and you couldn’t talk. I tried giving up after five marshmallows but, mouth-full, you kept pushing me to stuff more marshmallows in my mouth. I devoured those chocolate croissants. I wore crumbs and smears of chocolate on my face like a badge of honor. We made our way to Italy where we temporarily departed in Milan. I walked the fashion streets in an oversized, velour, black tracksuit and sneakers—I can imagine us matching and laughing as people judged us. As I loomed over the Teatro Alla Scala, a ticketer convinced me to watch Romeo and Juliet the play. In the nosebleeds, I watched their tragic story unfold before me, dampening my cheeks with tears. Your voice echoed in my head as I wiped away the tears telling me, “That’s love alright. Love is a strange weakness because it means you have something to lose.” I wept even harder. Jack picked me up a few days later and we went south. I tasted wine for the first time—real wine, not the cheap stuff. While on a hike at il Sentiero Degli Dei, I twisted my ankle. Sissy, it was so beautiful. The crisp, cool air engulfed me as I reached the peak. I held my breath as I met the overlook. I gazed at the greenery on the rocky mountains, entranced by the formations shaped into steep steps, and noted the different shades of blue in the ocean down below. I wondered if I could fly in that moment then I cried. I cried. A nonnina and her grandson spotted me limping on my way down and Jack poorly helping me. They beckoned us inside their modest home, offering us fresh bread and seasoned tomatoes. She taught me how to make true Italiano ravioli di zucca. Like the kind we had at il Farro Café Trattoria for my 16th birthday. I remembered how much you liked the sage and butternut squash ravioli di zucca. When I mentioned it to nonnina, we stopped all conversations, cleaned ourselves up, and began cooking in the small kitchen she had made thousands of dishes for her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. We flew back to London where Jack would see me off, but when it was time to go home, I wasn’t sure where I was going. Mom was waiting for me in California, school was waiting for me in New York, but pieces of you were scattered everywhere and nowhere in between and I wasn’t sure where I was going. I wondered if this is how you felt, in those last moments between your last breaths. If you felt loss in this enormous world and deemed it too great. I wondered if you felt unsure where you belonged and decided you would sit neither here nor there. I wondered if you forgot about us in those last moments, if I could just remind you: you weren’t alone. I wondered. So, I’m writing this to you, in hopes you’ll materialize one day and tell me I’m on the right path. But until then, I’ll think about you in everything I do. I’ll overstuff myself with homemade ravioli, hearing you cheer me on. I’ll graduate NYU and feel you standing there with me. I’ll trek mountains and see you in the clouds looming over. I’ll find solace in the pieces you’ve left behind. Pieces of you.
Reincarnate
A Thousand Pieces
Today
Bio
Priscilla Lopez is an undergraduate student at CSUSM majoring in Literature and Writing Studies. Her goal is to become an editor-in-chief at a major publishing company or, if so boldly, her own publishing company. She’s a freelance editor and content writer for Red Line Edits. In her free time, she always has a book handy, a TV-show to binge watch, or paddle boarding at some of the best beaches San Diego, CA has to offer.
Alan Munoz
Primos
2003, you and I were born in New Bern, North Carolina.
Late 2014 we ate at a Texas roadhouse in Charlotte North Carolina, I remember you talking about video games, as you always did. Later that night, back at the hotel, your brother connected the Wii U into the hotel tv and the words ‘Super Smash Bros for Wii U’ appeared before my eyes. Like every game we played, I felt on the edge of a cliff.
In the summer of 2022, you muffled “It’s in their culture” when referring to the poor people of New Bern North Carolina. What do you mean by that? What about their culture makes them so poor? Is it their religion? It couldn’t be, since New Bern is overwhelmingly christian. Is it their socioeconomic status? We don’t exactly stand out from them in that regard. I never questioned you about this, but I wish I did. Because if I did, I think we’d both have a process of elimination, where we’d find that there’s only one difference between us and them, our race.
The summer of 2015, the last summer me and your brother lived on the east coast. As I packed my bags into my parents rv, I felt moisture on my right shoulder as you laid your teary face. You wrapped your arms around me for what you thought was going to be the last time you’d see me. Till this day, I haven’t felt that love again, I just wish I reciprocated it more strongly.
In July 2019, I would practice basketball in the 92 degree Phoenix sun. Once I headed home to take a shower, I would see my mother with a half in half face, “Joshua’s going to have a baby”, she told me. I pretended as if I were unaffected and headed to the bathroom. I live in the heat, spending 20 minutes under steaming water with zero motion. In my pubescent head, thoughts of jealousy clouded me. Hell, the girl’s name was Madison; not even a year back, I had been simping for a girl with the same name. Same name, Filipino, yet completely different outcomes. Funny how puberty gets you thinking with the stupidest logic; at that time, I thought I was handed the short end of the stick! Thankfully something died that day, that being my parents favorite saying.
One day in 2010, my parents wanted to get fast food. Three kids were in the car; me, my sister, and her best friend. The vote was between Little Caesars or Mcdonalds and guess who got outvoted. Going through that McDonalds drive through; I’d holler, stomp, kick, scream, and spit. I was so loud to the point where even the employees could hear me through the drive through window. I think that was the moment where my parents broke, after years of dealing with me, they ripped the line, “Why couldn’t you be more like Joshua?” Something was born on that day.
August 2016 would be the first time you visited Phoenix. There was an unspoken aura when you arrived, like when Vegeta landed on planet earth, or Gus Fring entered Casa Tranquila. 1 year, 1 month, and 14 days it had been since we last played. Unconsciously, when we got back home from the airport, we took out our controllers, turned on the tv, and ‘Super Smash Bros for Wii U’ appeared on the big screen. A best of 3 turned into 5, then a 7, then 9, then before we knew it, it was already 12 at night. Till this day, there was nothing more gratifying than watching you turn those numbers up, watching you desperately come to the fact I had finally beaten you in something. Thank you, thank you for pushing me into the cliff for the first time, into the Smash Bros rabbit hole, because no matter how many games I win, or how many times I have to impress my parents, it’ll never quench the thirst.
By 2023, it wasn’t just Smash at that point. It was academics, and relationships too. I remember you calling me through discord, crying in a black room, telling me a story of your public proposal at a mall, how you thought she was the one, how you’d thought you finally found a new mother for your daughter Katie. “It’s not your fault.” I tell you, “You did nothing wrong.” I say. But who am I kidding, it’s 100% your fault. What kind of a woman marries a man whose room smells like dirty feet? What woman marries a man who speaks with prejudicial undertones? What woman likes a man so far up his own rectum, where he buys The Book of Morman, just to prove how wrong it is compared to 7th Day Adventism? You’ll never get a Roughly girl like that, I’m honestly surprised you got as far as you did. The worst part is that you’ll never know. Why? Because I’ll keep feeding you the manure you keep telling yourself. So that way you become my well, an endless well of hydration I use to quench the desert inside me.
March 3rd 2026, you fell off your own cliff, yet the earth keeps heating.
Letter
Hola Anita,
It’s been a while, right?! Anyways, sorry I haven’t gotten back to you in a while, I’ve been busy with school work XD. You wanna hear a crazy story? Well a month ago, while I was at the library studying, there was this paper that looked like a letter underneath the table I always sat at. No names, no dates, it was more like a paper of notes than an actual letter. So I read it and it was a list of different descriptions, “5’5, tan skin, brown hair, Peruvian American, dead father, famous Youtube channel.” Then I started thinking to myself, was this you?! I mean, the description seemed pretty accurate, but then I thought to myself that it was maybe a coincidence, you know. So I continued my work as usual.
Then about a week after that, while walking back home, I go to Sprouts and order a sandwich for lunch, walk out, eat at Foray’s park, then walk back home, the usual. I do that for 3 days until I notice something. From the corner of my eye, I noticed this guy, black hair, large eyes, kinda skinny, and thought nothing of it at first. But then after a few minutes, I realized that I saw this guy the day before, and the day before that. Walking a few meters behind me, from the Sprouts to the park. He wasn’t a student, certainly wasn’t a Sprouts employee. All he’d do is hang around in the store, buy something stupid, like a small bag of wallnuts, then follow me to the park, where he’d stop to eat just like me. So anyways, I did my usual thing, and hoped it was nothing serious. So when I finished my lunch, and started walking back home, I thought it’d be the end of it, but NOPE! This guy then proceeded to throw away his food and started following me again. At that point I started freaking out, I was beginning to worry that he was going to follow me to where I lived. So I thought quickly, entered another park, and waited. My stalker, I’m guessing not wanting to be outed, continued walking, but I would occasionally spot him trailing that same sidewalk back and forth. I waited an hour! Before this guy decided to ditch. When I got back home, my first instinct was to file a police report, but then I second guessed myself. Why? Because I felt like I didn’t have enough evidence to prove this guy was stalking me. So I decided to just wait it out and see if I could get more evidence. The next day, I did the same routine as the day before, and the guy didn’t show up. So I did it again the next day, nothing. The day after that, nothing. It was as if he knew what I was going to do, and stopped because of it; either that, or it was all a coincidence, I don’t know. I never filed the police report, because I never saw him again after that. Weird.
But then about a week ago, I looked at the news, AND SEE THIS MOTHERFUCKERS FACE ON IT! Wide eyed, black hair, a skeleton. So apparently this guy’s name’s Dale Snyder and he was arrested for stalking. So this guy, he found your Youtube channel and fell madly in love with you, started stalking all your socials, then decided that it’d be a good idea to stalk your guy friends. You see, this motherfucker’s super jealous, and when he found out that you had guy friends, he lost his shit and started stalking EVERY SINGLE GUY YOU’VE EVER HAD CONTACT WITH! Or at least the ones he suspected you were in a relationship with. So that’s where I come in, I was one of the guys he was stalking. To top it all off, he was only caught, because your friend, William, called the cops after hearing this guy trying to break into his home!
Honestly, what the fuck. I mean, I’m truly sorry you had to endure through this and all, and I know we’re only pen pals, so communicating can take a while. But you should’ve seriously texted me sooner about this kinda stuff! The fact that I had to find out through the news, is just so fucked up. Also, please be more careful sharing information on the internet. I don’t know how he got my address, but this stalker shit’s the last thing I want to deal with! Anyways, I know I sound really mean right now, but that’s only because I’m angry. I know I said that you should’ve been more careful sharing your information online, but this really isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault that that creep acted the way he did. I hope you come out of this situation stronger than ever and I send my best wishes.
From, Jare bear
Alan Munoz is an upcoming writer trying to hone his craft through practice. He specifically works with fictional work and is currently finished with one third of a novel. Alan’s main characteristic when it comes to his writing, is how he plays around with perspective to make a more interesting story.