Like a plate lunch special, Sharks in an Inland Sea is a smorgasbord of short stories, essays, memoir, a novella, and even a poem and a play. Most of the works have appeared in various anthologies and magazines over the last ten years, but there are a few new surprises.
It’s Hawai’i and Utah colliding in my head and coming out in speculative fiction stories about sharks that walk, unscrupulous funeral directors, friendship sandwiches, monsters masquerading as young girls, and witches with apple peels. There’s some Pidgin and Hawaiian, a lot of chicken skin stories about things not being quite what they appear, memoirs like the time I was almost permanently swallowed by a national monument, and a few musings on what it means to be a modern Hawaiian in the diaspora. You’ll see well-loved characters from the Niuhi Shark Saga trilogy like Uncle Kahana, ‘Ilima, and even Kalei, but be warned, most of these stories are intended for the fifteen and over crowd.
Some of these stories bite.
Mahalo nui loa to Joe Monson at Hemelein Publications for shepherding this collection to publication and including my work as Book 4 in his Legacy of the Corridor series.
For bulk, discount, or wholesale orders, please contact email@example.com.
You ever miss the forests for the trees? I’ve been so busy writing and doing all the the things that I haven’t mentioned where my newest short stories are being published! Here’s what’s recent and upcoming
Short Story Collection
Sharks in an Inland Sea: Collected Speculative Fiction by Lehua Parker, published by Hemelein Publications, available June 2022
“This Once was a Sea” in Dead Stars and Stone Arches, published by Timber Ghost Press, Fall 2022
“Nightwalker” in Out of Time, published by Timber Ghost Press, Fall 2022
“Tourists” in An Ocean of Wonder: the Fantastic in the Pacific, published by University of Hawaii Press, Summer 2022
“Infestation” in Snaring the Sun, Bamboo Ridge, Journal of Hawai’i Literature and Arts #122, Summer 2022
“Brothers” in Va: Stories by Women of the Moana, published by Tatou Publishing, New Zealand, January 2022
“Nana’ue” in Va: Stories by Women of the Moana, Published by Tatou Publishing, New Zealand, January 2022
“Close Encounters” in Va: Stories by Women of the Moana, Published by Tatou Publishing, New Zealand, January 2022
“Tatau” in Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought, Winter 2021 (link)
“Persona Non Grata” in Wasatch Witches, published by Fear Knocks Press, March 2021
“Gamble” in Grifty Shades of Fey, published by Fiction Vortex Press, 2020
Author Roundtable, The Routledge Companion to Gender and Science Fiction, Summer 2022
“Scrubbing Jesus’ Toilets” in Mormon Lit Blitz Vol. 2, Summer 2022
“9 Pacific Islander Authors Share Their Favorite Books for Children and Adults,” Apartment Therapy, May 2021 (link)
“Akela in the Park” performed by The Honolulu Theatre for Youth, Honolulu and web-streamed, June 2021
Works in Progress
Under the Bed, Book 1 of Lauele Chicken Skin Stories for MG/YA readers
Husk, a futuristic Hawaiians in Space Novel for adults
Plus two top secret projects, lots of book editing projects, and new writing workshops for kids and adults. And laundry. It never ends.
YA Hawaiian Cosmic Horror! At last!
Austin Aslan’s The Islands at the End of the World and The Girl at the Center of the World are rip roaring, seat-of-your-pants thrilling Hawaiian YA cosmic horror / apocalypse novels. Set in modern day Hawai‘i, this duology explores what might happen if all of the communication, electricity, and other modern conveniences were suddenly cataclysmically disrupted worldwide.
Cut off from the rest of the world, 16 year old Leilani and her father must figure out how to get from Waikiki back to their ‘ohana in Hilo, a journey that takes them island hopping from O’ahu to Molokai to Maui and beyond. Islanders must figure out how to survive in an environment when 95% of everything is shipped in, including tourists with nowhere to go. The US Military, of course, has their own ways of handling things, and it’s not focused on helping islanders. Factions and gangs form as violence breaks out under too real pressures.
These books check a lot of boxes: YA, strong female protagonist, epilepsy as both a challenge and a savior, multi-cultural, ecology-minded, light romance, set in Hawai‘i with authentic cultural resonances, apocalyptic horror, aliens, local and external big bads, and strong family relationships to name a few. It’s a duology perfect for educators and YA readers looking for a survivalist adventure story with an authentically Hawaiian spin.
Most of the islander-isms rang true, although there were a few times things were a little off. For example, the stink eye was used consistently—that edit has to be from an outside editor’s pen. The story itself is wildly imaginative and grounded in Leilani coming to understand that her epilepsy may be the one thing that saves us all. In the end, family is who you say it is—few things are more Hawaiian than that.
These books do describe the end of the way things are now, so there is some violence and swearing which puts these stories in the 9th grade and up category, but nothing is overtly gratuitous. If anything, its understatement makes these events all the more impactful when they occur.
I highly recommend The Islands at the End of the World and The Girl at the Center of the World. We need more speculative fiction stories with Hawaiians and islanders firmly in the center, where their islandness isn’t exotic, but normal, and their adventures unreal.
I was in the middle of trying to organize some of my short stories for another project when I spotted Lani Young’s Instagram post. She was sending out a call for original short stories written by Pacific Island women for Va: Stories by Women of the Moana. The cover was stunning.
Fantastic! I have the perfect story in mind!
I reached out to Lani for more details. She told me she and Sisilia Eteuati were starting a new press called Tatou Publishing. The submission window for their first anthology was only two weeks long and closing on November 30th, in about twelve days, because publication was scheduled for Dec. 23, 2021.
It was like getting hit in the head by a falling coconut.
I didn’t have time to write a new story. I didn’t even have time to complete the projects I’d already committed to. A publication date about three weeks after the submission window closes is cray-cray. It’s beyond bold and non-traditional, it’s the kind of thing only true visionaries do, visionaries who see possibilities around corners, who get in their voyaging wa’a armed with a mental map of the stars and calabashes of water and taro and start paddling because they know they’ll find land. It’s out there. ‘Nuff waiting around for other people. Time to hele on out and go.
And I really wanted to be part of that expedition. But time. Life. Crap.
But I had just been going through my files trying to get a handle on what was published, what wasn’t, what needed some editorial TLC, and what needed to be chalked up to experience and deleted. As I looked over my files, I thought there were three possibilities. Long shots, honestly, since they’d already been rejected by other publishers.
“Brothers,” a contemporary MG/YA magical realism story, about 1500 words; “Close Encounters,” a contemporary adult flash fiction thriller, about 680 words; and “Nana‘ue,” which walked the line between an adult fable and magical realism and was based on an old Hawaiian legend and set in the ancient past. At 4,000 words, “Nana‘ue” was also significantly longer than the 3,000 word max they were looking for.
I can’t submit these. They’ll think I’m crazy, a crazy shark lady. They’ll think all I do is sit in my office in the desert thousands of miles from the Hawai‘i and worry about sharks like some Jaws freak. Just sit your ‘okole in your chair, Lehua, and write the story you know they’ll like, the one that’s been itching behind your eyes for over five years.
And for about four days, I tried. But time. Life. Crap. As the clock ticked down, it was time for some hard truth.
If not for this anthology, then where? Who else is going to get what you were trying to say in these stories? And yeah, they’re all shark stories, but this anthology is for Pacific Islanders—sharks are ‘ohana. The worst they can say is, “No thank you.” Well, no, the worst they can say is, “WTF were you thinking? These stories suck. Please don’t waste our time again.”
But really, they’ll probably just say no.
So I did what I tell all my critique partners and students to do: chance ‘em. Full send. All three stories. Maybe they would pity publish one of them.
Remember when I said Lani and Sisilia were starting something new? This publishing experience has been very different. Within a few hours of submitting, I received enthusiastic feedback from Sisilia and Lani on all of my stories. They wanted all three.
At the time, I was excited. Now after reading about a third of the galley copy I have of Va: Stories by Women of the Moana, I’m humbled. The voices, the lived experiences, are raw and honest and incredible. I’ve laughed and cried and thought yes, sistah, I see you.
38 different women of moana wrote about 50 original works, resulting in more than 98,000 words in the anthology. The initial presales placed it #1 worldwide on Amazon in Pacific and Oceanic Literature. Just think about that for a second. According to traditional publishers, none of these stories nor the audience should exist.
Some of the stories and poems in Va: Stories by Women of the Moana don’t adhere to a western idea of story. They’re vignettes, slices of real life and characters that will stay with you long past their reading. I think that’s perfect because these are our stories, in our voices, no filter, no apologies. I find I’m reading my copy slowly, savoring the words, enjoying the journey.
I’m so glad I jumped in the Va canoe. We’re all paddling as hard as we can. We know land and our audience is out there. Meanwhile, I’m going to write the next story, the one I keep putting off, because now I have a destination to sail toward. And I have to wonder how many other Pacifica stories are going to be written and read simply because Lani and Sisilia have shown the way?
Va: Stories by Women of the Moana is available from Amazon, iTunes, Kobo, Smashwords, and other retailers. It’s a trip to the islands from the comfort of your couch for about the cost of a fancy coffee. Check it out. These aren’t the islands you think you know. It’s life, not a vacation.
#realrep #Va #TatouPub #PasifikaBook #Hawaiistories
On December 14, 2021, I participated in the Utah Library Advocates Press Conference as a representative of PIK2AR and PEAU Lit. The conference was called in response to the nation-wide organized efforts to censor books in school libraries, often without books going through an established book challenge or review process. Basically, someone complains–who may not even live in the school district–and books get quietly removed from school library shelves. Sometimes these books are simply tucked out of the way in someone’s office; sometimes they are permanently “checked-out” or weeded from the the library’s collection. Regardless, books are being removed from circulation without a proper review.
This is wrong and worrisome on so many levels, particularly since all of the current “problem” books in Utah are centered around BIPOC and LGBTQIA+ themes. At this press conference, representatives from the NAACP, Utah Pride, Equality Utah, ULA, UELMA, UEA, SchoollibraryPALs, and I spoke about first amendment rights, the need for all kids to see themselves as the center of the story, and how parents can have difficult conversations with their children. Not all books are for all children, but libraries need to have books that represent the entirety of their communities.
The following is the mana’o I shared. It’s written to be spoken, not read, so e kala mai, there are a lot of run on sentences.
Aloha awakea kakou.
My name is Lehua Parker, and I’m here on behalf of PIK2AR—Pacific Knowledge To Action Resources—and PEAU Lit—the literary arm of Pasifika Enriching Arts of Utah. I’m an author of stories for kids and adults that are deeply embedded in Native Hawaiian and Hawaiian island culture.
Do not let the blond hair and blue eyes fool you. I am kanaka maoli, Native Hawaiian and a graduate of The Kamehameha Schools.
Today, you’ve heard my esteemed colleagues talk about the importance of school libraries and authentic representation. I’d like to take a moment and talk a little bit about this from the perspective of an author who writes stories for an underserved readership.
As a child growing up in Hawai‘i, I never saw my family, friends, or neighbors represented in a book. And I know these books didn’t exist, because I was constantly on the prowl for them in both public and school libraries. I was the kid with their nose perpetually in a book—on a bus, at the beach, soccer practice—it didn’t matter, I had a book with me.
But my family and friends weren’t just invisible in books—it was all media. In the rare movie or television show, islanders were always the exotic hula dancer, the bartender, or the crook—never the center or the hero of the story, never seen nor validated, and never without a cultural narrative created and imposed by Hollywood.
Would it surprise you to learn that pineapple, coconut bras, and tiki curses that Bobby Brady faced are not Hawaiian?
Don’t get me started on pizza.
I remember so vividly the first time I saw my community authentically represented in media. It left such a lasting impact on my life, that when I decided to write my first novel, I knew it had to be about—and for—kids in Hawai‘i—that their authentic lives, experiences, and worldviews had to be firmly set as the center of the story.
I wish I could take you all to Hawai‘i to see the impact these books have had on kids. I’ve stood in crowded auditoriums with kids on the edge of their seats—they were that engaged with the idea that someone wrote a story about them that’s in a book.
“Aunty,” they say, “when you had a character say and do this—did you really mean…?!”
And yes, I tell them, I did.
More importantly—with a book in hand as proof, kids are thrilled by the possibility that they too can write their own stories and someone will read them. They matter that much.
I’ve talked with teachers, librarians, and parents—some with tears in their eyes—because for the first time their haumana, their keiki—their students and children—feel seen. For some kids, these books are the first ones they’ve read voluntarily in their entirety.
Think about that for a moment. Reading is critical to success in school, in work, in a child’s future, in our nation’s future. Kids hunger to read books that speak to their lived experiences. Why would we do anything to discourage that?
I want you to know that I recognize that not all books are for all kids. However, we have public processes that help us determine which books are appropriate for which grades in our communities, and it is imperative that these processes are followed. It is chilling to think that people believe we can circumvent proper review processes by bullying others into removing books from circulation, simply because a book is not right for their child.
All school libraries must have books that represent the entirety of their communities.
It truly is a matter of life and death. It is a matter of being seen.
Mahalo nui loa a me aloha no. Thank you for your time and consideration.
If bullying is not okay on the playground, why are we allowing it in the library? What are we really teaching our children? I invite you to get involved, to educate yourself and others on the critical services libraries provide for everyone in their communities. Rather than worrying about what another kid has in their backpack, send your child to the library with lists of good books you’d like them to explore.
#RealRep #challengebooks #Hawaiibooks #justreadconfunit
I’ve often thought that rather than wait patiently in the shadows for someone at the publishing table to notice and make room, it’s better to build your own table. Tatou Publishing has not only built a table, they’ve prepared a feast.
Traditional publishers in the USA believe there is no market for Pacific literature stories, that islanders don’t read or buy books, that words in Pidgin or Hawaiian or any other language are confusing. I can tell a good story, they say, but to reach a wider audience, I should really just write books about American girls who sparkle. That’s something they can sell.
Unfortunately, that’s not an exaggeration. Publishers and editors have really said this to me. I think their frankness comes from the cognitive dissonance they experience when they see what looks like a fluffy middle-aged white woman submitting manuscripts that bleed saltwater and taste of taro and red earth.
They just don’t get it—and they really can’t. They don’t have the tastebuds.
Other Pasifika writers have heard this, too. We’re told to be patient, to write literary fiction, not space stories or fantasy or urban romance. We’re supposed to fit neatly in a box.
Tired of this rhetoric, Tatou Publishing was born. A call went out from Lani Young and Sisilia Eteuati for original short stories and poems from women across the vast Pacific. It speaks volumes about colonial chains that many saw women and assumed only cis-gendered were welcome, but our pan-Pacific realities have bigger hearts and lives than that. Tatou Publishing assumed that was understood. Going forward, the wahine energy message is clearer. Women means all women.
Their first project is ambitious—there was only a two week submission window for original stories and poems that ended on Nov. 30, 2021 and publication was fast-tracked for December 23, 2021.
That’s the number of authors whose work was accepted into the inaugural anthology. I’m not sure what the final word count was, somewhere in the 90,000 word range. That’s not just amazing, that’s unprecedented. It’s impossible, according to publishers. There aren’t that many people writing these kinds of stories in the world, let alone women.
That’s why Lani and Sisilia built their own table, a ginormous table, big enough to hold a feast of words, of stories, of lives told in authentic voices. Better loosen your belt. There are more courses—flavors and textures—than your tongue can hold.
The authors range from experienced to noobie, from stay-at-home moms to lawyers, educators, business owners and everything in between and beyond. This is the start of something special.
From the back of the book—
Stories that tell covid to eat sh!*, where a Centipede God watches on with wry humour and wrath, where a sexy Samoan goes on a hot Tinder date in Honolulu, where a New Zealand doctor is horrified to be stuck at her cousin’s kava drink up in Fiji, stories where Ancestors and Atua live and breathe. Stories that defy colonial boundaries, and draw on the storytelling and oratory that is our inheritance. Immerse yourself in the intrigue, fantasy, humour and magic of beautiful strong stories by 37 writers from across the Moana.
Chimamanda Adichie speaks about the danger of the single story. In this book you will travel across oceans and meet diverse and deep characters in over 50 rich stories from Cook Island, Chamorro, Erub Island (Torres Strait), Fijian, Hawaiian, Maori, Ni-Vanuatu, Papua New Guinean, Rotuman, Samoan and Tongan writers.
Mark your calendars: Va – Stories by Women of the Moana, available Dec 23, 2021 on Amazon and other retailers in eBook and paperback.
It’s gonna be epic.
“How did you dare?”
After talking with students at Kealakehe Intermediate over the internet for a bit, I read chapter one from ONE BOY, NO WATER, and looked up. Most of the kids seemed stunned. “I’ve never heard anyone read a story that had Pidgin in it before,” one student said.
Another raised his hand. “How did you dare? How did you know you could do that?” Lots of kids nodded. They wanted to know this, too.
I blinked hard. “I just did,” I said. “And if I did, you can too. Don’t be scared. Just do it.”
I’ve been thinking about this exchange a lot this afternoon. It’s why real representation in literature is so important. All kids deserve–need–to see themselves as the center of stories that affirm their lived experiences. Sometimes all it takes is someone telling them it’s okay; they can do this; permission granted.
It was maybe eight years ago that I noticed a lot more awareness, more buzz, about the startling lack of diversity in middle grade and young adult literature. In the USA, it started with recognizing we were a multicultural nation that woefully underrepresented the crazy quilt reality of our society. The lack of diverse representation was being talked about in ways and in circles that I hadn’t heard before.
It was the very existence of the conversations that was new, not the concepts. Growing up, I was surrounded by misrepresentation, appropriation, and outright fabrication of my Native Hawaiian—kanaka maoli—culture in media. All islanders were hula dancers, bartenders, or crooks, with the occasional beach bum thrown in. Books, television, and films never reflected my reality of doctors, lawyers, businesspeople, teachers, musicians, comedians, philanthropists, homemakers, and yeah, houseless people struggling in makeshift camps.
With awareness and conversation came movements like #weneeddiversebooks and #ownvoices. Traditional publishers created new imprints and solicited manuscripts from writers of all backgrounds, experiences, and frames of reference. There was a lot of hope.
Then reality set in and things started to get weird.
One of the biggest challenges is that with new perspectives, the stake holders and kingmakers—the acquisition editors and marketing teams—generally do not have the background to accurately assess whether or not a manuscript authentically represents what it purports to. In today’s cancel culture, few are willing to risk being wrong.
Authors are also eyeing the swing of public opinion’s guillotine. Over the last few years, I’ve talked with many established authors who want to write stories about characters who aren’t like themselves—ethnically, neurotypically, sexually orientated, physically abled, faith-believing or disbelieving, from different socioeconomic communities—the whole spectrum of humanity. These authors’ genres and target audiences range widely, from picture books to adult high fantasy, romance, and horror. These are exactly the kinds of stories that will reach under severed readers and bring more threads to our literary tapestry. But they’re scared. They’re convinced writing outside of their perceived and approved wheelhouse is career suicide.
And these stories aren’t being written.
Some authors have pivoted to writing about animals instead of children. Some write fantasy, where it’s easier to blend cultures into something familiar, but new. Others have doubled down and do not describe the physical characteristics of their characters at all. I was part of a panel of authors at an event where a White college student called out a well-known (and really wonderful) White male author of middle grade books. She publicly chastised him for only writing White characters in his series. He gently asked her where that was in the text—and of course, it wasn’t. He had been very careful to only use generic physical descriptions like tall, athletic, old, young, or wearing a blue shirt. The college student had brought her own biases with her.
We all do.
The pendulum’s backlash is twice as harsh as its front swing.
I believe it’s important to recognize that not all stories are ours to tell. But rather than #ownvoices, I think we should be focusing on authentic representation, what I’ve coined as #RealRep (because ain’t nobody got time to spell #AuthenticRepresentation).
#RealRep allows authors the freedom to write all kinds of stories. Writers can easily imagine how it feels to be different or alone or special or even ordinary. Most stories have underlying themes like love, family, courage, perseverance, or adventure and are told through emotions and experiences that are universal to the human condition. Where we are vary is in the specifics, constraints, opportunities, and pressures.
My advice to authors who want to tell stories about people, places, and experiences out of their own wheelhouse is to pause for a second to consider what’s sparking the story. What draws to you this story; why do you want to tell it; what are you hoping your audience will take away from it; how will you do your best to avoid harmful stereotypes, characterizations, and tokenisms; and how would you feel if you were portrayed this way?
If you’re comfortable with your answers, then research, research, research. Google, YouTube, and the library are your friends. Most importantly, connect with this community. Find people who have first-hand knowledge and experience with the cultures, issues, locations, and worldviews you want to explore. Get the nuances and details right before publication, but don’t let fear of getting them wrong stop you from starting. Refinement often comes after the first drafts when you engage beta and sensitivity readers. And it is readers. There is no “authority” that blesses any one point of view or lived experience. You’ll need a variety of responses to see the middle.
Remember, the goal is authenticity, not wide-eyed Pollyanna optimism. It’s okay if some readers are uncomfortable. Just make sure the discomfort is calculated and coming from the things you intend.
To publishers, remember that none of us are fully aware of our biases. We always think we know more than we do. Recognize you don’t always have the staff or experience to identify authenticity in manuscripts, particularly ones that defy expectations. If the story is compelling, engage your own experts to assess if it rings true–and it will take experts because no human experience is a monolith.
If we want to create a more inclusive world, we must teach compassion to children. One of the best ways to do this is to provide them books that allow them to walk in others’ shoes. To teachers and librarians, you are the frontline. Use your budgets to curate collections that serve your entire community.
To those in the corps calling for diversity in literature, keep beating those drums and encouraging people to write their own stories in their own voices.
Writing is an art, but publishing is a business, and like all businesses, it’s profit driven. Buy books you like and want to see more of and leave positive reviews. Create grassroots buzz. It’s that simple.
Authentic representation. #RealRep. Spread the word.
Last year, at the start of the pandemic, we took an unused corner of our property and built a huge garden–14 raised beds, each 30′ long and either 18″ or 3′ wide, with a drip irrigation system, climbing trellises, weed barriers, and gavel between the beds. Over four of the beds, we built a greenhouse to extend our growing season. Everything was designed by Kevin. We harvested enough potatoes, carrots, onions, corn, tomatoes, squash, and other veggies and herbs to feed a neighborhood. I say we, but in reality it was College Son and Kevin who did 90% of the work.
I’m working on an introduction to short story I wrote that’s going to be in an anthology of retold fairy and other traditional tales published by University of Hawaii. My into is waaaaaay overdue. I’m working on the fourth completely new version–I didn’t like my previous attempts. Hoping fourth time’s the charm.
But as I’ve been thinking about fairy tales and what makes a story Hawaiian vs Islander vs Malihini vs Outsider, I remembered the first time I heard a western fairy tale told through an islander lens. It was a record called Pidgin English Children’s Stories. I heard it in the “listening center” at Kahului or maybe Kihei elementary school, a corner of a large classroom that had a record player and a couple of big can headphones that connected into the player with giant phone jacks. The headphones were so big–or our heads were so small–we had to hold them onto our heads with both hands. When I close my eyes, I can still smell the dusty wood smell of the cabinet where the records were kept and even feel the wobbly cardboard cover. We had two records in our listening center–this one and “Paint it Black” by the Rolling Stones. Not kidding. Life really is weirder than fiction.
It’s also true that everything is on the internet. Originally recorded in 1961, I found one of the stories from the album–Cinderella–on YouTube. Listening to it again, here’s a lot I didn’t understand as a kid. But maybe the best stories are that way–they grow with us. If you’re interested, here’s the link. And now to get back to that intro I’m writing! (Sorry! It’s coming today, promise!)