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November 08, 2024
Overview
At Scripted Dreams Online, I’ve created a platform for writers at every stage. Here, you’ll find
coaching, a mix of free and paid workshops, and courses that guide you in creative, personal,
and professional writing. My mission is to equip you with the skills, insights, and inspiration
needed to achieve your writing dreams.
The Sea of Dead Souls: Novella published April 2022
2. Articles: Various articles
Biology Seniors Take First Place at
Regional Meeting
August 29, 2019
Melissa Morado '19 and Anna Yager '19 present their research
Two Loyola Marymount University biology students presented a research poster that earned
them a tie for first place at the annual meeting of the Southern California Academy of Sciences.
Melissa Morado ’19 and Anna Yager ’19, presented their research titled, “Ontogenetic
Distribution of Late Pleistocene Megafauna at Rancho La Brea,” in spring 2019. The students
worked on a collaborative study funded by the National Science Foundation to study Late
Pleistocene megafauna at the Rancho La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles.
Their team – led by Wendy Binder, professor and chair of the Biology Department at LMU, and
comprising Joshua Cohen, a postdoctoral researcher, along with other intercollegiate
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collaborators – focused on the La Brea Tar Pits and the Hancock collection, the original
collection of mammal bone deposits.
“We were predicting that the larger adult fossils would be kept compared to the smaller
juveniles, indicating a preference towards larger museum specimens,” said Morado.
Melissa Morado ’19 and Anna Yager ’19 at
the La Brea Tar Pits Museum
Morado and Yager formed a smaller research team to concentrate on census data which meant
going through all the fossils collected and categorizing correctly for juvenile animals,
morphological and taxonomical data.
“We had to learn to compare bones to be accurate. Were the animals, adult or juvenile? To be
able to tell by looking at the bones of a mammal meant a great deal to us,” said Morado. “Our
general result was that all the localities showed a trend of more juvenile ungulates, like horses
or bison, than carnivora.”
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Morado plans to apply to a master’s degree program in Zoology/Wildlife Biology with an
emphasis on animal behavior or physiology. “I have always liked communicating with
animals,” said Morado. “The research is fascinating.”
“Dr. Binder was an excellent research mentor,” said Morado. “She was extremely helpful in
always giving us information about the animals we were observing, informing us about the
broader project and guiding us to become critical thinkers. Working in a collaborative scenario
with other undergraduates and gaining knowledge made it amazing.”
Yager and Morado are thankful for the knowledge they gained in this very specific niche of
research. “We were not expecting the award. For us, we were having fun with our research, but
this was another chance to go for it,” said Yager. “We learned to ask for help, and now I am
more comfortable working in this setting and on these topics.”
Yager plans to spend a year working as an emergency medical technician before furthering her
education as a physician’s assistant or pursuing medical school. Yager also encourages Seaver
College students to get involved early and not be afraid.
“You learn when you get there and fear held me back during my first two years,” said Yager.
“The professors, staff, teacher’s assistants are very supportive of Seaver students and will help
you through anything.”
Creative Writing major Nina Gibson is a graduate student with the Department of English in
LMU Bellarmine College of Liberal Arts.
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My Take October 19, 2022
Tar on the Wall
By Nina Louise M.A. ’20
Illustration by Gracia Lam
Growing up on an Indian reservation is not like what you see in the movies. Not all reservations are
barren land with homes built on stilts or tracks, or tents made of bearskin. In Tacoma, Washington, in
1978, the Puyallup Indian Reservation was as urban then, when I was 10, as it is today. Nothing
Indigenous stood out. Not the students in the schools, the people in the diners or the music heard from
passing cars. Nothing told me I lived somewhere unique. Did my memory work to erase where I grew up?
What brought me to the world of books? Stories? I discovered the kindness of others through storytelling.
The reservation’s rain swept through Tacoma, taking the sweet and the bitter memories. My fourth-grade
teacher paved my way out. Under gray skies, I discovered Billy and his hounds in Wilson Rawls’ “Where
the Red Fern Grows.” Yet, it was a girl like me, drowning in her Native Americanness in search of her
tribe, who returned my memories. My fourth-grade best friend was a motherless girl, who lived across the
alley. Her intoxicated father never knew my name. We were girls who craved belonging
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I write with my Indigenous, Asian, Brown families in
mind.
Uprooted to Waipahu, Hawaii, when I was 13, where the blistering frizzy-hair heat changed the scenery
and altered my momentum and focus. In a sea of brown — the lighter-than-me good kind of brown. My
Blackness stood out like tar splashed against a white wall. The thought of fitting in disappeared as fast.
Mainlanders were foreigners here, neither liked nor disliked — just invisible. Fights amongst the locals
broke out everywhere. Violence followed us here.
In Tacoma, there were drugs, alcohol, wooden paddles and tree branches for instant punishment. In
Hawaii, beer and smoke filled our four walls. We lived in constant fear of hands around our throats. The
new boyfriend suffocated our lives. We had to find a way out.
Books filled my time; “The Color Purple” and “Roots” served as motivation. The Oprah Winfrey Show,
Maya Angelou and Alice Walker served as mentors. They said, “If I can, YOU can.” Oprah survived
abuse. Maya Angelou said, “Still, I rise.” Despite poor grades, second-hand clothes and food stamps, I
remained hopelessly hopeful.
Call it luck or a blessing, my out came knocking. College? No way. I was a reader. A writer. I wanted to
be Oprah. I wanted to be a star. An A never graced my report cards. College, no way. If you get in, “Go,”
Mom said. And so, I did.
I dropped out my senior year.
Books directed me towards strength, forgiveness and memory. My 30-year college hiatus landed me at
Antioch University Los Angeles, then LMU for a master’s program. Friends thought I was crazy. A leap
of faith, they called it. What 50-year-old returns to school? I write screenplays. Short stories. Novels.
Essays. For crying out loud, not dissertations. A doctoral degree never crossed my mind.
The leap of faith was worth the risk. There is nothing I love more than telling stories and remembering
with gratitude those I lost. I applied to only one Ph.D. program. The year of the pandemic, of protests, of
the awareness of Black murdered bodies, preoccupied me. Everyone is on the search to make a difference.
At LMU, I gained courage from the forgotten voices of those I once knew — those who beckoned me to
tell their stories, our stories.
My college education motivates my storytelling. Let your path define you. Your friends, your family, old
loves, all those you touch and who touch you, open a world of inclusivity. Your ancestors guide you. My
youth inspired me to teach.
My diaries were full of stories with characters like me. Girls, women who thrive. My stories are not all
Black stories. I write with my Indigenous, Asian, Brown families in mind. I write our shared stories. Once
you no longer feel victimized you can see human growth. You can see forgiveness.
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If I listen to the voices from my memories, they say, “Don’t forget me.”
“I won’t.” I whisper back.
Nina Louise is a Ph.D. student at the University of Hawaii at Manoa and the author of “The Sea of Dead Souls.”
Follow her @Ninalouisewrites.
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The
Gusog
구속
Warrior
By
Nina Louise
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DISCLAIMER
This is a work of fiction. Certain long standing institutions, agencies and public
offices are mentioned, but the story and characters involved are wholly imaginary.
The information contained in this Ebook is strictly for entertainment and educational
purposes. Therefore, if you wish to apply ideas contained in this Ebook, such as the
use of nunchakus or Bojutsu staffs without proper training or supervision, you are
taking full responsibility for your actions.
Copyright © 2020 Nina Louise.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or modified in any form,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval
system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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11
Volume I: Thou Shall NOT Kill
One
Faith was as good as dead. She knew it. They should have left for the islands weeks ago.
Tyson had been away on a fishing trip, and Hope insisted she was ready. She told Faith
months ago, “I’ve been preparing for this day all my adult life, so now I am finally ready,
you’re not?” Faith remembered the tone in her voice, unfamiliar to her ears, Hope held a
resilience tucked in the back of her throat like phlegm. Where was that stronghold now?
The local news declared Tacoma would force a lock down on their residents as early as
tomorrow, stay-at-home orders, they would call it. Flying would be near impossible.
They would have to take a train to New Orleans, where transportation plans would move
them by boat to Aruba. Hope wanted South Korea, but that was out of the question now.
Her second choice, Hawaii, another ill and fateless decision. They could hide out in
Aruba until the stay-at-home orders were lifted. They could plan their next move or
permanent place of residence once the virus died.
Mid-May brought a heat Faith had forgotten with all her travels overseas, and
throughout the U.S. Through the overcast sky, the sun began peering down into the
city's red brick buildings, polished streets and people, hovering with a touch of mist. The
beat-up Orange 1972 Beetle convertible cut-through traffic like Spiderman. Faith knew
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this car would come in handy one day. She bought it off her younger brother for
$500 and fixed it up over the last year from inside out. She didn't think she could learn
every detail about cars and how they worked by simply fixing one. It was the best
investment she ever made besides all the money she put into her health, pre-packaged
boxed meals, the gym, the pool, not to mention her college education. If she had not
taken those risks, she and Hope would have nowhere to go and nothing to do once they
got there.
Narrowly escaping one red light after another. Faith constantly looks from her phone to
the street. The streets are BOOMING with people and traffic. The call connects. A horn
screams, she darts her eyes up, SLAMS on the breaks. Holy hell. Faith has tried for years
to give up swearing; the only method working is the use of other not so bad words. She
should have just given Hope the $100 bucks and called it a day, but she knew she could
handle the challenge. After all, they were raised Baptists for crying out loud, and she
only suffered small setbacks while driving among idiots.
She picks up her iPhone. "Hope you’re there? We got to go..." CLICK.
The phone disconnects.
More honking. Faith floors it. She makes the next right, bobs and weaves, makes
the next left, sharp and fast. Slowing as she leaves commercial buildings turning off into
a lower-middle class neighborhood. She pulls up to a dark blue white trimmed house on
the corner.
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Faith jumps out. Children play in their yards. Neighbors walk their pets.
School kids cruise home full of horseplay and laughter. Faith eyes one group heading
her way. She is fixated on the two pretty girls enveloping a handsome teenager. That was
once them. Hope, Tyson and Faith. What a difference a decade and a half can make in
the life of foolish girls. The things you will do, the sacrifices you will make, all for the
love of one worthless man.
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