DAY 15 — My Favorite Tree: The Kapok Tree

There are trees that simply exist in the background of our lives, and then there are trees that hold stories. Trees that feel ancestral. Trees that remind us of who we are and who we come from. For me, that tree is the kapok tree, known as the ceiba in the Dominican Republic and across much of the Caribbean and Latin America.

The kapok tree is enormous, ancient, and awe-inspiring. It towers over landscapes, reaching heights that make you pause and take in its presence. Its trunk is thick and powerful, its roots sprawling like a foundation laid down before memory. In many cultures, the kapok is more than a tree. It is a connection point between earth and sky. A spiritual pillar. A reminder that the natural world has its own elders.

When I was writing The Ordinary Bruja, the kapok felt like the only tree worthy of carrying the story’s symbolism. Not just because it is culturally significant, but because of what it represents emotionally and metaphorically. In the Dominican Republic, the kapok tree is one of the oldest, most sacred trees. It is woven into indigenous Taíno stories and Afro-Caribbean folklore. It is a witness of time, survival, migration, and spiritual resilience.

The kapok is native to tropical regions across the Americas—Mexico, Central and South America—and West Africa. It has since spread to Southeast Asia, thriving in rainforests around the world and often rising above the canopy like a guardian. And that origin story matters. The kapok moved, migrated, rooted itself in lands far from where it began, and still grew into something magnificent.

That is the reason I planted the kapok tree in Ohio within The Ordinary Bruja. It does not belong there—at least not botanically. But symbolically? It belongs perfectly.

Because the kapok is the immigrant story.

It is the story of people who leave their original soil, whether by choice or by force, and find themselves somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere colder. Somewhere different. Somewhere that may not understand them at first. But still, they grow. Still, they adapt. Still, they root. Still, they rise.

The kapok in Ohio reflects every immigrant’s journey, including my own. It reflects the journey of the Espinal family in the Las Cerradoras series. It reflects the experience of standing in a country that is not your birthplace and learning to belong without losing who you are. It reflects the tension between origin and adaptation, between identity and transformation.

I wanted the kapok tree to show up in the series because it is one of the most powerful symbols of Caribbean identity and diasporic survival. It will appear again in The Forgotten Bruja because that lineage is not limited to one character or one generation. The Espinal magic is tied to land—not just the physical land they walk but the ancestral land that lives inside them. And the kapok is a vessel for that magic.

For me, the kapok tree also symbolizes spiritual height. In many traditions, the ceiba is considered a bridge between worlds. Its massive trunk and exposed roots represent grounding, while its towering branches stretch into the heavens. It is seen as a tree that holds both worlds—earth and spirit, past and present. A place where ancestors gather. A place where offerings are made. A place where stories linger.

When I was writing Marisol’s journey, I knew she needed a symbol that reminded her—and my readers—that belonging is not about location. It is about endurance, heritage, and the ability to adapt without erasing yourself. The kapok tree in Ohio is a disruption. It is unexpected. It raises questions. It stands out.

Just like many of us who grew up between cultures.

Growing up Dominican American means learning to navigate dual identities. You may not fully blend into American society, and you may not fully blend into Dominican culture either—especially if you were raised outside the island. You become like the kapok: familiar yet foreign, rooted yet wandering, powerful yet misunderstood.

But the beauty of the kapok is that it thrives anyway.

It grows in new soil.
It stretches toward the sky.
It becomes a landmark in places that never expected it.
It transforms the land simply by being there.

That is why the kapok in my series is more than scenery. It is a statement.

It says: We do not have to be from here to belong here.
It says: We thrive even when the soil is different.
It says: Our roots are resilient, expansive, and sacred.
It says: Immigrant stories are powerful, magical, and deeply rooted in something larger than geography.

Writing about the kapok tree allows me to honor the island that shaped me while acknowledging the life I built in the United States. It allows me to show how culture travels, how ancestry holds on, and how magic survives migration.

The kapok tree is my favorite not just for its beauty, but for its truth.

It is the embodiment of survival.
It is the embodiment of diaspora.
It is the embodiment of growing tall in unfamiliar places.
It is the embodiment of being rooted in two worlds at once.

And that is exactly why it will continue to appear throughout the Las Cerradoras series.

Because the story of the kapok tree is the story of so many of us.

#ancestralMagic #ceibaSymbolism #culturalRoots #diasporaStories #DominicanFolklore #DominicanSpirituality #immigrantIdentity #kapokTree #LasCerradorasSeries #LatinaAuthor #softBrujaChallenge #TheOrdinaryBruja #worldbuilding

Lessons in Letting Go: Guilt Isn’t Guidance

Guilt is sneaky. It disguises itself as responsibility, love, duty, and “being a good person.” But for years, guilt ran my life—and I didn’t even realize it. From the guilt of my childhood to mom guilt, military guilt, and creative guilt, I carried weight that was never mine to begin with.

In this episode of Have a Cup of Johanny, I open up about the emotional and generational guilt that shaped me, the guilt that almost kept me from writing The Ordinary Bruja, and the moment I realized guilt is not guidance—it’s fear wearing a mask.

I share the lessons that helped me release guilt in motherhood, military life, and creativity, and how letting go of that weight finally allowed me to stand in my own voice again. You’ll also hear how guilt shows up in The Ordinary Bruja, how Salvador weaponizes it, and how Marisol breaks free from an inheritance of emotional burden.

The Ordinary Bruja is officially out now! If you’re ready for a story about identity, magic, and releasing what no longer serves you, order your copy here:

The Ordinary Bruja: Book One of Las Cerradoras Series – Johanny Ortega

Marisol Espinal has spent her life trying to disappear from her family’s whispers of magic, from the shame of not belonging, from the truth she refuses to face. She’s always wanted to be someone else: confident, capable, extraordinary.

But when strange visions, flickering shadows, and warnings written in her mother’s hand begin to stalk her, Marisol is forced to confront her deepest fear: what if she isn’t extraordinary at all? What if she’s painfully ordinary?

Yet Hallowthorn Hill doesn’t call to just anyone. And the more Marisol resists, the stronger its pull becomes. The past she’s buried claws its way back, and something in the mist is watching—waiting for her to remember.

If Marisol cannot face the truth about who she is and where she comes from, the same darkness that destroyed her ancestors will claim her, too.

Somewhere in the shadows, something knows her name.

And it’s time for Marisol to learn why.

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When Hauntings Become Inheritance: The Stories That Shaped The Ordinary Bruja

When I first started writing The Ordinary Bruja, I didn’t plan to write a haunted house story. At least, not in the traditional sense. I wanted to write about the kind of hauntings that don’t come with creaking floors or shadowy figures, but with inherited silence, guilt, and the weight of being the first to see what others have learned to ignore.

But hauntings have a way of finding us.

And for me, they arrived wrapped in the influences of four stories that still live rent-free in my imagination: The Haunting of Hill House, The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina, Mexican Gothic, and Play Nice. Each one peeled back a layer of what I thought horror could be—and what it means to be haunted not by ghosts, but by family, memory, and identity.

The Haunting of Hill House – Grief That Builds Its Own Walls

Mike Flanagan’s The Haunting of Hill House changed the way I saw horror. It isn’t just a ghost story—it’s an autopsy of grief. What unsettled me most wasn’t the jump scares, but the quiet ache of it all. The way the Crain family keeps walking through rooms built from regret, denial, and love.

That’s how Hallowthorn Hill came to life in my book. It’s not just a setting; it’s a living reflection of the Espinal women’s silence and sorrow. Like Hill House, it’s a presence that responds to what’s left unsaid.

I wanted Marisol’s haunting to feel cyclical, deeply human—where trauma doesn’t stay buried just because you refuse to speak its name. Hill House taught me that horror isn’t always about the supernatural. Sometimes, it’s about the rooms you build inside yourself to survive loss.

The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina – Magic Written in Bloodlines

Zoraida Córdova’s The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina gave me permission to embrace unapologetic magic. The story of a family bound by a mysterious matriarch—whose gifts, secrets, and sacrifices ripple through generations—resonated deeply with me.

Orquídea reminded me of the Dominican women in my own life: the ones who speak in prayer and proverb, who light candles not just for hope but for protection, who hold entire histories in their silence.

That’s how the Espinal women were born. Their magic, like Orquídea’s legacy, is both inheritance and burden. Each generation carries a power that was once silenced—and a responsibility to reclaim it without losing themselves in the process.

Córdova’s novel showed me that magical realism doesn’t need to explain itself. It exists because it’s truthful to cultures where the sacred and the everyday coexist. Her story reminded me that ancestral magic is not delicate—it’s demanding. And in The Ordinary Bruja, that truth became the backbone of the Espinal legacy.

Mexican Gothic – The Rot Beneath the Beauty

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia is one of those novels that hums with unease. It’s not the kind of horror that screams—it whispers. It’s decadent and decaying at once, where the air itself feels poisonous and the walls pulse with history.

What captivated me most was how Silvia made dread beautiful. She built a world where the horrors of patriarchy, colonization, and control literally fester beneath the surface. The mold in that house isn’t just physical—it’s metaphorical.

In The Ordinary Bruja, Salvador embodies that same rot. He’s the ghost of machismo and generational control—a man who believed power belonged only to him. His influence lingers like mildew, feeding on fear and doubt.

I wanted my story to carry that same slow suffocation—a psychological horror that doesn’t always announce itself, but seeps into your bones. Like Mexican Gothic, I wanted to show that the real horror isn’t just in the house—it’s in the systems and silences that built it.

Play Nice – The Horror of Being the “Good Woman”

Rachel Harrison’s Play Nice was the most recent spark of inspiration, and it hit me in the chest. On the surface, it’s about a woman who inherits her mother’s supposedly haunted house, but beneath that is something far more sinister—the expectation to be “good,” to be palatable, to perform happiness even when everything inside you is collapsing.

Clio, the protagonist, is a woman who curates her life for the internet. She knows how to pose, how to smile, how to “play nice.” But when she returns to the house her mother once called cursed, she’s forced to confront the lies she’s told herself to keep that façade intact.

That idea struck a chord. Because Marisol Espinal also performs. She’s spent years trying to be small, agreeable, and invisible—trying to fit into a world that keeps telling her she’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Like Play Nice, The Ordinary Bruja explores what happens when women stop pretending. When they stop contorting themselves into acceptable versions of womanhood. When they finally say, I’m not here to play nice.

It’s in that defiance—when the mask cracks—that true power begins to rise.

The Intersection of Horror, Heritage, and Healing

When you blend all of these influences together—Hill House’s grief, Orquídea’s inheritance from Zoraida Córdova’s imagination, Mexican Gothic’s atmosphere, and Play Nice’s unmasking—you get the emotional DNA of The Ordinary Bruja.

I didn’t write this book to scare people. I wrote it to unbury something. To ask: what do we inherit when we inherit silence? What does it cost to heal what’s been festering for generations?

Writing this novel was my own kind of haunting. Every draft pulled me closer to the ghosts I hadn’t wanted to face—those of assimilation, of womanhood, of ancestral expectations. But it also showed me that hauntings don’t always want to hurt us. Sometimes, they want to be heard.

If The Ordinary Bruja has a message stitched into its spine, it’s this:
Our hauntings are not curses. They’re invitations—to remember, to reclaim, and to rise.

The Ordinary Bruja: Book One of Las Cerradoras Series – Johanny Ortega

Marisol Espinal has spent her life trying to disappear from her family’s whispers of magic, from the shame of not belonging, from the truth she refuses to face. She’s always wanted to be someone else: confident, capable, extraordinary.

But when strange visions, flickering shadows, and warnings written in her mother’s hand begin to stalk her, Marisol is forced to confront her deepest fear: what if she isn’t extraordinary at all? What if she’s painfully ordinary?

Yet Hallowthorn Hill doesn’t call to just anyone. And the more Marisol resists, the stronger its pull becomes. The past she’s buried claws its way back, and something in the mist is watching—waiting for her to remember.

If Marisol cannot face the truth about who she is and where she comes from, the same darkness that destroyed her ancestors will claim her, too.

Somewhere in the shadows, something knows her name.

And it’s time for Marisol to learn why.

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Story Genius Revisited: What I Learned the Second Time Around

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The 75 Day Soft Joa Challenge: Growth in the Uncomfortable Zone

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Day 1 of the 75-Day Joa Challenge: Why I Started and What I Already Learned

https://youtu.be/tDwpX6w4VWk

If you’re like me, you’ve probably tried a million different ways to organize your life and still ended the day wondering where the time went. That’s what led me to start the 75-Day Joa Challenge.

Inspired by AuthorTube’s take on the 75 Hard Challenge, I wanted something more personal. Something softer, more in tune with who I am—disciplined, yes, but also gentle with myself. So on July 17, 2025, I created my own version. Here’s what it includes:

• 📖 Read 10 pages of nonfiction (currently craft books)
• 🧘🏾‍♀️ Do a 5-minute mind reset (a.k.a. meditate)
• ✍️ Write for 45 minutes
• 📣 Post one brand-building item
• 🪞Have one mirror moment (y’all, I love this one)
• 📸 Take one picture to track the journey

What Day 1 Taught Me
On July 18, 2025 was my first day and let me tell you, when I actually carved out time for these tasks—intentionally and early—I finished everything on my list before my workday ended. That gave me something I don’t usually get: free time.

I didn’t expect that.
But here’s the epiphany: structure can give you back your time.
It felt like peace. Like I was finally in rhythm with my day instead of chasing it down.

And that feeling? That’s what I want more of. Check out the video for a more in depth account of my first day.

If this resonates, I’d love for you to follow along or even join in with your own version. Tag it.

Don’t forget The Ordinary Bruja is available for presale and during the presale she is 50% off. So get it while the sale last!

The Ordinary Bruja: Book One of Las Cerradoras Series – Johanny Ortega

When grief pulls Marisol Espinal back to Willowshade, she uncovers a legacy buried in shadows, silence, and ancestral magic. The Ordinary Bruja is a haunting coming-of-age story that blends psychological horror with Dominican folklore and magical realism. For fans of Silvia Moreno-Garcia and Isabel Cañas.

If you love what you read, I’d be honored to hear your thoughts. Please leave a review on your preferred platform and let other readers find the magic in The Ordinary Bruja.

Move First, Write Later: My Top 5 Ways to Wake Up Creativity

In my last post, I talked about how I don’t wait for inspiration anymore. I go looking for it—or better yet, I move until it finds me.

Here’s the thing about my brain: it loves motion. Something about my body being active while my mind wanders is the sweet spot. When I’m physically moving, I slip into a mental space where my characters come alive, my scenes find clarity, and I start dreaming up new ways to get my protagonists into (and hopefully out of) trouble.

So when the creative well runs dry, or I’ve gone a while without being immersed in my current WIP, I go back to the last thing I wrote and then get moving. That combo is like flipping the switch back on.

Here are my Top 5 Activities That Always Bring Me Back to My Story:

1. Shower Time = Plot Time

There’s just something about being in hot water—literally. When I’m in the shower, calientita and relaxed, my mind drifts straight into my stories. The warmth, the white noise, the solitude? It’s my personal idea incubator.

I’ve plotted full chapters in the time it takes me to condition my hair. Shower thoughts are real—and for writers, they’re golden.

2. Walking with a Soundtrack

Give me a clear track and I’m good to go. I plug in music (instrumentals only—no lyrics to fight with my thoughts) and start walking. The key is matching the music to the mood of the scene or character. If I’m writing action, I’ll queue up something cinematic and fast-paced. If it’s a sad or introspective moment, cue the violins. Love scene? Break out the soft piano or even the moody love songs.

I’m not just walking—I’m building worlds in my head, one step at a time.

3. Running to Jumpstart the Brain

Now let’s be clear: I’m not out here sprinting like I’m training for the Olympics. I run at a chill pace, but it’s enough to shake things loose. Running helps me get unstuck faster than walking, especially when I’m wrestling with a scene or trying to figure out a character’s next move.

Nature, movement, and that steady rhythm of breath and heartbeat—it’s like my inner storyteller gets jogged back to life.

4. People Watching for Character Fuel

I spend a lot of time in airports, so I do this without even trying. But whether it’s a coffee shop, bookstore, park, or library—watching people is one of the best ways to get inspired. Every person has a story, and when I imagine what those stories could be, I start unraveling new threads of fiction.

Sometimes it’s just the way someone adjusts their bag strap or looks at their phone. Those little details open the door to big narrative questions.

5. Driving (or Being Driven) to Think Freely

When I’m on a known route, driving becomes meditative. I play the kind of music I mentioned earlier and let my thoughts drift into story territory. If the drive requires too much focus, though, I’ll ask someone to take the wheel while I zone out in the passenger seat.

Even better? Public transportation. No need to focus on the road. Just sit back, put on your headphones, and go wherever your mind takes you. That mental space? It’s priceless.

Final Thoughts:

Creativity isn’t passive—it’s something you chase, court, or wrestle with. For me, that chase almost always starts with motion. When my body gets going, my brain follows. That’s the rhythm I’ve learned to trust, especially when inspiration is hiding.

And honestly? There’s no shame in needing a little push. Not every writing session begins with magic—but if you move first, the magic usually shows up.

Writers, what’s your version of creative motion? What do you do when you’re feeling stuck or disconnected from your current work-in-progress?

#creativeProcess #LatinaAuthor #writerSBlock #writingHabits #WritingTips