Hi. I’m Marisa. Pronounced muh-riss-uh, not muh-rees-uh. Unless you’re my parents, in which you case you roll the R and say muh-DEES-uh. But only if you’re my mom. My dad would say maw-dee-SAW. Also, there was a time when my older brother could only pronounce my name as maw-see-saw, but that is neither here nor there.
I’m one of two Iranian-Mexican-Citizen Potawatomi Nation people. (My brother is the other one.) I may be the only Marisa Mohi in the U.S. Other than that, I’m pretty normal.
I’m a Gen Y Oklahoma writer with two master’s degrees and a bad cake habit. I’ve been scribbling down ideas since my parents sent me to the 7-Eleven down the strip mall from their pizza restaurant to buy a memo pad and a highlighter so I didn’t spend all my time playing the Gilligan’s Island pinball machine in the lobby. If you buy me a drink, I’ll gladly tell you about the time I read Ramona Quimby, Age 8 in the second grade and realized that my true calling was to be a writer.
For the past two years I’ve been teaching Business Communication at my alma mater, the University of Oklahoma. I came to Norman, Oklahoma, 12 years ago to attend college, and wound up finding my home.
Currently, I’m living in sin with my entrepreneur of a red-bearded boyfriend, Chris, and our ridiculous pit bull/beagle/boxer mix, Rosie. When I’m not working, you can catch me on the couch sitting between the two of them.
And when I’m not working or hanging out with my little family, you can catch me looking for my next #realgoodgutpunch.