Kinky Gazpacho

Color Online had a contest to win a smattering of books that don't receive enough love. I didn't win.

*Fiddle Sticks!*

Well I guess I won, in a way. One of the books that I could have potentially won was Kinky Gazpacho by Lori L. Tharps and because I saw it mentioned on Color Online, I requested it at the library.

I did a little research on the internet first, before going to the library. I totally forgot that I already have a book by Tharps. She coauthored Hair Story, which I loved because I was trying to figure out how to be a natural chic. She also has a website and a blog called My American Melting Pot. I found out the neatest thing on her website: You can purchase her book online. Okay, that's not the neat part. You can purchase her book with her autograph on it. Now maybe a lot of author's have that available, but that was the first time I had ever seen it. I was tempted to buy it for that reason, but I'd much rather attend a book signing and get it in person.

I found an excerpt of Kinky Gazpacho on Amazon, read the first chapter and I was sold. I'll review it here on my blog...maybe even break it down chapter by chapter. I'm interested in seeing how the title works itself into the memoir.

Ciao!

Mystery Musze (Part 4)

Silawn easily maneuvered her motorcycle through Brooklyn Heights, keeping a considerable distance between her and the Musze. Some of the other ladies may have been doubtful of his identity, but she had seen that small scar above his left eye up close and that was all the proof she needed. She promised herself that she would call Joi after Mister Musze remained stationary for a moment, hoping that she would forgive her.

*******

"Thanks for letting me tag along to the bookstore with y'all. You guys meeting someone up here?" Blaque questioned. She noticed the vibe had changed slightly once they were all inside. It wasn't stank or as if her presence was unwanted, but there was a light veil of tension for sure. She couldn't put her finger on it though.

"Yeah, Silawn and Joi are supposed to be here..." Kim stopped short of completing her sentence and scanned the store.

"I don't see them. I'll call." Angie called Silawn first, but it went to voicemail, Joi however picked up on the first ring.

"I'm glad you called Angie. I've called Silawn a few times but she isn't picking up. I'm worried about her."

"Worried? Why? Wait, where are you?"

"On the second floor, at the cafe. Come up and I'll explain." Angie led the other two ladies upstairs to the table where Joi was sitting. She was fiddling with a folded piece of paper, unsure of where she should start. She didn't know how much Blaque knew about what they were attempting to do, so she tried to censor herself as she started talking.

"I think he knows we, uhm, I was, er, following him."

"How do you know?" Kim's eyes were wide.

"He purpsoely ditched me." Joi slid the piece of folder paper towards Kim.

"Read this note he wrote me."


(to be continued...)

What? The Mystery Musze is writing letters? What does the note say? How did he give Joi the slip? And just where is Silawn?

(Didn't read part 3? Click here.)

Mystery Musze (Part 3)

Silawn: Made it! On Court St. He went in to a bookstore.

Kim: What subway is that near?

Silawn: Borough Hall. Hurry. Joi is inside.

Kim: OK. Is everything else set?

Silawn: Not quite. Need 1 more person 2 make it work.

******************************************************

Joi hovered near the Young Adult section in the book store because it gave a clear view of her lovely target. He picked up a few titles, flipped through, and unsatisfied, put them back on the shelf. When he walked up to the customer service desk, Joi made a dash to see what he had been looking at. Piano sheet music. Paranoid Android by Radiohead. She was surprised the bookstore even carried it since it was released so long ago. Joi wondered what else he listened to as she hugged the music close to her, tempted to lift it to her nose.

"It should be right over here in this section Sir. Maybe someone reshelved it incorrectly," the clerk said behind Joi. She wanted to make the quickest exit possible, but she knew that would only draw attention to herself. If the plan was going to work, it had to be a complete surprise. There was a faint aquatic scent floating just above her nose and she tilted her head up slightly to take it in. She slid the book back and began working her way down the aisle away from them. She decided then, his new nickname would be "Mmmm" because of that scent. Joi turned around to walk to a less inconspicuous area of the bookstore and ploughed in to a young girl who had a stack of books, which now decorated the floor.

"Oh Sweetie, I'm sorry. Let me help you pick those up," Joi says leaning down. So much for being inconspicuous.

Outside, Silawn was concerned when she noticed that Mister Musze was heading out the door and she hadn't received any warning from Joi. Where is she? Silawn was tempted to call her, but she didn't want to get distracted if they were going to stay in pursuit. It would be rude to leave Joi here, she thought in her head. He was already half way down the block and she was losing sight of him.

(to be continued...)

Will Silawn leave Joi by herself to catch up to the Mystery Musze? And what happened to Joi anyway?

(Didn't read part 2? Click here)

Mystery Musze (Part 2)

Kim: OMG! He came to kickboxing class 2day.

Cookie: Gawd and I missed it!
:-( Had to hit the books. Did he look good?

Kim: Better than butter and biscuits. I almost bit him. He is a sexxxxxy biaach.

Cookie: ROFL!! Did you let Silawn know?

Kim: Yes. She's nearby, rgt up the block.

Cookie: That was quick! :-)

Kim: On her motorcycle. We won't lose him this time.

Cookie: Are we really going to go thru with this...?

Kim: Lawd. Gotta go. Give the boys a kiss for me. MUAH!

*********************************************************

Silawn and Joi were waiting idly a block away from the gym, waiting for HIM to pass by.

"Kim said he's going to be wearing all black, so keep a look out," Silawn says, nervously looking around.

Joi nods, but is silent. Her face looks determined, determined to have her very own M moment. She had a packet of tissues in her pocket just in case she didn't. Her cell phone tinkled out a familiar chime.

"Start your bike Silawn. Kim just texted, he's coming this way."

Silawn had already spotted him, but hadn't moved an inch. She watched him glide along the sidewalk, his feet were barely touching the ground, it seemed. She was frozen standing there. The feeling was strange, she couldn't even explain it with subtext. As he got closer, shadows began to form across his face. If she didn't have shades on, it would have looked absurd, staring for such a long time. He called out her name...

"Silawn! Hello! Come back from the dead. Now is not the time to be still. Wake up," Joi shook Silawn's shoulders gently to pull her out of her trance.

"Sorry, let's go. Text Kim back and let her know we are going to follow his taxi."

(to be continued...)

What do the ladies have planed for the Mystery Muzse? Can Silawn and Joi follow him without getting busted? And just where is he going anyway? You'll just have to wait and see...

(Didn't read Part 1? Click here)

Mystery Musze

Blaque returned to the kickboxing class only after she couldn't button up her favorite Seven Jeans. It had been at least six months since her last class, which she knew was entirely too long. This Pillsbury soft muffin top - that was spreading across her tummy faster than gossip - was ruining her sexy. Stretching her legs even proved to be a chore. When she finished warming up, Blaque stood up and rotated her head around slowly to relieve some of the tension. A familiar face appeared in her periphery view.

"Angie, is that you?" She walked closer and did a dramatic spin once she recognized Blaque's face.

"Yes gurl. Where have you been?"

"You know things get crazy sometimes. I must be losing my mind, cause I ain't losing any weight. I see you haven't missed any classes though."

"Thank you. I've had some motivation --" Angie is interrupted by Kim who already appears to be winded, despite the fact that class hasn't started.

"Did I miss anything? Is he here?" Kim says breathing deeply.

"No, not yet. Calm down," Angie chuckles at Kim's eagerness, but is just as excited. Blaque noticed the two of them had stepped up their workout gear. The last time she was here, they generally would wear any old t-shirt and sweatpants that happened to be clean or had the fewest bleach stains. A typical exercise outfit. Blaque had on an old gray hoodie and some comfortable yoga pants, a hole was growing on the back of her thigh and the seams were unraveling. Pretty soon she was going to be a$$ed out all over town. In contrast, Kim and Angie had on exercise couture that could rival any Nike mannequin. Everything was matching from the floor to the ceiling, even cute little combs in their hair. If she didn't know any better, she could swear they were wearing make-up. Blaque felt a bit self-conscious, but tried to dismiss it.

"Who is HE?" Blaque asked, wondering if this "he" was the reason the ladies were looking so fly.

"Shhh! There he is. I'll fill you in later" Angie moved to her place in front of her kickboxing bag and Kim and Blaque followed suit. Blaque adjusted her bag so she could get a sneak peak at this guy, this Mystery Musze that had inspired her workout buddies to get gussied up to sweat. He was about six feet tall, his skin the color of a toasted walnut, with a slim build. From the distance she could see that he had a large tattoo on his upper arm. It kind of looked like an umbrella, but she wasn't close enough to be certain. The voice of Xanod, the kickboxing instructor, snapped Blaque out of her investigation.

"Are we ready to begin? Let's start warming up our hearts by walking in place."

Fifteen minutes into the session and Blaque was softly, softly begging for Xanod to stop class early. Her accent reminded her of Estelle, each time she would call out different stances for the class to follow. Blaque barely had time to be nosy and checkout the Mystery Musze because she was using all her effort to keep punching and kicking the bag. Angie and Kim didn't appear to be having the same issues. They still had a lot of energy in the "boxer jog" the class did in between sets.

"Okay! We are going to jab on the right for eight counts and upper cuts with the left. Stay with me!"

Kim walked over to the water fountain, across the room that was near Mystery Musze. Angie and Blaque shared a knowing look with each other and laughed because Kim's water bottle was bulging out of her gym bag. Clearly, Kim was trying to get a better look at him or either get him to notice her. As she passed by, he smiled and nodded his head, acknowledging her presence and kept jabbing at his bag. Kim was all teeth when she came back to her spot.

"That HAS to be him. His hair may be shorter, but even with those nerdy glasses on, he still looks good."

"Hush Kim, you don't wanna scare him away, do you?"

Blaque was still puzzled but thought these ladies were hilarious, fawning over some strange dude, but it appeared they knew something about him. After class was over, the three ladies rolled their kickboxing bags back into position and began to dish.

"Alright Angie, so who is this guy?" Blaque asked.

"Are you serious? You don't recognize him at all?"

"No. He wasn't in the class when I was here before."

"You just need to get closer so you can see him."

"Too late for that, he's gone. Just tell me."

"Nope, besides, I'm not 100% sure it's really him, but Kim thinks it has to be." Kim had been busy texting someone and seemingly not focused on the conversation, but perked up when she heard her name.

"Yeah, it's him and he's not gone. He usually takes a shower..." Kim says going back to her texting. Blaque wasn't sure she wanted to find out how Kim knew that piece of information, but taking a quick shower sounded like a good idea.

* * *

Standing outside the front door of the gym, the ladies chit chat to not seem so obvious that they are waiting for him.

"Blaque, it's like you dropped out of the sky. All incognegro. I KNOW you feeling today's work out" Kim jokes.

"Yeah, my body will regret this in the morning. Xanod, that chic, she's not to be played with"

"Uh-huh, she's cold and she means business!"

"I won't quit this, but I feel like I wanna sleep til I die a thousand times..."

Angie suddenly elbows the women into silence and as he walked by the world seemed to stop for him. His clothes were as black as a summer's night, he moved stealthily like a trained ninja. He appeared out of nowhere and then disappeared around the corner like Houdini.

(to be continued...)

Who is this Mystery Musze? Who was Kim texting and will she get a biscuit? Tune in next time. LOL!

The Fresno Poetry Scene: An Oxymoron (Part I)

Thirty minutes late and when I walked in, I spotted the turkey on the leash immediately. Turkey on a leash? Yes a turkey on a leash, Butterball I think and frozen solid. The turkey's owner was an older gentleman, well into retirement. Only for a second did I mistake him for being the person who takes the 5 dollar "donation" even though the show is free. Of course, he couldn't be that guy, because in his other hand was a plunger and you can't exactly accept donations with your hands full, can you? Nah.

I quickly moved further into the venue (at the Smokehouse) and was frustrated when I saw that all the seats were full. I mean, from wall to wall, to the sweat drops down yer...*Remix* Okay not really, that joint was soooooo empty you might have been able to hear your own echo if the music hadn't been playing. I'm not exaggerating. I actually counted everyone. Seventeen people. That's including the work staff.

The first poet to hit the dance floor (because there wasn't a stage, just the mic) was Jacob, who gave a disclaimer at the beginning that he was going to attempt to do the poem from memory. His nerves got the best of him and he had to refer back to his notebook a few times. Having your girlfriend in the audience as you perform a poem about your love for her is enough to make anyone nervous, I suppose.

Next up was Turkey-on-a-leash Man.
***********

Getting sleepy. Tell ya the rest later...

S/he Books

I tend to select young adult fiction books using four factors they must have before I purchase them:

1. A catchy title (I have a thing for one word titles).
2. An interesting book cover.
3. A summary that gives me the gist of the story.
4. A good first chapter.

Never do I consider the gender of the protaganist in whether or not I will get a book for myself. I do however consider it when recommending it to students of mine or other children I know. What does that say about me? That I'm open to reading anything, but limit children???? *shudders* Sounds like something I should work on...I'm glad Worducopia's meme for this week, challenged me to think about this.

With that being said though, I do know of several books for children and teens that I feel resonate for either gender, but I'll review just one:

Love That Dog by Sharon Cheech

The protagonist is Jack, who I assume to be either in fourth or fifth grade. The story is composed entirely of poetry and could be consumed in about an hour. Jack is a very male character in that he immediately informs his teacher, Miss Strechberry, that poetry is written by girls and not an activity that boys participate in. Jack resists creating poetry of his own, but his teacher introduces him to males (like Robert Frost) who produce poetry and he becomes less reluctant and even passionate enough to write Walter Dean Myers a letter to invite him to visit his school. This is a "I wish I wrote this" book. A few years ago, a Reading teacher I collaborated with, when lesson planning used Love That Dog during her Poetry Unit and all the students were receptive to it and could even use it as a reference later when I began to teach poetry.

"Ms. Alfred, so you mean concrete poetry is like that apple poem in Love That Dog?"

After that incident, I began to always use that book as a reference for constructing poetry in my writing classes.

****

Other books that can tread the gender line are:

1. Locomotion by Jacqueline Woodson
2. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
3. Anything but Typical by Nora Raleigh Baskin
4. Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes
5. Emily the Strange: the Lost Days by Rob Reger and Jessica Gruner
*side note* The protagonist is a girl, clearly, but because of the illustrations it feels a bit like a graphic novel which can appeal to boys...I'm sure you've seen them sitting in the aisle at the bookstore reading Narruto and whatnot*

Some Coffee With Your Cream: Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of Color

Octavia E. Butler for me will always be my definition of literary Sci-Fi. She was the first author I read in the genre. I'm sure most are familiar with Kindred, but less popular is her collection of stories, Bloodchild. If you are a fan of Butler's work, I'm sure you will find her autobiographical story "Positive Obsession" a must read, along with the title story and "Speech Sounds." What makes this collection even more amazing is that after each story Butler gives a short explanation about what inspired it. That's always the question that burns in my brain whenever I attend a book signing, yet it never manages to escape my lips. So the question keeps burning and I probably have developed a hole somewhere. I'm glad Butler put my fire out.

Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu is an author who I am not wholly familiar with. When I saw The Shadow Speaker sitting on display with other new YA Fiction titles, I was (of course) drawn in because of the kinky girl on the cover walking in orange sand. After reading the prologue, it was pretty much a done deal that the ten dollars in my pocket would no longer be safe from the cash register at the book store. I wanted to live in the world Okorafor-Mbachu created. I ate this book for breakfast, brunch, lunch and had to slow down before dinner, not wanting the story to end. I didn’t realize until taking on the Color Online challenge to write about science fiction and fantasy, that I had already had an introduction to this author’s work in Dark Matter: Reading the Bones. While it appears that Okorafor-Mbachu is primarily interested in writing for a younger audience, “The Magical Negro” is certainly for adults, but will make you giggle like a school girl.

A few months ago, I, being the curious cat that I am, dug for information from a mother who I knew had a son in the middle grades. When I asked about what he was reading, the book she mentioned first was 47 by Walter Mosley. She said he read this book over and over and I was impressed because statistically boys are more reluctant to read. I went to several different bookstores before I could locate a copy at Busboys & Poets. Clearly, this book is indeed worth reading more than once and I would be thrilled if Mosley would write a sequel. If I could ask Mosley anything, it would be if he purposely introduced the character Tall John on page 47. *Brilliant*


P.S. If you like comic books check out Marvel Comic’s Black Panther, DC Comic’s Vixen, and Arachaia Studios (defunct but maybe coming back…?) Miranda Mercury.

Writer Magic

Becoming a Writer (in 175 pages). Who knew that a book existed that could tell me how to be…how to be this supernatural being that has the power to construct words together that could change your life and transport you to Narnia, Wonderland, or 1934. I knew writers had magic and Dorthea Brande spilled the beans about it, 75 years ago.

“To begin with, you must teach the unconscious to flow into the channel of writing” (pg. 69).

The unconscious mind writes, the conscious mind revises. I’ve heard that before and while I should be comforted in hearing it again - because the repetition of it implies the truth - it is actually quite unsettling. Being unconscious implies that you are not aware of what you are writing as you write it. Sleep writing. My conscious mind is very much in control of what I write down and type out. The only time that I come close to stream-of-consciousness writing is when I do timed free writing. You can safely assume that none of the writing produced from my free writing is award-winning or even worth sharing with a close friend. Ha!

I didn’t get a chance to finish reading Brande’s chapter on how to harness this unconscious writer that lives inside of you, but how wonderful it would be if I could force my conscious mind to hibernate and let the magic flow. Its got to be in me somewhere. Does an unconscious mind take bribes?

Come out, come out, where ever you are. I can feed you. I know a lady who can make the best toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches...

Two Rivers

I was walking around the bookstore, heading for the poetry section, when I saw a book display. I recognized the book instantly, because I had seen a stack of them months ago at The Writing Center (in Bethesda). It was the latest book, of an instructor I had several months ago. Two Rivers by Tammy Greenwood. I felt proud of her and even happier that I had taken a workshop with her. It being placed right next to a East of Eden (John Steinbeck) made me puff my chest out even further.

Of course, I had to take a quick search on The Writing Center site to see if she's teaching another course...and she is... *joy*

After my groupie moment passed, I searched through the small section of poetry. Now, for someone who has written a considerable amount of poetry, most of the books I read are novels. Sure, I have several anthologies, and quite a few Nikki Giovanni titles, but my poetry collection is far from impressive. That got me to thinking "If I published a book of poems, would everybody pass it up to get to the fiction section?" They probably would, because I do the exact same thing...and I'm not the average reader. I don't know any statistics on it, but lets just say the average person buys 6-12 books a year. I buy at least 3 times that amount, yet maybe 2 of those books would be poetry. I'm assuming the average person either gets fiction or non-fiction.

I have to make a conscious effort about supporting poets. Makes sense, doesn't it?

I bought s√he by Saul Williams. I read the whole thing while waiting for my mother to sauna and shower at the gym. I enjoyed how all the poems seemed to be connected to each other. It makes it easier to swallow. You want to know what's going to happen so you keep going, just like good prose. Reminds me of a CD you can listen to from the beginning to the end without having to skip through the wack songs. I haven't picked a favorite yet, but I'll leave you with one that I'm feeling:

even my pen man ship
throws thoughts overboard
into a black ink sea

and how many thoughts perish
before they reach the page?

Color Online Book Give Away Contest

Color Online is having a contest to promote different authors who write for young adults.

Three of the titles sound interesting to me. It be cool to win something. You increase your chances by tweeting links or adding it to your blog, and also committing to reviewing the work. I can do all three.

*Ephiphany*

Can you be a professional book reviewer and make enough money to survive on it soley? Besides being a published author, that might be my dream job. Getting paid to read and write about books. Sign me up for that one.

La'mia, La'mia, La'mia....

What's wrong? We were writing your story together and then you just stop talking to me. Did I offend you? Are you being shy? Why aren't we writing together anymore? You aren't telling someone else your story...say it ain't so.

Maybe I just need to focus on you instead of writing about Dawn and writing my personal statement and writing poetry.

Is that it, are you jealous of them?

There's no need to be, cause as soon as you start talking I will write.

Serious.

Which Hint Fiction Story Should I Pick?

I can enter only three...which ones?

25 Words or Less

You know, writing a hint fiction story is more difficult than I thought.
I wrote several of them, but most of them were at least 40-50 words.

I managed to write 4 of them that made the word count. I am unsure if they are any good. I'm certain that one of them I will enter in the contest. The rules say that you can enter 2 maximum (or three if you link the guidelines to your blogger page) and I need to know which ones are the best.

If you wanna help me narrow it down, leave a comment.

Grey Hair

*Looking close to my scalp*
Where did you come from?

And if you ain't paying rent, you can't stay.

Hint Fiction

I was searching around again today for places to submit my work and stumbled across this site via Twitter.

My first thought was "What is Hint Fiction?"

Lucky for me it was explained:

hint fiction (n) : a story of 25 words or less that suggests a larger, more complex story

25 words or less...I can do that! Seems like poetry. Or a twitter update.

Here's more details if you are interested in submitting your work as well:

Anthology Guidelines

Tentatively scheduled for the fall of 2010, W.W. Norton will publish an anthology of Hint Fiction. What is Hint Fiction? It’s a story of 25 words or less that suggests a larger, more complex story. The thesis of the anthology is to prove that a story 25 words or less can have as much impact as a story 2,500 words or longer. The anthology will include between 100 and 150 stories. We want your best work.

It’s possible to write a complete story in 25 words or less — a beginning, middle, end — but that’s not Hint Fiction.

The very best Hint Fiction stories can be read many different ways.

We want stories we can read again and again and never tire of. Stories that don’t pull any punches. Stories that make us think, that evoke some kind of emotional response.

Take a look at the winners and honorable mentions of the Hint Fiction Contest for examples.

Payment is $25 per story for World and Audio rights.

Reprints? Sure, but unless you’re one hundred percent confident in the reprint, why not try to write an original piece?

For formatting purposes, you must include a title (which actually works in your benefit, as the title helps give a better “hint” of the overall story).

Writers can only submit up to two stories, both embedded in the same e-mail. Don’t worry about a cover letter. We don’t care where you’ve been published or what graduate program you’ve attended — all author identification will be stripped by a third party so we will only see the stories and nothing but the stories.

To make everyone’s lives easier, embed the stories like this:

TITLE

Story.

TITLE

Story.

Your name.
Submissions will open August 1 and close at midnight Eastern time August 31. A submissions e-mail address will appear on this page on August 1 — DO NOT SUBMIT TO ANY OTHER ADDRESS BEFORE THEN.

Please note that due to the expected volume of submissions, we will be forced to respond with form letters.

Thank you, and good luck.

Black and Blue (a sonnet)

Be it seven or eight years, it’s too long
quality music, silent and missing
sleeping perhaps? Waiting for the right song?
Experiences first before you sing
realness only comes when you disappear.
So inspired from the love that you had
nine tracks, trilogy, and more than one tear
lost and found your muse, underneath the sad
voice like sunshine even though she was cold
falsetto soft, like feathers…please don’t stop
sharing your soul, too splendid to withhold.
The seventh of seven: the album drop
many appreciators have stayed true
the most faithful of them adorned in blue.

Literary Magazine Search

I’m doing some research on literary magazines. Right now I’m only looking at the online mags because of my assumption that they might not charge a submission fee. Not true.

The first online magazine I found was called Narrative Magazine. $20 dollars.
Oh, look at this article on Slate about an intern who Twitters for Pizza Hut and gets paid. *sidetracked* I wish someone would pay me to Twitter about some brand. I’d be good at that. Shoot, they wouldn’t even have to pay me cash as long as I could add it to my writing resume (which is almost hopelessly empty as h@ll).

*click*

Found an article about Twittering established poets on Exquisite Corpse. I’ve wondered if there were any famous poets on Twitter. I only have Staceyann Chin so far. The article is humorous. I see where they are going, but I guess I was hoping they were actually going to have real responses for the authors.

Hmm…they have a “Wanted” section. Talisman needs people to write reviews of poetry books. I should send in a email…I did, I did.

*Twitter break*

Wow, I don’t know why I didn’t think about using Poets & Writer’s as a resource in the first place. I saw a twit about an extension on a grant and quickly accessed the website. They have a whole section dedicated to literary magazines. This should cut my search time down a lot. Ooowee, but with 394 magazines that accept poetry, it certainly isn’t going to be a quick search. I can plug through though. Cool beans.

Saw another twit from Mahogany Books. I wonder if they need someone to review books, interview authors, twit-vertize or otherwise contribute ....hmm, they do have a Po.e.treats section…

*wheels turning slowly*

Okay, so I need to join this site in order to be a part of the Aspiring Writers group they have. No problem-o cause it’s free. I can’t seem to find a submissions guideline page. Let’s check the search engine.

*tap-a-dee, tap-a-dee*

Found a link to Rattle, a literary magazine-oh man, I just missed their tribute to African American poets. Frick. The next call is for sonnets. I can write a sonnet.

*Note to self – write five sonnets and submit to Rattle*

The submissions guidelines don’t include cash out of my pocket and the payment if selected is two copies of the magazine. The reviewer payment is one copy. I think

*pause*

OMG, I checked the e-reviewer section. If you want to review books that Rattle selects they will send you the book for FREE. Rattle, let's be friends.

*satisfied sigh*

How to Become a Famous Writer...

I love being surrounded by books. Stacks of them. Fiction, poetry, memoir, young adult, the more the merrier. Add some music to the mix and I’m in heaven. So naturally, bookstores are my favorite places to write (you can’t eat at the library). It’s a constant reminder of my purpose. Plus, if I need any inspiration, or a model text, BAM, I’ve got tons of professional/published writers with whom to conference with. It sometimes can be a distraction though…it’s so much easier to read than to actually write.

My distraction at Borders today was a writing reference book by Ariel Gore called How to Become a Famous Writer Before You’re Dead. I only read chapter one and it contained the common thread that I have heard all published writers say, “it goes without saying that if you want to become a famous writer before you’re dead, you’ll have to write something.” (pg. 7)

I took her advice, and countless others, and sat down to write. I have two stories that I’m currently working on, so I wrote for both of them. I don’t have an outline for either story, just a vague idea of how I’d like the character’s to evolve.

I got an email from a woman who was in my last workshop class. She and several of the other members of class want to meet up and critique each other’s work. I was excited to see the invitation because I have fallen off the writing wagon since the class ended a few weeks ago. Knowing that we are going to meet up in August to offer advice on how to strengthen our stories is enough of a push to at least write five more pages of Dawn’s story so that I can get some feedback. It’s scary to share my story at such a first drafty stage, but because these ladies have already seen it, it eases my anxiety.

The second protagonist I’ve come up for the other story is La’Mia and I feel more attached to her story than Dawn’s at the moment. I’m going to have to decide which story I’m going to share with them. I’m leaning towards Dawn due to familiarity, but La’Mia’s story may be more interesting.

It be better to write 5 pages for both of them…

Guess What Came In The Mail?

My Bahboo says I'm obsessed with him...but it's not like I'm stalking him outside his house or anything crazy like that. *smile*

What Bahboo doesn't understand is that if Maxwell was sitting directly next to me - in a movie theater we'll say - that I wouldn't even speak a word to him...probably wouldn't even turn my head. Let's just hope I'd remember to breathe. *In my best queen voice* J/K, J/K.

Now Write

I love writing exercises. Especially timed ones. I feel pressure to write, have something to focus on, and know that I only have 15 minutes (or more) to get down something, anything. And it doesn't have to be good, it only has to be done. My inner critic only says "Go, go, go, don't stop writing" when it usually says "Eww, did you just write that crap? Burn it immediately before someone sees that."

Today, while sitting at Books-a-Million, I read a few pages of Now Write (edited by Sherry Ellis). I tried an exercise from Clyde Edgerton called You-Me-I-You in the Cafeteria. It's on pages 71-72 if you'd like to try it for yourself, but it's basically a way to write from a different point of view. I wrote from my own point of view for 15 minutes and from another person's point of view for the same amount of time. It was easy to whip through my p.o.v., but when I had to write from the other person's p.o.v. I was stuck for at least 3 minutes looking at the computer screen.

Here's what I produced:

My Point of View

I’m so hungry I’m about to eat my fingers off, but when I saw her I almost walked out of the cafeteria altogether. She was sitting at a table far away, looking at a thick textbook. Hmph, she called herself taking classes to develop her intellect, but I think she is just plain bored. I can’t believe she would brag about not having to work at a time where the unemployment rate is reaching uncomfortable heights.

Let’s hope that she doesn’t see me and give me a phony “hello” and a forced hug. I hate having to pretend like I enjoy her company, but she is a friend of a friend that I actually do like, so I play the game. I’m almost certain she is playing the game along with me, but I can’t even imagine she has lucid thoughts in her mind. Not saying that she’s stupid, but she lies so often she might not be able to sort the truth out for herself.

Good, I’m almost through the food line and she hasn’t spotted me. The broccoli looks good and so does the corn on the cob. I might as well have both of them. The weather is pretty decent outside, except I’ll have to contend with the mosquitoes who give way too much love to my ankles and calves. Mosquitoes versus her…I’ll risk it. It’s hard putting on a show when there isn’t an audience to witness. Without our mutual friends around I might get a bit too real with her.

I don’t even understand why she has to be so negative all the time. I’m sure she finds it humorous, but it rubs me wrong like a Brillo pad. You shouldn’t have to put others down in a “joking” manner for the spotlight in a group conversation. She thinks that she’s slick, masking her digs with smiles and giggles, but I’m on to her game. I don’t want to play anymore.

Sh*t. She’s looking this way. Is she looking at me? I’m close enough to the green exit sign. I’ll pretend that I don’t notice her. The worse that could happen is that she comes outside looking for me…and if she doesn’t, all the better, cause if she doesn’t, I’ll know she’s as phony as me.


Her Point of View

Hey, is that…? I wonder if she’s going to even speak to me. I haven’t forgotten that time she barely masqued her un-invitation to the play a month ago. I don’t get it. What did I do to her? She’s spoiled and must think the world revolves around her ass. I’ve been nothing but nice to her. I can’t help that she can’t take a joke or three. Sensitive. I heard her own best friend say as much, and she would know better than I.

If I keep my eyes in this book, she won’t even bother with attempting to speak to me. What a phony. When we are together in big groups, she doesn’t seem to have any issue speaking to me. She must be jealous. What else could it be? It was only one date and it didn’t mean anything. Why get pissed off about something so small? Immaturity. She’s got some growing to do. She’s silly, is all. Missing out on a possible friendship. Does she have any friends to go smirking and shirking away from me?

That’s probably it, she doesn’t know how to interact with people well. She’s so quiet most of the time. I think she mentioned being an only child. It helps to grow up in a large family to gain social skills. Sometimes you have to fight for attention though and do what you have to earn favor in the eyes of your parents, be it humor, charm, or whatever.

She seriously isn’t going to say anything? She wouldn’t blatantly ignore me if she knew I was here, right? I’m going to wave to her after I make eye contact with her. That way she can’t dodge me. I can be the bigger person. She’s not looking this way though. Let me mark this page in my psychology book, I’ve been reading the same line about metacognition since she walked in the cafeteria door. Wait, she’s looking this way. And now she isn’t. Out the door she goes. She couldn’t have seen me.

Pet Peeve #1 - Men That Honk at Me

It irks me to be honked at while I’m walking.

Do I look like a hooker?

I used to think it was my fault
once I became old enough to find it disrespectful

so I walked down a different street
but the honking still continued
then I changed what I wore
but the honking still continued
next I tried walking with friends
but the honking still continued
and continued
and continued
and it still happens today

so I keep walking anyway
and hope that one day
they will learn it’s best to talk to women
instead of honking at them.

What is the name of this dance?

I might not be giving this dance any justice, but for the life of me, I can't remember the name of this dance from Michael Jackson's video (Remember the Time).

Does anyone know what it's called?

Music

Music is powerful.

I didn't imagine that I would cry at all during Micheal Jackson's memorial service. I mean, I don't know MJ personally, so why should I get choked up, right? My connection is simply through the music.

The music connection/appreciation was enough because several tears slid down my face during the service, three times:

Once during Al Sharpton's speech
Another time when Paris was speaking
And the last during the closing prayer.

I'm trying to rationalize it away
like
maybe I'm sad about something else
and
the memorial service was just the straw...

I'm not 100% certain that, that is the case though.

Music can remind you significant moments in your life:
times you were deliriously happy or depressed
and times you were in or out of a relationship
I even wrote a short story that started with the lyrics of a Jill Scott song.

Music is powerful.

Chi

I've never been to Chicago before and I have this love/hate relationship with her
it was really just silly-ness that caused me to boo anytime I heard her name, but now that I'm here, I have to admit to enjoying myself.

I've been eating like crazy due to the "Taste".
Everything has better flavor it seems.
I'm officially a "foodie" now.

There isn't anything I can complain about.

The Wit is a fantastic hotel:
it's aesthetically pleasing
there's free wi-fi
the shower head is the kind I wish I had at home
the gym has little flat screen TVs (on the equipment)
to entertain you while you work out
on the rooftop there's a posh little club with fabulous scenery
and to top it off
they gave out free cookies before heading up to the room
(the warm gooey kind).

The people are waaay friendly-er than DC/MD/VA folks
they might be lacking in fashion sense
(oh there's a complaint, but a shallow one)
but that isn't a big deal, and there's pockets of fashionable folks anyway.

Did I mention that everything is cheaper out here?

In the area that I'm in
there are so many things to do that are within walking distance
bookstores, restaurants, theaters, museums, parks, festivals, department stores, and more
...lots of them are free too.

Tonight, it's time to hang out with the kidz.

Maxwell - BLACKSummersNight

Being a writer

I'm sleepy and full.
So what am I still doing up?
Being a writer.
You gotta write, to be a writer.

I was thinking the other day
how I consider myself to be an avid reader.

When I talk about reading
I don't say things like
"I wish I were a reader"
and that's because I know how often I read
and what my reading fluency & comprehension is like
and about how I love to discuss the books after I'm done
and appreciate unique stylistic techniques of the writer
and so on.

Yet, when I talk about writing
the tone is self-defeating
even though at the very minimum to be a writer
you must
write.

So why am I up?
Because I'm a writer
and that's what we do.

:-)

I don't HAVE to smile

I know how to smile, I promise I do.

I even smile on a regular basis if something is funny.

Am I going to smile waiting to pick up my order at Panera?
No, I'm going to read the book that I happen to be carrying.

Am I going to smile when you ask me for the receipt of my order?
No, I'm going to show it to you and grab my soup and salad and get on about my business.

Smile, I was just kidding, says Panera guy behind the counter.
Nah, for what? That ish wasn't funny to me.
If you think it's funny, by all means, then YOU smile.

You don't get to dictate when I find something pleasurable, just because it makes you happy.

When I win 10 million dollars, I will smile at everything okay.