My crush started in 10th grade Honors English class. I watched from a distance at first, listening to Poetry speak in iambic pentameter and measured syllables. I asked my friends if Poetry was seeing anyone special, but Poetry was free and available any time I was ready.
I flirted with Poetry for the rest of my time in high school, passing short epistles between classes and using the letters to create acrostics. I taped pictures of Poetry in my locker and we'd sometimes meet for lunch in the quad and I'd whisper sonnets, secrets, and rhyme schemes that I thought no one else would listen to or understand.
Poetry was persistent and followed me to college. In 1996, when I read the Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni, I knew Poetry and I were bound together forever...
What is a triolet? Check the original post if you need some explanation.
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Triolet #3 (Teacher Jitters)
It will be the first day of school my anxiety grows. I'm scared! Sometimes students can be so cruel It will be the first day of school new and don't want to be a fool frantic planning so I'm prepared It will be the first day of school my anxiety grows. I'm scared.
As an aspiring writer (and therefore, a voracious reader), I often find myself reading other authors and saying to myself "I wish I wrote that!"
I'm sooooo impressed by an author's ability to construct words into meaningful and fresh sentences, that I'd like to highlight them here on my blog each Wednesday. ********************************************************************************
Wowzers. Did she friken hit the nail on the fracken head? I think Nora dug in my brain and snatched this one from me. She wouldn't even have to dig deep, probably could have found it right on my scalp. These lines seriously resonate for me, like hit the tuning fork and I'm singing on key. It's amazing how someone else can share the same thoughts and feelings as you and be able to articulate it so well.
I've had this book for several years. It's lived with me in three different homes and two different states. There was a folded blue note inside of it, right before the acknowledgements section in the back. I opened it and saw an email address of one of my former student's, from my second year of teaching.
*counting the years on my fingers*
That means that I've had this book for at least 3 years without having actually read it. The n word grates at my soul and probably put the brakes on me getting through this book initially. I still feel the same way about THAT word, but I believe reading Saul's "confession" is going to help me finish the book this time.
Are you the type of reader that skips over introductions of books? I am. Any time I see Roman numerals at the bottom of the page, I fast forward to the first chapter. So, when I saw the XI(eleven) at the beginning of the book, I jumped straight to "NGH WHT" and didn't make it past chapter 4 or 5. I don't treat prologues the same way, they are worth reading in my mind. It's like a sneak peak into the story and me, as a reader, wants to find out how it connects to the rest of the story.
After seeing a post about The Dead Emcee Scrolls on Mahogany Books, I picked up my copy again to see if I could make it through and started from "A Confession" with the thought in my mind that I would probably write a review about it (which requires I read the whole thing).
The curiosity I have now about the validity of his confession that this book was transcribed and not directly written, will carry me through to the end. It also helps for me to read the chapters out loud - despite the fact that I have to say the n word so many times - the words have a distinct rhythm that requires you to hear them spoken. I feel a bit rapper-ish and ganster-y as I hear myself. You'd be LOL-ing if you could hear me.
* * * * *
...seriously though Saul did you really find some ancient rolled up scrolls in an empty spray paint can that had a strange foreign language on it that you translated that set off your entry into the poetry world?
"Procrastination is suicide on the instalment plan." (pg. 31)
Procrastination. She's like that annoying little sister that won't leave you alone. Or that chick that always calls you to hang out, but talks mad ish behind your back.
Procrastination is such a contradiction from a writing perspective. You want to write, but you put it off, make excuses, and find any frickin' reason under the moon not to do it. Writing brings you joy, but it has to come after you clean the bathroom, after you wash the clothes, after you floss your teeth. You write all day long in your head, on post-it notes, in the margins of a book of poetry, somehow forgetting to type a few pages to your manuscript.
Rachel Ballon dedicates session 3 to dealing with this issue that a gaggle of authors go through. It's slightly comforting to know that I am not the only one who procrastinates and that it is a very common issue. She believes the cause of the procrastination is fear of rejection and failure. Can't say that I disagree. Scurred of both of those, mostly rejection though, because as long as I keep writing and learning, I'll never be a failure. That's what I tell myself, but I'm not entirely convinced...
Ballon acknowledges the guilt writers feel when they aren't actually making time to write and the importance of identifying the reason you procrastinate. Besides worrying about rejections, I haven't gone any deeper into the reasons I procrastinate. Before I participated in Tammy Greenwood's workshop, my procrastination centered on not taking my writing seriously, so I wouldn't write because I kept telling myself that writing was a hobby to be done occasionally when the "moment" hits. The workshop focused on creating a writer habit and now I'm at the point where I write everyday, which is an extreme accomplishment for me.
*Yay me!*
My procrastination wears a different mask today. Now, instead of putting off writing, I put off writing about Dawn and La'mia, characters that I would like to write a book-full of poems for. Rachel Ballon suggested that her patient, Sema, should write for five minutes a day to eliminate the guilt she felt from procrastinating. It seemed like a small enough goal and she was able to do it.
I could do that with my characters...no time like the present:
Dawn's Questions
Where is my dad? Where is Zora's dad? Where are the daddies in the neighborhood? Where are they? Are there only baby's daddies? Is that all? Is that normal? That's what I see, but not all I know
Maybe daddies feel different about kids than mamas do why? why do they feel different though? do mommies have something special inside them that makes them stick around or do they stick around because they have no choice they can't say it ain't mine because they saw the baby come out because they carried it around for nine months because they can't deny.
would mamas be the same as daddies if daddies got pregnant?
will mamas become more like daddies as they become more and more frustrated and spread thin and younger and lonely and angry
and then what will happen to us daughters and sons nephews and nieces
Silawn's eyes were irritated and began to itch. She lifted a hand to scratch and felt and gnawing pain in her wrist. She fanned her fingers wide but had limited motion otherwise. The fabric didn't even allow her to see shadows. It rubbed her eyes raw if she twisted her head in any direction.
"Be still" a woman's voice said. The voice was coming from behind Silawn, but she could hear someone's feet shuffling in front of her.
"What did you do to me? Why am I here?" Silawn had a tinge of anger in her voice, but she was afraid. She hadn't intended for things to go this far. Following Maxwell had started off as an innocent appreciation that submerged into something deeper. She wasn't even sure how he had managed to figure out their plan, but her capture was a clear indication that the intelligence specialist on Maxwell had been correct. Maxwell was a shinobi.
"You're talking bollocks! Don't pretend as if you haven't been following him for months now," the woman said with an unusual cadence. Silawn might not have known what a bollock was, but she could tell by her tone that the woman was agitated and clearly not from New York.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Please let me go." The woman sucked her teeth and kicked the back of Silawn's chair hard enough to slide her forward into another object. She wasn't sure what it was, but it was warm, close to her knees and had prevented her from falling forward onto the floor.
"She won't talk to me, but maybe she'll talk to you," the woman's voice was far away now. After a moment Silawn heard a door close shut. She closed her knees around the strange object and it moved, but not before she figured out what it was....it was a foot.
"Tenemos que hablar." He was so close she could feel his aura. It felt like cerulean and she was going to drown in it if he didn't move away.
"Slam the anchors M! Her anorak mates are outside," the same woman from earlier shouted.
"Bring them here..."
(to be continued...)
Oh man! Did Maxwell really have his foot between...uhm...and who is this other lady speaking British slang? Are the other ladies outside going to be captured too?
Check the original post if you need some explanation about triolets.
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Triolet #2 (a.k.a. Bad Habit)
Your speaking voice breaks down my soul you build me back up when you sing sends shivers, cold like the north pole your speaking voice breaks down my soul sweet melody fills up the hole wilted when she took off your ring your speaking voice breaks down my soul you build me back up when you sing
I have two writing goals. Two. I add them as I figure out my writing weaknesses.
1. Write daily for (at least) 30 minutes.
2. Fill up a composition book before buying another one.
Along with having a clear book obsession, I also have intense crushes on composition books. I thought maybe it would wane after I purchased my cute little Acer netbook, Kit Kat, but I still swoon when I come across a unique one. I saw one yesterday at the grocery store that had a blue & black argyle print on the front and I almost bought it, but I remembered my second writing goal and I resisted the temptation.
My reason behind goal #1 may be obvious. If I'm not writing regularly, am I really a writer? Goal #2 is to encourage myself to complete something I start.
Completing one solitary poem is something I am capable of doing. Finishing a group of poems that are all related to one story....I have yet to accomplish that, yet. I have a grip of composition books that are a fourth of the way full.
As an aspiring writer (and therefore, a voracious reader), I often find myself reading other authors and saying to myself "I wish I wrote that!"
I'm sooooo impressed by an author's ability to construct words into meaningful and fresh sentences, that I'd like to highlight them here on my blog each Wednesday. ********************************************************************************
Acolytes by Nikki Giovanni William Morrow (imprint of Harper Collins) Page 112
Excerpt from "We Write"
Writing is a frozen Thought brought To paper heated By passions tempered By sympathy defined By facts colored By desire
I am a fan of poets who write about writing. It gives me insight on how they feel about words and their construction. It's like peeking inside their brain. Nikki has a lot of poems about poems. Those are the ones I look for when I get a book of hers. She was the first poet to inspire me to write poetry.
I wish I had the energy to write a review tonight about my short time at Eden's Lounge, but HawthoRNe being on TV killed that extra hour of reserves I had left...
Buzzing off of the excitement of being the "Poet in the City" I did some researching online for Open Mic events and found a variety of potential places to hit up. I wasn't exactly sure of how to narrow it down, but a friend forwarded me an email from Eden's Lounge and even though the event "Organic Tuesdays" is during the work week, I was eager to get started, feeling poetically official, now that I had a title.
*Here is a pin to burst my bubble if my head grows too large...but be gentle.*
Worried that I wouldn't get enough sleep and be a wreak Wednesday morning from deprivation, I resolved that two hours was enough time to feel the vibe and sample some of the local poets in Baltimore. The email did say the event started at 7:00pm, right?
A few years back I lived down the street from Eden's Lounge (on Calvert), unfortunately when I was living there, Eden's Lounge didn't exist. Knowing the area, I was conscious of arriving early so that I wouldn't have to search so hard for (cheap) parking. It paid off because I found metered parking close to the front, but with only pennies in my secret change stash, I had to make a dash to the Eddie's grocery store next door to use their ATM. I grabbed an Almond Joy to have an excuse to ask for some change and the cashier saved me some unnecessary calories, directing me to the woman behind the protective window who broke down my twenty dollar bill. Apparently I wasn't the only one who tried that trick. Grateful, I walked quickly back to my car in the rain to put a $1.25 in the meter.
I wasn't sure what the price was to get in to Organic Tuesdays, because it wasn't listed on the e-flyer, but I assumed there had to be one because most open mics have some fee associated with it. Turned out to be 5 dollars. Not bad. I walked in and sat in the corner on an extended couch. I could have sat anywhere though, considering there were only 4 people inside of the performance area. I checked my phone for the time. It was 7:05, but I didn't worry immediately, especially since the waitress was quick to offer me a menu and seemed genuinely friendly.
Aesthetically, Eden's Lounge is lovely. The red and purple lights cast calming shadows and contrast well with the shiny material that decorates the ceiling. The seating area is spacious, furnishings modern, and it was clean (even the bathroom). Fifteen minutes later when the waitress came back with my order, I was still accompanied by the same four people who were here before I arrived. The rain had almost deterred me from coming outside and I begin to wonder if it kept the regular poetry crowd at home for the night. I continued to enjoy my salad and the CD they were playing, it was a mix of 90's songs and I found myself singing along to Bobby Brown's Tender Roni and "Don't Walk Away" by Jade.
Salad finished and working on my second Shirley Temple, the room had filled up to sixteen people. Not approximately 16 people, but 16 people, which was still painfully empty, given the size of the room. I entertained myself by counting people who walked in the room and taking down notes for this review, and trying to guess which poet in the room was the headliner. I knew it was a guy (from the e-flyer) and because the room was predominately female I only had a few men to guess with, but one guy in particular sat in the front and had hovered by what I can only assume was an empty open mic sign up book. Bored with counting the same 16 people over and over again, I decided to test my luck and ask the guy if he indeed was the headliner. He wasn't, but he did say that the host would be arriving shortly.
When 8 o'clock rolled around, I began to calculate the time left on my meter. The way things were going though(the crowd was up to 21 people now) I knew if I went outside to my car, I wasn't going to fill up the meter, I was just going to bounce. The DJ arrived and became the catalyst to my favorite moment of the night. The first song he played was Goapele's "Milk and Honey" and I was thrilled. Seriously, it was amazing to hear the bass on that song with loud speakers. And as if that wasn't enough, he followed up with Maxwell's "Cold". It was fantastic, but not enough to entice me to add more change to the meter when I went outside. So even though there were a lot of pluses to Organic Tuesdays - like the customer service, ambiance, reasonable prices, and good music - I bid adieu to Eden's Lounge and said hello to the season finale episode of the HawthoRNe, that started promptly at 9:00pm.
To prepare for my introduction to being the "Poet in the City" for Mahogany Books I decided to create a short video. Here is one of the many videos I created that didn't make the cut.
Today was my first real Monday in a minute. A real Monday requires real sleep on Sunday night. Without that real sleep on Sunday night you have a real hard time on Monday to stay awake and focus on professional development.
*Yawn*
Despite the effects of my sleep deprivation, I tossed around the idea of documenting my first year at a private school. Not a new idea, I'm not sure I could have come up with anything new today. The Middle School Head/Principal mentioned something about it before as a means of giving feedback to make improvements on the school. Then after watching Julie & Julia it festered back up on my brain. Lori Tharps' memoir (Kinky Gazpacho) about being educated mostly in private schools and being the only Black face, pretty much has sealed it in my brain that it could be used as good material for poetry...maybe a poetry memoir.
The thing is, is that I want to start another blog for it (an anonymous one), but I have no idea what to call it. Creating mental images sometimes helps me come up with titles. I had this image of hot chocolate with a bunch of marshmellows...but the image doesn't really represent the truth...um, milk with a drop of honey? Goapele is already rocking this title out on her new CD. Hotel pillows with a smear of brown lipstick...nah, that doesn't work. Seeing some khaki pants now...cause the kids wear a uniform...
I'll just keep mulling the ideas around. Let me know if you have an idea.
Show of hands. How many writers write purely for yourself and don't care to share it with anyone?
*blank stares*
I didn't think so.
Even if your goal isn't to be published, most people who write, would like to share it with someone. It might just be your mom, or perhaps the folks at your local open mic night, but you want to share.
I want to share. I want to be published. I would love to be able to write full time. I can't do that if I'm keeping all my writing to myself, fearing rejection.
A free contest (key word being free) sounds like the perfect way to get my writing out there...and maybe you'd like to enter too?
Submit your work to the scrutiny of our crack judges, who will pick three writers in each contest to win cash prizes, and see your work in the Nov. 26 issue of CP. Even the most cutthroat competitions have rules, though. Such as:
1.You must be a resident of Maryland to enter. 2.One entry per writer per contest. Seriously. Multiple entries in either contest will be disqualified. Yes, it is OK to enter a single entry in both FICTION and POETRY contests. 3.No, we do not still have your entry from last year. 4.Stories must not exceed 2,500 words; poems must not exceed 30 lines. 5.Entries must be submitted as hard copies (double- spaced) or e-mail attachments (MS Word or text) and accompanied by name, address, daytime phone number, and e-mail address (if you've got one). Entries without contact information will be disqualified. 6.No entries will be returned, so don't send us your only copy. 7.Comments on your work will not be provided by the judges. 8.Last year's winners are not eligible, nor are City Paper staff or their families. 9.These rules are also available online at www.citypaper.com/arts/contest.asp Do not–repeat, do not–call CP offices about the contest.Any questions about the contest should be directed to the entry e-mail addresses. 10.Prizes: Fiction--first, $350; second, $250; third, $150. Poetry--first, $150; second, $100; third, $50.
Short Fiction Contest / or / Poetry Contest 812 Park Ave. Baltimore, MD 21201 Or e-mail to fiction@citypaper.com, or poetry@citypaper.com
I bought another book yesterday. The books I have been getting recently are either young adult fiction books, poetry, or resource books on writing. My latest cash casualty is The Writer's Portable Therapist by Rachel Ballon, Ph.D.
I finished reading the first session which introduces:
a.) The Fast Flow Writing Method - Free writing with bells and whistles b.) Creative Chronicle - Writing exercises c.) Creative Contemplations - Quick little quote to inspire daily writing
...but peep this, Rachel says "some writers...even had their writing exercises published just as written in my class in fifteen minutes, without chainging a word" (pg. 11-12).
Um, who is she counseling that can publish their free write without changing a word? Does a writer who can publish a free write need counseling? I wouldn't even want to share my free writing on my blog...before today.
Don't laugh too hard.
* * * * *
Why did i have to prepare to do this freewriting, i was nervous to have it all out there without any editing or revising or any spell check. my spelling is horrible quite horrible actually spell check always saves me from looking like an idiot on mymost days dang i messed up right there shoot man and trust me shoot is not what i wanted to say but i don't know if young folks read my blogs and i would n't want to be vulgar and whatnot jic you feel me oh my god hahahahahahahah this stuff is making me nervous let me focus on tevin campbell singing to me on my itoug itouch cause it might let me relax and actually write withoug without thinking about it too much but trust me i am thinking i'm thinkkinng too hard the side of the brain that likes to contrao control what gets written down is working over time because it's afraid that people will see that it isn't perfect and it excpects perfection even though it's aware that it is not...but n maybe it a is not all that aware it's in denial i used to really love tevin camphells music a lot, when i found him on itunes i was geeked up to download a few of his songs and it straight took me back to when i was a teenager. it's m funny how songs can mark time like that...i can usually recall specific things when music comes on...and if i knew the song lyric correctly back then, then when the song comes on even after not y hearing it for years i can still sing it with just as much clarity oh now kanye west is on i dig pari paranoid it probably has a lot to do with the video because visually i was feeling it and you know with the whole rhianna and chris bra brown drama it made it that more intriguing so and it kinda reminds me of thriller or kanye's version of it this song is perfect for how i w few feel about a fe free write a i have written without okay now i lost what i was saying at the begg beginning f of the sentence and and yeah oh year yeah i was trying to say this song is perfect for how i'm feeling about being shoto shoot lost it again...hahahahaahahahaha anyway yeah in short i'm parani parao ugggg i told you my spelling sucked didn't i hahahahaahahah i'm paranoid there that's it right paranoid about bad writing or writing badly on my end...you knkow i think the rick ross is throwing off my concentratioin..concentration...back to tevin campbell...do you remember this song...say lady cand can i ask you why you treating me, like a step child with a future not so bright....good bye, good bye...yeah i'm even boo bobbing and weaving as i'm typing this, so i must be getting in the rhythem and letting go a lil bit more or maybe i can can't help but to get itt into this tevin camphe camphell shoot groove...i guess you thought you havd had me strung out on your love, simphy simply because you are so fine...you didn't want my love, that's what starts the pain...haahahah i think it helped that al bl al b. sure did some singing and i guess producing on tevin camph campbell's tape...tapes back then and not cds...cause i was an avid al b. sure fan...i mean serious...i can remember, i can see the poster i had of him on my wall...no it was on the back of my bedroom door...it was black...he must have been performing on stage...probably a pick picture from or poster from Right On! magazine...anyways he was on the poster and it had the lyrics to killing me softly on it...that's crazy how i can remember that....its hard for me to remember things for my childhood, or is that something i just tell myself because i don't want to remember...it was uneventful this childhood, i guess, ehhh...ushers on now...not that new ust usher but the old usher...what is the name of this song....girl you look supr surprised i got conversation...girl can we pel please get past impressions, cause ....your girls tell you to watch out he's an entertainer...they don't knkow just what i'm feeling...i loved you from ...oh the many ways...i had to sing it with him until we got to the hh hood or hook i mean choro chorus before i r could remember the til title....let s see i'm supposed to write for twenty minutes according to rachel ballon ph.d...it souldn sounds more official when you put that ph.d on the end, huh...wonder if i'll get a ph.d...not sure if i still want w one....mfa so seems more appropriate now you know so i can teach creative writing soely soley? lawd...anyway so i'm supposed to do twenty minutes but i forgot to set the timer...details...but lets see...minutes are about three or four minutes...how many songs have played since i w started...tevine ten tevin had two already...we go usher on now...paranoid from kanye...that rick ross wasn't actually on my itouch...background noise...i feel like another song b plain py l played or maybe that's becaus e because i mentioned al b. sure...how about i write o for one more song and then i'll stop so i can play some more of sacred 2...this xbos xbox game i got as a gift yesterday...i was up till 4am playign playing it cause it's good...i didn did start at 1ish though...what was i don't doing to start so late *by the way anote another tevin campbell song is on ...look what we'e we'd have* i j must have been writing or playing on twitter or something...was there a movie on last night...oh yeah coming to america was on last night...i l only saw tha the last part of it, but it's still a good movie in my eyes....ack...i got an email today about the poet in the city, i got to read it again because it was right before i did the free write and i didn't get a chance to g digest the whole thing you know, just a quick scan...i saw say "just" too much if i had an editro editor i'm sure they would tell me that...stop using just...but it is such a fre great word to use...hahahaha oh lost my train again...tei tevin is e getting to the break downn....oooh won't you be all my mine baby...i wanna love you i wanna f rock you down baby....i wish i could sing...maybe in my next life i'll be a singer
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Gibberish out in the world.
It's like that dream you have about being naked and how everything is okay until you realize you are naked.
This book buying situation is really an addiction of mine. The only pseudo-cure I have for it is to avoid going inside the book store in the first place, cause once I go inside, it's a wrap. Even if I have a bill to pay (which I do), my rational self heads upstairs for a power nap and lets the book whore take over.
She grabs as many books and magazines she can carry. She's even been known to pick up a comic book or graphic novel. That's not to say that she isn't selective, she simply loves the way they feel in her arms, the weight of them. At least five, probably more. When they become too heavy to carry, she finds a table meant for four (even though she is alone) and spreads them out so she can see the covers of all of them. If she isn't lucky enough to find a large table, she sits them on top of each other and fans them out like a deck of Uno cards. Beautiful.
It's a shame I don't take her to the library more often...nothing quite like a fresh, untouched book though. Smells different. Inspires less writing...and library books always leave, even if you develop feelings for them.
I need to challenge myself to write weekly poems. I'm a poet right? To be a poet, one must write poetry.
I don't force myself to rhyme or use specific forms. I prefer free verse. The free-ness of it.
There's something to be said though, for being able to use and at least be knowledgeable about the different poetry forms available. More tricks up your poetry sleeve, yes?
I discovered triolets after reading A Kick in the Head by Paul B. Janeczko. I like the rhythm and repetition of a triolet. Do you think I can become a triolet expert? How many triolets would I have to write to become a master triolet-er? Fifty? One hundred? How about one every Thursday?
It would be fun if you could give me topic ideas to write about. *hint, hint*
Are you ready? * * * * * * * * * *
Triolet #1 I'm needing something good to eat magically appear on a dish no beef or pork, I don't eat meat I'm needing something good to eat Red Velvet cake would be so sweet not having to cook, is my wish I'm needing something good to eat magically appear on a dish
I finished reading The House You Pass on the Way for the second time. I forgot how it ended. Man, you want your reader to use their imagination, don’t you? It’s so open-ended. Did you do that on purpose? Did you have a part II in mind at the closing? Was Staggerlee going to morph into Evangeline and you figured it was best to stop there, so the stereotype that “it’s just a phase” didn’t prevail? Maybe your editor/agent said fourteen year old lesbians were too heavy for the masses to swallow? These questions are doing laps in my mind, when I should really be on the treadmill myself.
Let me get to the review,
Evelyn
************ The House You Pass On the Way By Jacqueline Woodson
Staggerlee is the “lonely loner” that Kid Cudi raps about in Day & Nite, minus the drugs. Staggerlee has good reason to enjoy quality “me-time”:
Reason #1: Her parents happen to be the only interracial couple in Sweet Gum (and maybe the whole county). The way people point out her mom’s whiteness makes it sound as if being white is pandemic.
Reason #2: The other kids think she’s “stuck-up” and “too cute” to talk to them.
Reason#3: Dotti, her prettier, smarter, and popular older sister dazzles everyone. Enough said.
Reason#4: College takes her brother away, whom she tells everything (except that bit about starting her period).
Reason#5: Part of her extended family has cut off contact for 20 years. Why? Check reason #1
Reason#6: She kissed a girl in sixth grade, who quickly dogged her after she found out Staggerlee omitted mentioning she had famous grandparents (that were killed in support of civil rights).
Reason#7: Her dad is a cry-baby. Just kidding. He does cry in the beginning because his sister has passed away, but I added that bit only to have seven reasons, instead of six.
You might keep to yourself too, if you had all this to deal with right? It makes for an entertaining story, albeit a quick one, perfect for digesting in an afternoon.
As an aspiring writer (and therefore, a voracious reader), I often find myself reading other authors and saying to myself "I wish I wrote that!"
I'm sooooo impressed by an author's ability to construct words into meaningful and fresh sentences, that I'd like to highlight them here on my blog each Wednesday. ********************************************************************************
s√he by Saul Williams MTV Pocket Books Page 83
i write in red ink that turns blue when the book closes
Man! So, Saul...are you trying to say that when you are writing about your lady friend, the things you write down about her are passionate with love/hate, but end up making you sad after it's been written and you've reflected on it a day or two later? I love it!
As much as I hate to hear my voice on a recording, I heard it today after coming from a meeting with my (old) writing group. Can you say geeked-up and super sic'ed? I could hear the happy coming out my throat. It was slightly embarrassing, but was a clear indicator that I thrive in a writing community.
Our group is very supportive and intimate (there's only six of us). I get constructive critiques instead of getting torn down and I learn from the other writers through reading their work. It’s even a good way to network: two of them have been editors, one has been published, and another taught mystery writing at the collegiate level (and has a student that will be published this year).
I met this wonderful group of ladies via The Writing Center in Bethesda. I took a workshop with Judith Tabler this past spring that focused on writing for the middle grade reader. The format of her workshop was perfect for me because it kept me accountable for my writing. Before each session all participants had to submit 5 pages of a story we were working on, to everyone in the group, including the instructor. At the actual workshop session, the writer reads an excerpt of their work and then each person discusses what gels in the story, what doesn’t, and gives advice on how to make it stronger. The last person to critique is Judith, giving her professional edit, along with publishing tips. A hard copy of the comments from the group are given to the writer and the process begins again with the next writer until everyone has had a chance to share.
Our group got fairly close by the end of the workshop and felt invested in each other enough to meet once more (without Judith) to share our progress. It was a lot of fun, I felt recharged, and got a renewed interest in my character, Dawn. The fantastic thing is that Judith is having another workshop this fall and everyone wants to take the workshop again. The un-fantastic thing is that the meetings will be on Tuesdays at 10:30am and I’ll be teaching full-time and won’t be able to join.
*sigh*
I’m still going to keep in touch with them anyway and our hostess for today, Sudi, suggested that we all meet again after the fall workshop is over, keeping me involved with the group.
Ralph Fletcher and I are quickly become friends. I've hit a wall with two prose poem stories I've been writing, so I called him and was like
"Ralph, my man, I don't know what to do with these stories. What do I do?"
and he was like
"Are you writing about a topic that interests you?"
and then I hit 'em with the
"Yeah, I think so..."
so he says
"If you ain't feelin' it, pull the plug, fo shizzle my nizzle"
stunned, I told him
"Serious Ralph? When did you start using slang? Stop watching BET, it'll rot your brain. Remove 'nizzle' from your vocabulary."
Okay, so that didn't really happen, but he does give similar advice to his readers.
I unfortunately can't tell if I'm not completing these stories because I'm not really interested in them or if I'm procrastinating. One of the stories has been slow-cooking in my mind, been through several drafts, and even workshopped and I'm still on page 15 or so. Honestly, if I don't finish it, I will feel like I've abandoned the character...but if I care so much about Dawn (that's the protagonist's name), then why aren't I writing her story? Perhaps I need to read my way back into her story like Ralphie says:
"The first thing I do when I return to an unfinished piece of writing? I read what I wrote the day before. I read my words, enjoying the good parts, listening to the rhythms of the words. Often I'll even read it out loud. While doing this, I try to get the flavor of the writing. Now I can continue with what I was working on." (pg. 44)
I mean, he said nizzle first, can't I call him Ralphie?
I frequently use reading out loud to edit my work, but I never thought to use it to get back into the rhythm of a character. I'm willing to give it a try to see if it works. *note to self* It was a lot easier to hear Dawn's voice when I was teaching. I had tons of kids her age to use as models for teenage speak and problems.
It's great to have Maxwell back making music. Great music. I'm sure I wasn't the only one missing him during his seven year sabbatical. Along with listening to his CD each time I drive in my car, replaying the Blacksummer'snight DVD, and stalking his twitter updates, I have been reading all the interviews I can about him. The funniest one yet was the Spin interview that discussed Maxwell using his hiatus to be a ninja (the inspiration for the Maxwell Musze story). The interview that you won't see (for good reason*), is an informal one I had with Mr. Pretty Wing/Wang after spotting him at Whole Foods two years ago. Me: (whispering to myself) What the...? Is that Maxwell?
Maxwell: (Minding his business and looking at the display of mangoes)
Me: (softly) Um, how can you tell which one tastes the best?
Maxwell: What was that?
Me: (a little louder) How do you know which mango to pick? I know how to pick bananas and cherries by the color, but how do you know what makes a good mango?
Maxwell: I check them based on the size. It has to be plump. You can also smell it. Smell this one.
Me: (breathing deep) Mmm, okay. (picking up two mangoes) So this one is probably okay and this one might be a bit too ripe?
Maxwell:(taking both mangoes and squeezing) Yeah, you have the hang of it.
Me: Cool beans. Thanks.
Maxwell: (bagging his mangoes and pushing his cart away) You're welcome.
Me: (thinking hard to keep the conversation going) ...uhm...
Maxwell: (still moving, pausing at the meat section, before moving out of sight)
Me: (to no one in particular) Are you ever going to record more music again?
Maxwell: (no longer in eye sight, but probably at the hot bar)
Me: Dang! Can't believe I couldn't come up with that sooner. Jim-min-knee Crickets!
Whole Food Clerk: (clearly concerned by me talking to myself) Can I help you Miss?
Me: (grumbling) No. Thanks.
I'll never forget how to pick a perfect mango, but I missed the chance to become Maxwell's BFF. *grins*
*Don't get it twisted, if this had been a real story, I certainly would have been bragging about it before today.
I'm still reading Ralph Fletcher for writing inspiration. This guy has written like a bazillion books and many of them are on writing. I hit page 47 in How Writers Work and brushed up against a gem:
"Ernest Hemingway...wrote about two hundred and fifty words - one page daily - but he created a body of work that endures long after his death."
Two hundred and fifty words a day. Seems reasonable. A whole story or even a book seems out of reach, but I could write 250 words a day.
What I want to know is did Hemingway write these 250 words on one particular project or was it just 250 words freestyle? Writing 250 words of just anything is super easy, 250 of a story that's already been started is not. I should make sure that all of my blog entries have at least 250 words and then maybe Hemingway will jump into my netbook and start clickity-clacking away and write one more award winning book from the afterlife. I'm going to take all the credit though Hemingway, but if I get interviewed I will say you inspired me. Is it a deal? Get at me homie.
Another suggestion Fletcher made was to give yourself a "writing reward" when you hit your goals. What a wonderful idea. So instead of beating myself up that my writing sucks and being worried about how all these folks write better than me, I need to give myself a small gift of sorts. My reward for today will be treating myself to Chipotle tacos or a chicken salad. Mmmmm. Maybe an Acai smoothie from Caribou Coffee.
F.Y.I. - I was able to write a few more sentences of my review of Jacqueline Woodson's The House You Pass on the Way. Who knows if I won't edit them out, but I did write them. Yay me! I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to make it perfect because if she ever read it and thought it was shoddy I'd be mortified. Plus, how can I be in the top ten of her biggest fans if I don't read and review her books? :-)
I get really frustrated when I make an attempt at writing and nothing seems to come out. Like today.
I've been trying to write part 6 to the Mystery Musze for a few days now and I'm getting nothing. Goose egg. I tried brainstorming. Did a timed writing to get the writing juices drizzlin' and I came up with a skeleton for the finale of the story. I know how it's going to end. I know how I'm going to get to the end. Even some of the dialogue is written down in my brain, past my shoulders, and hiding like dirt in my finger nails. Yet, when it comes to actually getting the story typed...I'm staring at Kit Kat's (my lil Acer netbook) white computer screen. Cursor just a blinking and blinking at me, it might be cursing me out. It is cursing me out and making fun of me. Rude.
And then I watch a movie like Julie and Julia and am so inspired, I feel like starting a brand new blog which is focused on...um, well definitely not cooking my way through anything. Writing my way out of a block? That's probably been done repeatedly and I don't feel any fire for it. Um, maybe a blog about teaching? Eh. A blog about Maxwell? Might be too stalker-y and I might not have enough material for it...but you know, Maxwell does have a solid fan base and it would be like a ready-made audience cause folks love him so...nah.
Alright, clearly I haven't worked the kinks out yet... but at least I wrote something. Ralph Fletcher says to keep your goals modest. My writing goal is to write for at least 3 hours a week and I have kept to that. I have to stop beating myself up.
I must have found bell hooks when I was college. I remember reading Killing Rage on an airplane and feeling the eyes of the woman next to me reading over my shoulder...only for a moment. I know this could not have been the first book I read of hers because I don't naturally gravitate towards non-fiction, and essays are a stretch. I know - after picking up the red and black, perfect-sized book with a cute little Black girl on the cover - that Bone Black has to be the first book I've read in its entirety of bell hooks. Her memoir writing is so different from the essays; it's like comparing silk to cardboard boxes. Her words, like the book itself, are carefully packaged in short, bite-sized vignettes that are a pleasure to digest. You can flip to any chapter and read and not feel disconnected from the rest of the memoir. I flipped through and reread a few and ended up on chapter 31 which talks about hair:
Good hair - that's the expression. We all know it, begin to hear it when we are small children...Good hair is hair that is not kinky, hair that does not feel like balls of steel wool, hair that does not take hours to comb, hair that doesn’t not need tons of grease to untangle, hair that is long. Real good hair is straight hair, hair like white folk's hair. Yet no one says so (pg. 91).
What was that bell? Did you just say what other folks don't like to talk about? No wonder I liked her memoir. I tried having this exact conversation last week (when Tyra Banks had an episode dedicated to the same topic) and it was shut-down. Disturbing that what bell hooks experienced when she was young, is quite valid today. All the more reason for me (and you) to revisit all of bell hooks' girlhood memories in Bone Black. Maybe I'll find the reason why she doesn't capitalize her name in there somewhere...
Confession: I am easily star-struck by good singers.
Reason: I'm impressed by people who have that talent, a talent I wish I had.
Waiting at Hopkins Plaza yesterday, I was excited for Yahzarah to perform. I've seen her twice before, so I knew what to expect. A tiny self-assured lady with a powerful voice. The host began his introduction and I looked near the stage to watch her walk on. Never did I expect that she would stop right in front of me while the host finished speaking about her accomplishments. I acted almost immedeately and grabbed my phone to take a few pictures because she was going to head on stage in any moment. Why was my leg shaking from nervousness? Read Confession #1.
I don't understand how someone with so much talent isn't more popular. I guess songs like "You're a Jerk" are more profitable? *SMH*
Hi! I hear that you already have a #1 fan ,but I am trying to figure out what I can do to be in the top ten.
My guess is that reading your books is probably the easiest thing to do in order to move up the list, right?
Well, I've read eight books to date and I will eventually get to all of them. So far my favorites of yours are Feathers and Locomotion. I was foolish and gave my copy of Feathers away to a student of mine who was captivated by it...maybe buying a book more than once increases my top ten status though? I've used Locomotion twice during my poetry unit and you know I needed a class set. Are you adding up my points here? I'm just saying...
Right now I'm rereading The House you Pass on the Way so I can write a review on my blog and because I have forgotten how it goes. I'm also using it as a model to help strengthen my own writing. I finished chapter nine and it was a reminder about how much I can relate to Staggerlee (pg. 74).
I'm not sure I ever thanked you for signing my books at the Baltimore Book Festival...um, was that 4 years ago?...I remember that you read a piece of Show Way and it hadn't been published yet, and then afterwards you signed books. You signed two books for me and I may have been stunned into silence at the time. I must have managed to at least tell you my (middle) name though because you spelled it correctly.
Oh, did you happen to catch the episode of HawthoRNe where the homeless character quoted that same Emily Dickenson poem you have on the cover of Feathers? I missed my book when she said that.
Anyway, I know you need to focus on your writing so I'll let you get to it. I hope you are enjoying your time in Long Island and you make your way back to Baltimore one day so I can get some more of your books (signed).
As an aspiring writer (and therefore, a voracious reader), I often find myself reading other authors and saying to myself "I wish I wrote that!"
I'm sooooo impressed by an author's ability to construct words into meaningful and fresh sentences, that I'd like to highlight them here on my blog each Wednesday. ********************************************************************************
The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Vintage Contemporaries Page 33
"You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad. Here there is too much sadness and not enough sky."
Learn Spanish or French? Lori has to decide between the two when entering middle school, which starts at the fifth grade. Her mom is interested in her taking French and dad says Spanish would be good for a career in business. With no interest in business, Lori decides on Spanish to distinguish herself from her older sister, Elisha, who has a reputation for being an excellent student. Her plan doesn't work, because Mr. Betancourt also taught the French class that Elisha had taken. Luckily for Lori, it didn't influence Mr. Betancourt's feelings about her and it's likely that her passion to learn more about cultures outside of Milwaukee helped her to do well in the class.
Her time in Spanish is cut short, due to financial strain her family experiences, and she is required to go to public school. Lori finds the sixth grade at public school easy academically, but learns that she needs improvement socially. A popular Black girl, Tanya, is unable to handle any attention away from her status as "queen bee" and makes it a point to bully Lori. Lori stays out of Tanya's way as long as possible, but can't avoid a minor scuffle (that thankful a teacher breaks up). After the fight Lori is informed by one of the other few Black girls, that Tanya's issue with Lori is that she acts "uppity" and talks White. She ends up segregating herself from all Black students after that incident.
By the next school year, Lori's parents have pulled both her and her sister out of public school and back into private school. The public school experience changed and fueled Lori to put more energy in the idea of traveling to Spain, "I wasn't studying Spanish because I had to learn a language; I wanted access into another world when this one got to be too much." Lori felt she needed to go far away to find what she was looking for and Josephine Baker became her idol for her similar need to travel, though Baker's journey led her to Paris.
************Lori if you are reading this, stop now, okay?**************
Despite the title of the chapter, Josephine Baker was not the focus, which threw me off just a little. She's mentioned only in one paragraph, which is the paragraph I ended the summary above. The pages that follow Baker's paragraph (15-19) belonged in a separate chapter. My first thought at a title suggestion would be "N*gger Pile-on", a game of sorts that Lori's crush, Topher likes to play.
Lori is invited to a party of a popular eighth grader and Lori's mom is excited enough to buy her a cute outfit to attend. Lori sees Topher at this party, whom all the seventh-grade girl's dig. He has "dark brown hair, clear blue eyes" and is basically the cat's meow. Before the "N*gger Pile-on" situation occurs, Lori seems apprehensive that Topher maybe not want to be seen speaking to her at the party, despite the fact that they have several classes together. My mind jumped to her blackness and his whiteness as the cause for her apprehension, but it isn't explicitly stated. However, if I'm right and she honestly felt that Topher might not be feeling her because she was Black, why wouldn't that cancel her crush?
During her big move to interact with Topher at the party, a group of his friends rush by and jump on top of each other and yell "N*gger Pile-on". Lori is understandably embarrassed, Topher (understandably?) is not, and leaves Lori to finish the game. I had never heard of this game before reading this book. Is that what goes on at parties in Milwaukee where Black people are scarce? Maybe not just Milwaukee? And why didn't these seventh graders, especially Topher (who had been in a conversation with her at the time) have enough decency, or maybe common sense not to yell out "N*gger Pile-on" with a Black person in the room? Perhaps they didn't care. I can only speculate.
(If you didn't read the other two posts on Kinky Gazpacho, this entry may not make sense to you.)
I’m having a love affair with Parenthesis It’s pissing off Ellipses I don’t care, because sometimes I have to add just a little bit more instead of leaving things out.
Soon as I figure out how I can seduce Dashes I’m dropping the both of them.
In 1980, Lori Tharps is in the third grade at a private school in Milwaukee. We enter her life during an announcement of International Day, an event her teacher, Mrs. Fletcher, has planned to showcase each child's ancestry. Lori is excited at the prospect of eating food from different cultures, until she realizes that her slave ancestry is embarrassing. "What was I supposed to do? Come to school dressed in rags with a handkerchief tied around my head? (pg. 3)
Lori appeals to her mother for assistance in her "self-inflicted" dilemma, who offers choices in French, Dutch, and Native American ancestries as viable options. Lori dismisses her mother's choices as unrealistic in an effort to not be labeled a fraud.
In a brainstorming session, Lori concludes that she doesn't know much about her history outside of her immediate family. Mom is from Egypt, Mississippi and Dad's roots are in Baltimore, Maryland. Without an "exotic" choice to select, Lori decides not to participate, outside of enjoying the international foods of her classmates.
No one questions her lack of participation, including Mrs. Fletcher. Lori assumes she isn't queried because "Everybody knew that Black people came from nothing." (pg. 6)
What struck me the most in this chapter was the fact that Lori (or her mother) didn't think to use Africa as a source of inspiration for International Day. I realize that many African-Americans can't trace their roots back to Africa, but ultimately, that's where we all came from anyway, right? Lori mentioned there being a large portion of students in her class that could claim German heritage. Germany is across the Atlantic, just like Africa, and I don't know another continent more exoticized (yeah, that word is not in the dictionary), than Africa. I'm surprised that this idea wasn't a natural evolution for her or at least her parents (because I'm sure I wasn't thinking about Africa in the third grade).
I wonder what I might have thought at eight years old about participating in International Day. I wasn't the only Black girl in my class - as Lori was - there were two girls whom I was friends with, so I could have at least felt some solidarity with them. Halloween was by far my favorite holiday as a child (and perhaps an adult) so I would have been excited for the chance to dress up like an African princess or something else that my mother could fashion up on her sewing machine.
I'm interested to keep reading her memoir to see how she deals with race as she ages, attending a predominantly Caucasian private school, especially because I will be teaching at one during the fall.
"No. I lost him for a second because I accidentally ran into this little girl. Then, when I was looking for him again, one of the book clerks gave it to me."
"Is the clerk still here? We should talk to her."
Joi looked around for the woman who had searched her out earlier. She found her at the Customer Services booth helping another person locate a book. Joi was still feeling a bit embarrassed that she had been tricked. She had let her attraction to the Musze muddle her otherwise rational mind. Joi hadn't managed to get the note back from Kim, who kept rereading it and talking about how hungry she was, but she had already memorized everything he had said to her.
Muñeca,
Would you meet me for coffee, por favor?
Wait for me,
M
Joi's command of the Spanish language was good enough to understand that "por favor" was please, but she had to check one of the Spanish/English dictionaries in the reference section of to figure out what "muñeca" meant. It made her want to wait forever for him to come back, so she could hear him say it to her in person. He had placed the note on page 96 in a book of poetry by Saul Williams, which she conveniently didn't share with the other ladies. In between calling to check on Silawn, she made an attempt to decipher the poem's meaning:
i will sleep to mold a mask of dreams to wear to tomorrow's festival
no one will recognize me they will all mistake me for someone other than themselves
"How can I help you?" the woman behind the counter said. Angie read her name tag and then addressed her directly.
"Hi Renee, could I ask you a question about the guy who gave you this note?" Angie had a little difficulty getting the note out of Kim's possession, but she finally released it. Renee skimmed over the note, feigning to read it, but she knew exactly which guy she was referring to. As a trained kunoichi, she didn't have any intention of giving up information of one of her clan.
**********
The evening was beginning to settle in before the Musze finally arrived at his destination. Silawn wasn't sure of how she was going to get back home, she had never been in this part of New York before and was unfamiliar with her surroundings. She took off her helmet and reached in her back pocket for her iPhone. There were about 50 missed calls and 8 text messages. Kim had been the last text message, so she hit the reply button to call her.
"Hello Kim. Sorry I haven't called sooner."
"Gurl, where have you been?"
"I'm texting you the address to where I am right now. I'll wait for you guys outside. Is Joi okay?"
"Yes, she's fine, but how are you? Anything unusual going on over there, cause Joi got this strange note?"
"A note? From ... ahhhhh..."
"Silawn? Hello. Silawn?" Kim stared at the disconnected phone in disbelief.
(to be continued...)
OMG! What happened to Silawn? What the frick does "muñeca" mean? And is Renee in cahoots with the Mystery Musze?
