Analyzing my Bookshelf

In light of some of the discussions on the publishing struggles Black women authors deal with on a regular basis, I decided to analyze my bookshelf.

What's that you say? You don't know what discussions I'm talking about?

Read the funny-but-also-sad response Carleen Brice has to say here.
Check out what The Salonniere has to say on SheWrites.com and while you're at it, go listen to the radio show on the same topic here. Go ahead and click on them first, and then come back to my blog.

*waiting*

Dissecting all my books would be too labor intensive, but I'll show you two sections. This is one of my poetry sections:

That's 27 books. Now if I don't count the anthologies, the number goes down to 24. Out of the 24 books, all but 4 are written by POC. Gender-wise, 14 are written by women, which is almost 60 percent.

Now, check my Young Adult (hardcover) section:

Okay, that's a group of 16, and 8 of them are by POC...actually I'm not certain of the ethnic background of the author of Muchacho, but I'll take a hunch that she isn't POC. (Ask me about my hunch later if you're curious.) The majority of these books are by women (10).

So, what did I learn from my analysis? That I'm more diverse than I previously thought. When I go to the bookstore, I generally have a title or two in mind that's written by a Black woman. However, it seems like I will come out of the store with a book written by a man, and not all the women I read are POC. I need to read more Latino, Asian, African, American Indian, and Arab authors though. If you have recommendations, leave a comment.

What do you see? Wanna show me a picture of your bookshelf?

Tears and Circles

I've cried two times today. Once during the middle of this interview, and the second time towards the end.

In general, you could say that I am on the sensitive side. I've been known to cry at movies, even animated ones, but in the presence of others I do my best to keep that side of me hidden. So I'm not exactly sure what tipped me over the edge. And when I say cry, I don't mean tears sliding down my face, I mean: tears + moans + snot = straight blubbering.

If I put on my psychology cap, I'd say that maybe I was already moody because of a) my recent surgery, b) my father's cancer and our lack of communication, or c) the fact that I didn't sleep well.

If I keep it really simple, then it must have been that I was touched by how these women, these Black women, these Black women writers, had this close connection with Lucille Clifton - whether through poetry, blood, or interactions with her - and how I would never get a chance to know her myself.

Their sister circle made me envious. Actually, envious is the wrong word because it implies an ill will, which I didn't feel at any point while I listened. Hopeful is better. I felt hopeful that this kind of connection existed and is possible. And if it is possible for these women, most of whom are successful poets, then it is also possible for me.

These women may not have been talking to me, but I was listening. It felt like they were giving me a blueprint on how to strengthen my poetry-self and ways to build safe spaces in which to cultivate them.

Go listen to "Circle of Women" yourself. It's episode eight.

Quincouplet Decision

So I decided to submit Sorrow, Stares, and Silently to the Quinc Review.

We'll see what happens.

Now, where should I submit to now?

I still want to submit some Bop poems to Bop, Strut, and Dance. I've only written two Bop poems though. Mythium is also accepting submissions, but I haven't the slightest idea what type of poems would work, never having seen an issue. If I can get a collection together, I'll submit to Blue Hour Press. Their digital books are aesthetically pleasing, go check it out.

*yawn*

I think I need a nap soon.

I Wish I Wrote That Wednesday - Who Fears Death

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 on Wednesdays. ********************************************************************************
Who Fears Death
by Nnedi Okorafor
Daw (imprint of Penguin)
e-Page 41

It was my turn. I could barely keep my eyes open. The other girls' pain was swarming around me like wasps and biting flies. Tearing at me like cactus thorns.
********************************************************************************
Tell me you can't feel that. I wouldn't believe you if you did.

In this section of the book, Onyesonwu is getting that piece of flesh on her "yeye" removed as part of the Eleventh Year Rite ritual. These few sentences capture the fear that she is feeling, being the last of three girls to have the ritual performed. Can you imagine going last? I can't even imagine going first, but to see the pain the other girls went through - without being able to scream - and then still be a willing participant...I don't think I could do it.

I wish I wrote that!

Celebrating The Bluest Eye

I am reading The Bluest Eye in honor of it's fortieth anniversary. Never mind that I didn't finish A Mercy, because I will...someday.

In celebration of Toni Morrison's phenomenal book - and my favorite one of hers - I am participating in a Blogger Roundtable hosted by Claudia and Frieda over at The Bottom of Heaven.

*smacks forehead*

Man, I didn't put two and two together to get four, until just now. Claudia and Frieda are sisters in The Bluest Eye .

How silly and dense I can be? Don't answer that.

Anyhoo, I'm going to write a post about the book, along with several other women, and mine will be completed on July 7th. Please come back to check it out, and look at the other ladies' posts as well, and of course, pick up the book!

Quincouplet: The Collection

Now that I've finished my five quincouplets, here they are together...and a bonus one (sorta) in the titles:

sorrow

sticks around
no invitation necessary

sits

mind rolling
reliving. revising. reminding.

staring

her sight
devoid of colors

silently

shattered inside
eyes reveal oblivion

still

here breathing
squashed and disturbed

* * * * * * *

...so, which three should I actually submit. Do you have a favorite?

Quincouplet: Still

still

here breathing
squashed and disturbed

Quincouplet: Silently

silently

shattered inside
eyes reveal oblivion

Quincouplet: Staring

staring

her sight
devoid of colors

Quincouplet: Sits

sits

mind rolling.
reliving. revising. reminding.

Quincouplet: Sorrow

sorrow

sticks around
no invitation necessary

Quincouplets

Fact: I need to be more proactive with submitting my poetry instead of hoarding them all on my blog.

Fact: Duotrope's Digest has a gazillion listings of places to submit.

I've been searching through the listings for journals & magazines that fit my writing style. Yesterday, I bumped into the Quinc Review, which is a new electronic publication that features quincouplets.

A quincouplet is a short, five-word poem that has two unrhyming lines. The first line has two words, the second line contains the remaining three. The title should be one word, or nonexistent.

That set my wheels turning, one word titles, I mean. I said to myself "I should create a series of five quincouplets, that together could be their own quincouplet." No, I didn't say that to myself out loud, as the quotation marks might imply, but you understand what I'm saying. Right?

Anyway, that's the plan. Once I've finished my five quincouplets, I'll figure out which three are the best and submit them.

poem about my father (in nine years)

So... I went through all of the poems about my father, and put them together into one larger poem. Here it is:

poem about my father
(in nine years)

I. at the beginning
i remember: asking for
help, the phone click, and the letter sent.

you say i only
call for money, but you don't
share your love or time. what else is left?

now i don't call for
anything. which is better?
a refund?...would you find time to love?

II. he shut another
door of communication
leaving nowhere for me to enter.

III. loosely stitched fabric
attaching us together
without the seamstress, we unravel.

IV. i have dark magic
my written words have power
to silence and destroy love and time.

V. no one expects an
elephant and sunflower
to talk…expectation in the sky…

an ancient baobab
should not expect wisdom or
guidance from a tree with shorter roots.

VI. i am the only
child you have on this earth.
don’t you ever wonder how i am?

* * * * * * *

Is this poem clear? Would you have selected a different order? Can you feel it? Should they be separate? What would make this poem submission ready?

I'm open for critique on this one.

poem about my father #9

i am the only
child you have on this earth.
don’t you ever wonder how i am?

What should I call it friends?

Okay, so here's the situation.

You know how I said on Tuesday that I submitted to ISFN Publishing? Do you remember? I got an email back from them saying it needed to be tweeked before they would consider it ready for publication. One of the things that needs to be changed is the title.

When I originally wrote the poem, I didn't title it at all. Then, to send it off for publication, I figured it needed to have a title so I chose "Her name is Muse."

I have three ideas for a new title:

1. “Paper and Dreams”
2. “Faded Paper”
3. “Faded like Paper and Dreams.”

Which one do you like the best?

Maybe you are thinking to yourself, "I need to actually read the poem before I make a decision." Email me, and I'll send it to you.

poem about my father #8

no one expects an
elephant and sunflower
to talk...expectation in the sky

poem about my father #7

an ancient baobab
should not expect wisdom or
guidance from a tree with shorter roots

ISFN Publishing

*note to self*

I submitted a poem to ISFN Publishing. The piece was called "Her Name is Muse," and it's one of the poems I created during NaPoWriMo.

Triolet Thursday - Triolet #35

to my stalker-y students

why would you waste your time googling me
you need to find something better to do
what is it that you are trying to see
why would you waste your time googling me
why is this what you do when you are free
do you think i spend time googling you
why would you waste your time googling me
you need to find something better to do

poem about my father #6

loosely stitched fabric
attaching us together
without the seamstress, we unravel.

Why?

Why do some of my students search for me on the internet?

Are teacher's lives really that interesting?

Find something more constructive to do with your time.

poem about my father #5

at the beginning
i remember: asking for
help, the phone click, and the letter sent.

poem about my father #4

i have dark magic
my written words have power
to silence and destroy love and time