The Spinner's Yarn: Love Stories for the Mind, Body, and Soul

Coming Home Tour - Reflections

2011-08-26T21:25:00.012-04:00

The Bad

The car I rented didn’t have cruise control and it teased me with promises of Sirius XM Radio only to find out there was no subscription. That’s five hours of my foot on the gas and praying the radio had something good on and my mp3 player didn’t decide to die despite me charging it the night before.
Payment issues forcing me to pay everything in advance unexpectedly.Luckily, I saved for this trip, but the inconvenience was there anyway.
The Westin nickel and diming everything.
The Westin turning into a club on a Saturday night. Would’ve been nice to have a head’s up that was going to happen.
The pillows at the Westin. There really is such a thing as too damn soft.
The A/C at the Westin was bipolar—didn’t know if it wanted to work consistently or at all.
The cabbie taking us on an unwanted tour of Atlanta to go basically three miles down Piedmont to Smith's Olde Bar. I got us to around there in five minutes driving blind the next day.
Not being able to connect with my cousins. L Damn vibrate mode!
The Waffle House in Downtown Atlanta full of rude-ass college students blocking precious parking. Rude. Like, I had no words for the rudeness, so thus explaining why there is no Waffle House photo or reflection coming (I was so flabbergasted I forgot to snap a photo…and I had to drive all the way back to SC less the waffle I had anticipated all damn weekend. My consolation is this wasn’t the Waffle House I’d envisioned in Reconstructing Jada Channing anyway).

The Good

Getting to and from Atlanta safely in my non-cruise-control-having car, praise be to God.
Someone actually coming to the Meet and Greet! *shout out Courtnie & her peeps and please learn Javier’s real name!*
The Sun Dial Restaurant being delicious (if slightly overpriced) with gorgeous views. Gorgeous. Though, as it turns out, there is no dance floor per se, I figured out what Jada Mae will be craving when she’s pregnant. ~~There may be shorts.~~

(Jada's sweet tea...with vanilla and orange - yum) and cheesecake. There was also a shrimp fondue-type thing in which you dip toasted bread and just yum, yum, yum!)

The cutie bouncer at the pub next door to the Westin. He wore the mess out of a black Security T-shirt.
Learning I like Baileys Irish Cream. A lot. I’m sure both Aaron and Patrick are proud of this.
The photo shoot. Had “I Feel Pretty” playing in my head. Sevan Photography, shout out—can’t wait to see the results and Shannon is good people. Thanks Nuri for hipping me to them! If you need photos done, go to them, seriously.
Smith’s Olde Bar had some tater tots that brought me to a happy place, yes. Also, after fighting off some sleepiness, enjoyed the first band that performed that night (bonus Trent from The Way That You Play It). Favorite parts of the band: the ~~hottie~~ Black T-shirt!Rhythm Guitarist and the Percussionist—both of whom couldn’t even give the slightest of damns. It was hot.
Traveling to the spots featured in our novels. My favorite has got to be the “underwhelming” Island Def Jam Music Group location, but apparently it’s a recording studio so…welp? I literally thought the GPS had led us to someplace we should’ve never gone but nope, there it was! That was a cool surprise. Piedmont Park is large and it was ridiculously hot. My favorite, though, was probably the Plaza Theater. ~~There may be shorts.~~

The Epic

FINALLY MEETING BJ!!!
Finally meeting BJ (it beared repeating.)!
Breaking out of my shell slightly (This is includes wearing one of BJ's dresses a dress I’d bought over a year ago but not having worn until this trip…1.) I’m not a dress person and 2.) this is a dress that’s grown and, dare I say, sexy, and I’m still working on being both; although I apparently failed a test because a guy was waving at me (I was not wearing the grown-and-sexy dress; I was wearing my birthday dress…incidentally a dress that I’d also purchased last year and hadn’t worn out until my birthday, heh) and I did not notice it at all. Almost 12 hours later BJ deigns to tell me some guy was trying to let me know his interest. Well, hell, I can’t be blamed for this because BJ was looking fierce so I naturally assumed any attention would go to her. Lesson learned.).

(le white dress. Apparently, it was a hit...)

Ironically realizing it’s much harder to do marathon conversations in person.
A very tacky flashing Cinderella pumpkin-esque horse-drawn carriage. ~~There may be shorts.~~
Realizing someone you’ve been fangirling for years is actually someone who calls you a friend and being extremely humbled by that.
BJ realizing I really am a sports girl. Hee.
BJ accusing me of holding out on her re: my sense of humor. I call shenanigans on that, although my NASCAR analogy was pretty awesome. Don’t ask me what I was comparing, however; I’d just had alcohol and I was sleepy.
Having two camera-averse people tasked with taking pictures for their respective blogs…BJ did a better job than I did, admittedly. I was even a good sport and didn’t run away from the camera (that wasn’t the photo-shoot!camera. Y’all be proud).

Friendships being affirmed.

All in all, I consider the weekend a success; as first-times go for something like this, there were hiccups and disappointments, but I think if this is done again, it’ll be far more laidback and chill. I realized I’m personally not a huge Atlanta-as-a-city fan, although I do like it as a choice as a hub for my characters’ in the universe that’s being created with them. I do hope to do more trips like this with BJ and other author friends; and hopefully with more readers too. J

Highlight Video (edited by BJ)

Question Set #3 - Coming Home Tour Countdown

2011-08-12T19:30:00.004-04:00

Reminder: In order to be in the running for my giveaway, all you have to do is answer three questions correctly that pertain to either Reconstructing Jada Channing or Being Plumville. Answers only count if replied onto the blogpost--no e-mails please.

~~~

1.) In what class does Coralee tutor Benjamin?

2.) What is Jada's grandmother's name?

3.) What scene left the most impact on you from either book?

Coming Home Tour Countdown - The ATL

2011-08-12T19:00:00.004-04:00

Afternoon, everyone! Here's the third official blog post for the Coming Home Tour Countdown! This week, BJ and I are basically answering the unasked question - why Atlanta? - and giving you an idea of landmarks we plan to visit once we get there. And remember to answer the questions on my blog to be eligible for the giveaway!

~~~

When I was 9, me and one of my dearest friends (still to this day) swore we were going to Spelman for college because it was the best all-girl black college out there.

That plan never did pan out.

When I was thirteen, my uncle, sister, and I went to the Olympics and saw various events--track & field and gymnastics are the two that particularly stick out to me. Dominique Dawes was a tiny little dot when she was performing, but we didn't care because it was awesome for us to see our favorite gymnast in person.

A year or so later, we went to Turner Field to catch an Atlanta Braves game (our favorite baseball team) in the nosebleed seats of the brand new facility. I couldn't tell you who won, but it was fun.

The next time I'm in Atlanta is in 2005. The new pope was being named and my college choir was doing a tour of Atlanta. We toured the MLK site and sat in Ebenezer Baptist Church, and I had a moment. We sang at CNN. There were too many Peachtrees for my mostly non-Southern compatriots. And as soon as we hit our first Southern stop (we took a bus down from Boston and we stopped in Charlotte), I cried over the double waffle order I had at Waffle House because it was so good to be "home" after a long, cold, arduous senior year of finals and thesis writing (that'd I'd, incidentally, turned in days before I'd left for the Atlanta tour!).

The reason why I'd chosen Atlanta as a central location in Reconstructing Jada Channing, and then Georgia for Plumville, was because it was a central location in the South, and a "big Southern city" people would recognize. Whenever people think of cities, the South isn't usually where people mentally go, but cities are also associated with diversity and progressiveness, even though many times that's merely a facade. So, I thought it was a good reference point, but then I could create towns like Plumville and little communities like the one Jada's from, and flesh it out for everyday people just living everyday lives, but those lives are extraordinary to them. And for someone like Jada, though she sees the Westin in the skyline many a time, she's never set foot in it. Or though Atlanta is merely an hour away for Coralee, she doesn't have the freedom Benny has to make those weekend trips to the movies like he can; in fact, the only reason why anyone goes to Atlanta, in her world, is because of some sort of trouble. And how is it one city can change so much over generations, but, in many ways, stay the same?

I'm excited to go back to Atlanta, particularly now since I have family there - both actual and fictive. I'm excited to go with my girl BJ, because this reunion has certainly been a long time coming. She was one of the first people to read Being Plumville when it was in its infancy and her comments were so invaluable to me, y'all don't know. I'm excited to meet those who've read my work, and a little nervous too, not gonna lie! I'm just excited and I hope all of you can come and share in this with us. I promise you won't regret it!

~ bana

Question Set #2 - Coming Home Tour Countdown

2011-08-05T16:20:00.003-04:00

Reminder: In order to be in the running for my giveaway, all you have to do is answer three questions correctly that pertain to either Reconstructing Jada Channing or Being Plumville. Answers only count if replied onto the blogpost--no e-mails please.

~~~

1.) What kind of firm is McKensie Lowman?

2.) What is the name of Jada's family's restaurant?

3.) In what year do the main events of Being Plumville begin?

Coming Home Tour Countdown - BP Deleted Scene

2011-08-05T16:00:00.004-04:00

In a funny twist, this Being Plumville drabble is even older than the Reconstructing Jada Channing ficlet I'd just posted. I tell this story every time I speak, but Being Plumville came about because I was having serious angst about RJC (at the time it was called The Life to Live...yeah, I was deep in my soap opera watching during college! lol), so I'd started plotting what would eventually be Being Plumville. My friend, again the wonderful Thalia, had given me a prompt to help get the creative juices flowing even if I couldn't truly start writing the actual story until November for National Novel Writing Month. Below is the prompt and then the drabble that I wrote to go along with it. It's unbeta'ed, so please forgive errors and enjoy!

~~~~

"Song Lyric Prompt for NaNo '04"

(c) 2011, 2004 by Savannah J. Frierson

Song Lyric - 'The worst is over now and we can breathe again. I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away...' ~Seether and Amy Lee, "Broken"

His hand was sweaty, yet impossibly tight around hers as they ran across the quad towards an ill-located patch of trees…well, ill-located under normal circumstances.

The riot had been a long time coming, danced around and implicated in veiled words…even the looks between the students on campus held a promise of something--but no one knew it would be like this.

This was their own personal Watts, the explosion of frustration, anger and hurt unleashed by a people fed up with being second class; the searching for the explanation why their leader—their savior was shot to death on a Tennessee balcony six months ago…everyone thought they’d avoided such violence, such blatant disrespect of the status quo that many people—his people—fell into their safe, insular bubble of small-town Southern life.

But other people—her people—had had enough. This new generation would not kowtow to intimidation and threats. Dogs and water hoses didn’t scare them, at least not as much as the thought of being unfree did, and the well of patience had been overflowing long before now.

Yes, this clash was long overdue.

She stumbled over a hidden rock but he pulled her along, telling her they were almost there. The trees’ branches beckoned them, ready to ensconce them in their natural sanctuary. They’d reached their oasis, but he didn’t stop until they were well on the other side, at the farthest extremity from the Armageddon across the yard.

A gunshot sounded and she jumped. He leaned against the tree and brought her tight against him, hoping his arms would shield her from the ugliness they heard. It was hard to believe they were on opposite sides of the confrontation, right before the detonation. It was hard to believe they were such close friends in their single-digit years, he protecting her from hurtful words and teasing shoves.

Fifteen years later, he was doing the same. Looking across that invisible line, that arbitrary line, made him realize he didn’t like where he stood. He didn’t like being a physical representation of her unseen, deep-seeded oppression. His place was beside her, behind her, around her—not in front, and certainly not above. She’d looked at no one but him during the face-off, as if trying to reconcile the man before her with the boy she used to know.

The boy who promised to protect her always.

The riot’s noise was growing faint, and soon there was tense silence. His arms tightened around her, and he rested his chin atop her head. She burrowed into him, squeezing his arms around his middle. It was a familiar embrace, full of the childhood innocence that sheltered them from “the way things were;” but now there was a new feeling, a more profound aura.

It was the embrace of the way things could become.

Coming Home Tour Countdown - RJC Deleted Scene

2011-08-05T15:35:00.004-04:00

Afternoon, everyone! Here's the second official blog post for the Coming Home Tour Countdown! This week, BJ and I are including deleted or extended scenes from our work; and for me, it was such a walk down memory lane. My goodness, Reconstructing Jada Channing especially has certainly grown and expanded from its original seed as my senior creative thesis novella; but the essence of Jada, Aaron, and Joshua has remained. In fact, this scene I'm going to post right now is one of the earliest drafts of their "post-thesis" story arc that I ever wrote, and I did it for a very good friend of mine who'd been holding my hand at the time--Thalia. I'm posting just as I sent it to her, so please forgive any errors or inconsistencies and enjoy!

~~~~~

"Squirt Drabble"

(c) 2011, 2004 by Savannah J. Frierson

His hands were cool from the punch glass he’d held previously, and they trailed from her bare, tense shoulders to settle on her abdomen, his arms tight around her waist he dropped a kiss to the space below her earlobe.

“Jada, honey,…relax…everything will be fine…”

“But he was cryin’ when we left—”

“Mama will take good care of Joshua, love; besides, she has done this type of thing before…”

Jada nodded and took a long sip from her own punch, her hand clutching the glass as if it were a lifeline. The wreaths, garland, ornaments, and other holiday fare did little to lift her sprits, though Christmas was one of her favorite times of year. It wasn’t as if this was the first time she’d left Joshua in the hands of a caregiver, but it was the first time anyone from Aaron’s side of the family did the caring. For years, it had been her grandmother or her cousin or even her best friend Deshae, but now they were in New York, being the proper New York socialite couple, and doing the rounds on the town in order to keep up business and appearances. Admittedly, Jada would rather be home with her son and even with her new mother-in-law, but this was part and parcel to being Mrs. Aaron Alexander McKensie, and she would have to get used to it eventually.

Aaron kissed her temple this time, the hands caressing her flat abdomen lightly. “I know this is new for you, Jaybird, but I promise nothing ill-toward will happen to you or my son…or the little one inside you now…”

She laughed shortly, giving him a playfully skeptical look. “Sometimes I wonder if you married me because I’m the mother of your children—”

“That’s not true,” he said emphatically, pulling away to meet her eyes. “I married you so you wouldn’t be the mother of someone else’s children!”

“Selfish rich boy—”

“And your rich boy, too. Only yours…”

He kissed her, in front of all those high-class people, and very unapologetic of his actions, she could tell. Suddenly she didn’t care everyone was staring at her, at least not at the moment, because all her attention was on the man holding her, showing his love for her in spite of everyone else telling him he shouldn’t.

That was what those stares meant, stares that said “you don’t belong”, or “you’re a fleeting fancy”; they were trying to place her, tolerating her because the heir to a multi-billion dollar empire chose her over something more appropriate.

Men didn’t marry girls like her; they sowed wild oats with girls like her. If anything she was fertile, becoming pregnant the two times he “sowed”, but Jada knew there was more to it than that. She and Aaron fit somehow, on such a deeper level even Jada couldn’t figure out why. But who was she to analyze it? Her grandmother always taught her to be thankful for the blessings she received, and she was certainly thankful for Aaron.

“Ahem.”

Jada tensed, but Aaron gently took her chin, not letting go until he was finished kissing her. He broke apart with smaller kisses, rubbing her cheek with his thumb in a contented gesture. Jada glanced at their new guest and offered a small smile, even as she dabbed Aaron’s mouth to wipe away imaginary lipstick.

Aaron tightened the arm around Jada’s waist and brought her closer to him, nodding curtly at their visitor. “Father.”

Alexander McKensie II stared at his new daughter-in-law shrewdly, as if searching for the flaw on her, and yet…“Flawless.”

“Isn’t she?” Aaron said even as he kissed her temple, bursting with pride. Jada could barely manage a “thank you”, so surprised by Alexander’s approval. It was no secret Alexander was against the marriage, particularly when Aaron’s former fiancée was the daughter of a wealthy partner, and joining of their children would’ve made them much wealthier men. But Alexander knew how his son felt, particularly when he was caught in the same conundrum with Aaron’s mother, and though they didn’t have the racial aspect to deal with, a parent’s disapproval was, nevertheless, a difficult hurdle to overcome.

“You’re enchanting everyone, child.” That was certainly a view, but Jada was much better with her “thank you”, this time. “Anyway, I’m actually here to pass on a message from Izzy, or rather, my grandson: ‘I want Mommy,’ I believe, is the request…”

Jada sighed even as Aaron hid his laughter in the crown of her head. Even Alexander’s mouth twitched with mirth, but he cleared his throat and kept his composure, looking every bit the sophisticate. “I feel the party can survive without your presence, Son.”

“I never liked coming to these company parties anyway, Father,” Aaron muttered under his breath.

Alexander raised his eyebrow and scratched the side of his nose briefly. “Indeed…give your mother and my grandson a kiss for me, shall we?” The older man bussed Jada’s knuckles before disappearing back into the crowd and wielding the McKensie charm.

“I daresay father is warming up to you…” Aaron said into her hair as he led them to the coat check.

“He terrifies me.”

“He’s really a big ole softie…just ask Mama…”

“He loves your mother,” Jada said by way of explanation.

The checker retrieved their coats and Aaron helped Jada into her mink before putting on his own wool trench. Hand in hand, they left the party going down to the garage where the valet sent for their limousine. Jada was still unused to the world of valets and cars she didn’t have to drive, and she grasped Aaron’s hand harder in reflex.

He kissed the back of her newly gloved hand and winked at her, tipping the valet as their ride appeared. Aaron assisted her first, then entered, settling in the seat with Jada close to his side as they traveled to their penthouse on Madison Avenue. They said little on the trip home, Aaron alternating between caressing her hair and her shoulders, and she just anxious to get home to her little boy.

When they finally reached their home, Jada nodded a quick hello to the bellhop before rushing to the elevators, Aaron’s laughter following her the whole while. She had the urge to shut the elevator doors in her husband’s face, but changed her mind at the last second.

“He’s my son, too,” he teased, taking her hand again.

“He ain’t ask for you now did he?”

“Harsh, love, harsh…”

The elevator couldn’t get to the 25^th floor fast enough, and Aaron had to squeeze her hand to calm her. When they finally reached the blessed floor, Jada pushed the “Door Open” button repeatedly until the doors crept open. She exited as soon as there was enough room to pass through, yet she was so anxious that once she reached the door to her apartment, she rang the doorbell instead of unlocking the door. Aaron knew better than to interfere with his wife’s mission so he hung back, keeping his humor to himself.

Isabella opened the door, but there was no sign of Joshua.

“Where is he?”

Isabella grinned, kissing Jada, then Aaron on the cheek. “The little darling is asleep! I just called Alexander so you two could come home…I know how absolutely horrid those parties are—it’s a trick I used when Aaron was younger!”

Jada’s brown eyes sparkled as she glanced from mother to son, clearly impressed. “I’ll have to use that trick more often!”

Aaron laughed, helping Jada out of her coat. “Why don’t you just not go to the parties at all?”

“Even better!”

Jada gave Isabella a large hug. “Joshie wasn’t too much trouble, was he?”

“A darling, he was, an absolute darling. You’ve raised him beautifully, Jada…”

“Thanks,” she replied on a deep sigh. She looked to her husband and shrugged. “I’m going to check on him anyway…”

Aaron nodded and smiled, his eyes following her progress as she went down the hall to their son’s bedroom.

Isabella went to her son, holding grasping his upper arms. “Need me to do anything else?”

Aaron snorted. “Probably save Papa from his own party.”

“He insisted on throwing it,” Isabella said unapologetically, thanking her son as he helped her into her coat. “I tell him every year not to, but he never listens…”

“He will one day.”

“Eh. He’s stubborn…like his son…” Aaron blushed but Isabella cupped her son’s cheeks. “I’m proud of you, Aaron.”

“Love you, Mama.”

With one last kiss, Isabella left, and Aaron went down the hall, undoing his tuxedo as he went. Jada was sitting on Joshua’s bed, brushing the curls from his forehead, unaware of his presence in the doorway.

“All fingers and toes accounted for?” Aaron asked in jest.

Jada never looked from her son. “Everything’s perfect.” She kissed Joshua’s forehead before leaving the bed and going to her husband. She wrapped her arms around him and accepted his kiss before snuggling into him. “Everything is absolutely perfect.”

“Good. Let’s call it a night, shall we?”

And as she lay in the bed that night, Jada realized it didn’t matter if high class New York didn’t think she fit in; this was where she belonged, safe in Aaron’s arms as their son slept peacefully down the hall.

Question Set #1 - Coming Home Tour Countdown

2011-07-29T19:55:00.005-04:00

I think these will be simple, yes? Yes. Remember, answers only count if they're replies to this blog post; no e-mails!

1.) What is Jada Channing's college alma mater?

2.) What is Coralee Simmons's college alma mater?

3.) In which city/town is Coralee's alma mater located?

Good luck!

Coming Home...Well, One of Aaron and Jada's Homes...

2011-07-29T19:40:00.004-04:00

I drive up the Spanish moss–canopied dirt lane toward the big house of LeMay Plantation, mouth agape, but I don’t care. The A/C of my late-model Volvo is on full blast even though it is not yet noon in Beaufort, SC, and perspiration breaks at my temple.

But I suppose that has to do more with nerves than anything else.

I park beside an even older-model gold Acura and grin. My clothes stick to her skin as soon as I get out of my car, and my polarized shades seem to make the Old-South scene even grander without them. I walk by more automobiles, not the least bit surprised at the Buick crossover or the Porsche SUV, and start to twirl a soft coil of her hair as I approach the vast porch and front door. I’m far too old to fidget the way I am, but I don’t much care, and I ring the doorbell.

A small, yet regal woman opens the door and tears immediately spring into my eyes; and they only come faster when another woman, with gray hair now streaking her head, stands beside the first. I hide my face in my hands, but they pulled them away, and the younger one wraps me in her arms. The elder rubs my back.

Savannah J. Frierson (SJF): Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t…I hadn’t…

Coralee Simmons Drummond (CSD): Mama’s crying.

Jada Channing McKensie: (JCM): Can you blame her? We’re basically her kids!

CSD: All grown up.

JCM: Yes, we are! You’re proud of us, aren’t you?

SJF: *Nods* I have no words, none at all. I just want to thank you so much—

CSD: Ma, I don’t know why you’re thanking us!

JCM: Seriously! Without you, we wouldn’t even be here!

CSD: And that’s just a tragedy to even think about!

JCM: But in the meantime, come on in! It’s hot as Hades outside and Miss Coralee made some sweet tea!

CDS: And Jada made those sweet rolls…I don’t know why you made her make these delicious sweet rolls—don’t know whether to cuss you or praise you!

They loop one of their arms through each of mine and usher me inside, Jada pausing to close the door behind her. The space is modern, updated, and gorgeous, with plush furniture, carpeting, and rich hardwood floors. It takes everything I have not to whip out my PDA to look up the type of wood that had been used.

They lead me to the screen-in porch overlooking the marsh where two men were watching something on their pad PDA. They suddenly shout and the elder one does an awkward jig that makes me snort. Both men look up, and the dancing man immediately smiles and all but runs toward me.

Benjamin Drummond (BD): *hugs me tightly* Savannah J. Frierson, as I live and breathe!

CDS: And snore—be glad it’s not naptime!

BD: *pouts* You’re not funny, Ceelee.

JCM: I’ll have to disagree with that; I think she’s hilarious!

BD: Freda’s still a bad influence—

Aaron McKensie (AM): I see your bad influence and raise you Deshae Green.

BD: *grins* I bet Deshae learned at Freda’s knee.

JCM: *laughs* You just like her because she flirts with you all the time!

CDS: Deshae flirts with everyone all the time.

BD: She has good taste, darlin’; what’s it the kids used to say—don’t hate!

Everyone groans except Jada, who giggles into my shoulder.

BD: *scowls* You should be nicer to your elders, Miss Jada.

Jada rolls her eyes but kisses Benjamin’s cheek, and he beams. I try to hover at the door, as if to make a break for it, but Coralee shakes her head and leads me to the couch. Aaron is there and wraps me in a far less exuberant but no less intimate hug, and I all but cling to him.

AM: Hello, love.

SJF: You shouldn’t call me that.

AM: I do a lot of things I shouldn’t…and all of them with your tacit permission!

JCM: Naw! Don’t even try to blame her for your ninja sperm! Knocking me up like you did!

AM: Did she, or did she not, allow me to be your husband?

CSD: Ooh…you hear how he said that, Benny? Never too old to take notes, baby!

BD: Notes! Ha! I lecture now—paid my dues and all those student loans already!

JCM: Let’s not discuss student loans.

AM: You know she still brings up the fact I paid hers?

JCM: I gotta keep our kids humble, Aaron McKensie! Some of us didn’t come out poopin’ Benjamins out our butts!

BD: Excuse me?

CSD: Amen!

Aaron and Benjamin sigh heavily but sit next to their wives. Benny wraps an arm around Coralee shoulders while Aaron tangles his fingers with Jada’s. I search around for a place to sit, but Coralee pats the space between them.

CSD: You’re sitting right here right now.

I blanche. It’s not in me to refuse an elder, except, technically, I’m older, but old lessons are hard to unlearn. As soon as I sit two extremely handsome young men enter with trays full of food and pitchers of drink, and I have to blink. The McKensie boys are certainly not babies anymore!

Charles Augustus “Chaz” McKensie (CM): Ohh! Hey, I’m Chaz—but you already know that, and I love older women—but you already know that too. Yes, I will marry you—you probably didn’t know that, but you do now—

Joshua Alexander Channing McKensie (JAM): *kisses my cheek, effectively interrupting his brother* Did you know he’d be this silly when you wrote him?

SJF: *laughs* He was initially Ava, but then Chaz realized Iman was going to be born and decided jump in my head and skip line.

Jada glares at her husband.

JCM: Savannah, how many kids was I originally supposed to have?

SJF: *shifts uncomfortably* Two. A boy and a girl.

AM: Double your pleasure, double your fun!

The wide grin he gives leaves Jada unmoved and she rolls her eyes.

CSD: I’m appreciative of the one you gave me.

I squeeze Coralee’s hand.

SJF: That’s all I saw; I’m sorry.

BD: *kisses his wife’s temple.* Simone is perfect. I don’t even mind that Powell boy she married.

CSD: Also known as your godson.

AM: Like that makes a difference!

JCM: It should! Acting like these boys are brand spanking new—

AM: Operative word is boy!

I shared a look with Coralee and Jada, and we all rolled our eyes. Joshua and Chaz had already made their getaways.

SJF: I’m not getting in the middle of it, other than to say, you know your girls could do much worse than the sons of family friends you love and trust.

CSD: Amen!

JCM: They want to keep their daughters five years old; it doesn’t work that way.

BD: It should!

CSD: If it did, you wouldn’t have these daughters in the first place because you wouldn’t have us!

That makes the men pause for a split second, but then they both shake their heads.

BD: We’re different!

JCM: *snorts* Unicorns?

AM: Leprechauns!

CSD: You’re too tall to be a leprechaun, dear.

AM: I don’t know the Italian equivalent.

JCM: How about an ass?

AM: *smirks* You like my ass.

Jada huffs but can’t control her grin when her husband starts necking her. I sigh with exasperation, thinking of how they’ve only gotten worse with the public displays of affection the longer I’ve known them. If they weren’t so adorable, my teeth would ache. Coralee and Benjamin, on the other hand, spent most of their time gently teasing each other, although it is mostly Benjamin doing the teasing and Coralee giggling. She still has her gorgeous smile and Benjamin still stares at her as if she were the most beautiful creation God has ever made.

BD: Felix sends his love, by the way. He’d be here but he’s at St. Simon’s with the missus.

CSD: And Felix has aged very well, I can assure you—

Benjamin clears his voice much more loudly than is required. My PDA dings and I notice a forward from Aaron. I open it and I see a thirty-page invoice attached.

AM: That’s Rodrigo’s therapy bill for making him have all girls.

JCM: Karma is such a beautiful thing!

My PDA dings again and this time it’s an e-mail from Veronica with a picture of her family attached.

JCM: We’re going to meet up around Christmas, I believe, babe?

AM: New Year’s. We’re going to India for our wedding anniversary.

JCM: Twenty-three years?

AM: That’s it?

They laugh as they kiss and Coralee winks at me.

CSD: Well, I’ve felt every single one of our fifty years.

BD: We cannot have been married for fifty years when you barely look a day over forty.

CSD: That’s actually really mean; My head wasn’t this gray when I was forty!

Benjamin kisses the top of her head and holds her close. Jada and Aaron look at them fondly.

JCM: I wanna be y’all when I grow up.

AM: I thought you wanted to be my parents.

JCM: I want to be anyone who makes it. I certainly don’t want to be my parents…

SJF: *squeezes her shoulder* Sorry about that.

JCM: I just love you left off all those revelations out the first book. Like the stuff about my dad and my brother.

Aaron looks everywhere but at them and I arch an eyebrow, popping a bite of a sweet roll in my mouth. He really hadn’t been on his best behavior during that period, and it’s only by my mercy I haven’t put him on blast yet for the public to see. But if he keeps on being such a hard-nose about Ava and her boo, that may have to change.

SJF: I didn’t know most of those revelations until the book was over, and that’s not my fault; out of all of my characters, you all talk the most and just keep telling me things all the time!

BD: We don’t bother you, Savannah…then again, that’s because Felix hogging the microphone.

SJF: Felix is a sweetie; always has been. He waited, what, two years before deciding to tell me his story. Bless his heart.

CSD: Say that again. I love Felix and I’m glad he’s finally getting his story told; although he would like an ETA of when it’ll be finished.

I take a long gulp of my sweet tea and blush at Coralee’s laugh.

CSD: I know you’ll finish it, sweetheart. You’ve got a lot of demands upon you.

BD: Interlopers.

AM: Excuse me? If I recall, Mr. Drummond, Savannah had been working on our story for months until something called “National Novel Writing Month” and “thesis angst” got her to start writing your story—

BD: Ours is better—

JCM: Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry—

CSD: You didn’t just turn into a five year old before our eyes, did you?

BD: Everyone says so!

Aaron glowers at the coffee table and Jada rubs his back. I shake my head and shrug.

SJF: I cannot control audience response. Your stories resonate differently, but I love you both. Jada and Aaron’s story will always have a special place in my heart because they were first and they’ve been with me the longest; from them, I’ve spun off so many stories; but without you, Benny and Ceelee, I don’t have the universe I’ve somehow started to create. I’m so glad you chose me to tell your stories, and that’s all I’m going to say on that matter.

Jada and Coralee hug me and Aaron stands, stretching.

AM: I’m hungry. Are you hungry?

BD: *stands with help from his wife* I think I smell your son making more of those sweet rolls?

The men leave us alone and Jada and Coralee laugh, both leaning forward conspiratorially.

JCM: So…what’s this I hear about Joshie’s story being written?

CSM: And my grandbaby, Freelee, I hear tell there is some percolating going on with her story!

I laugh and eat more of the sweet roll and give a coy shrug.

SJF: Joshua’s story is already written and your granddaughter is like the wind—can’t really catch it for long. But if Freelee sits down long enough, her story will be told. I promise.

CSM: Good. Nothing like love to get you to slow down, huh, Jada Mae?

JCM: Nothing like it at all!

So It Begins...COMING HOME Countdown!

2011-07-29T19:15:00.007-04:00

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the "Blog Countdown" to BJ's and my Coming Home Tour! The title comes from the title of Reconstructing Jada Channing's sequel Coming Home, and it features everyone's favorite preschooler (or, hell, just mine) Joshua Channing McKensie and his lady love. I wrote that story the same way I wrote Being Plumville--as a National Novel Writing Month project, and I enjoyed revisiting my very first original couple ever--Jada and Aaron.

I can't call this trip to Atlanta a "full-circle" trip, because that's not what it is. Rather, it's a coming home to a place that, while isn't my hometown, is a literary "headquarters" for me and my characters. I felt, after over six years of knowing and loving the characters of these two stories in particular, it was time to take a much more intimate tour of their haunts and homes. And I have awesome partners with which to do this--BJ Thornton and you!

My relationship with BJ...I don't exactly remember how it started other than a mutual stanning of each other's work. I'm beyond excited for her new release, The Way That You Play It, and I hope you all check it out. Trent and Caroline are a phenomenal couple, and that's all I'mma say so you all have to go out and read it! Don't believe me? Check out the interview BJ did with the couple!

If you want an opportunity to maybe even interview us in person, make sure you come down to Atlanta on August 20th, 2011, where we'll be having a very low-key meet and greet in the Westin Peachtree Lobby from 2pm - 4pm, followed by dinner and a live performance at Smith's Old Bar starting at 6pm. Please bring your books if you want them signed, as we won't be selling any...but we'll be giving away copies! In order to be in the running for my giveaway, all you have to do is answer three questions correctly that pertain to either Reconstructing Jada Channing or Being Plumville, which I will post on my blog--and you don't have to attend the Meet and Greet to win (although it would be sweet if you could join us!). Questions will be up until the next Friday and answers only count if replied onto the blogpost--no e-mails please.

Good luck and thank you all for your support!

Coming Home to Atlanta!

2011-07-28T10:55:00.003-04:00

I'm so excited to be doing this venture with my girl and fantastic, fantastic author BJ Thornton! This was just an idea that came about and we said, hey, why not?! Watch this space tomorrow because there is going to be a treat I'm sure you all will enjoy!

What's a Month and Three-Quarters Between Friends?

2011-07-16T12:15:00.004-04:00

For all of my desire and desire to write, which is a form of communication, I am actually very bad at it when it comes to the essence of myself. I recently had a "Come to Jesus" conversation, one I'd avoided for five months because 1.) there were things on the horizon that needed to come to fruition before we spoke and 2.) I was anxious about it. And there is no better procrastinator than a writer for a lot of things. Let's recap--I don't have a major book deal; I haven't released a new book in almost a year; I haven't finished a project in half a year; I'm working a job that isn't the glitzy and glamorous one folks would expect for a Harvard graduate. But I talked him down from the ledge, basically letting him know that I had options on how to get where I need and want to be. He felt better afterwards, and I can admit I did as well. Apparently, I needed to talk it out and not just let it swarm in my mind until it becomes a convoluted mess.

As for the hiatus from this blog, that wasn't even remotely intentional...I'd had two very bad conversations with my uncle and with my father within days of my birthday. I was hot. I was pissed. And that funky mood had lasted weeks, exacerbated by ToM showing up quite uninvited at my door and sending my mood beyond the depths of hell. I did what I normally did when I was bothered and upset--kept it inside. Went silent. Packed it away and kept it moving. When Father's Day rolled around, my father told my sister he wasn't expecting a phone call from me because I was mad at him when we spoke last.

Really?

To complicate matters, sometime before, I had two of my closest friends over for a day at the beach...which ended up being a day at my apartment complex because it was too damn hot and gas was too damn high to drive to damn far to the too damn crowded beach. We started talking about relationships and sex, which drifted to me talking about my inexperience with both and referencing a previous post about me mentioning my molestation. This was the first time one of my friends had heard this story because she hadn't read that blog, and she became incredibly upset. I'd refused to say who it'd been because I'm not trying to see any one of them on the evening news, but they'd reiterated something my friend BJ had been telling me for a while now--I don't let myself feel things. The hard things. The passionate things. And if I can't feel those things, I won't be able to experience the very things I want to experience--relationships, love, loving.

Maybe I needed these almost two months to process all of that, because I know I still hold back a lot of the times in my writing. The more I write, the more I'm getting better at letting go and letting flow, but I still have tremendous work to do. Strong emotions overwhelm and many times frighten me, because when I give into them, I say things I can't take back...and probably things I wouldn't want to take back, if I'm honest with myself. I'd be laid bare and then what? This trepidation applies for good and bad feelings too.

I've blown up two notable times, and it was really bad, to the point it's legend in the family. Because I am a writer, and I know how to string thoughts together, I could be very adroit in how to make it so words not only hurt, but pulverize, or make it so they're soaked with sap, because that's the depth of emotion I feel. But in my family, we're generally not allowed to feel that deeply--good or bad--or at the very least acknowledge that we do. So I retreat inward so I can pack it down enough in order to operate "business as usual". The things that truly, deep-down hurt me, I discuss as if I am a reporter with cool detachment so I don't focus on the nitty-gritty feelings. It's disingenuous. It shortchanges me as a full person with full feelings, and I need to work on that.

Yeah, it almost took me two months to admit that...this was supposed to be a short blog update too.

Slight confession regarding those two bad conversations after my birthday--I'd felt so invigorated when I expressed my irritation with my father and didn't let my uncle make his irritation my irritation. I'd stood by both of my feelings and was proud of myself for doing so.

My 28th Born Day

2011-05-22T21:30:00.000-04:00

Today is my birthday. I went out and had breakfast at the Cracker Barrel by myself, and got a phone call from my grandmother’s cousin while I was there. Then I went grocery shopping because the world didn’t end as I was promised, and I bought myself a birthday cheesecake—the cashier wished me a happy birthday. After that, I was at home and did some reading and hung out on the Internet, but I was also answering the most Facebook birthday greetings I’d ever received thus far and spoke with my sister and my father and my friends. I went to dinner at IHOP because the Chinese place where I wanted to eat didn’t deliver and the woman hung up on me after she told me! Then came back home and spoke to more relatives.

All this to say, I spent my birthday alone, but the universe didn’t dare allow me to be lonely. It was a good birthday. J

Beautiful Bana

2011-05-17T21:55:00.004-04:00

In this society, physical attractiveness is the foundational criterion to determine someone’s self-worth; the more attractive one is, the more one is likely to be identified with positive markers, such as “goodness”, “Intelligence”, “leadership”, etc. It is for this reason that prospective parents are often teased by people praying the baby takes after the more attractive side of the family or thinking a comment of “the baby is so precious” instead of “cute” could be grounds for ending friendships.

For the majority of this society, the standard of physical attractiveness is Western European Beauty. We’re taught it from childhood with fairy tales and it is reinforced with the majority of television shows and movies that are produced this year. Even the English language, the primary language spoken in this society, has codified color terms, in which white is pureness and good and black is dirty and evil. Therefore, there’s no wonder why you get a documentary like this:

Now, as for my journey…

- My mother didn’t let me play with white Barbies, let alone own one. I’d wanted one, though; not because the doll was white, but because the doll came with the accessories I needed to continue playing with my black dolls, and I couldn’t understand why my mother couldn’t understand that. But she did—the white doll was more expensive because it had more value, and that wasn’t just monetary, either.

- Of all the childhood games my sister and I played, I don’t ever recall playing “Princess”; maybe this is because we didn’t think, subconsciously, princesses could be black. We played the hell out of “Shipwreck” and “Pirates”, though.

- My mother was my first standard of beauty, and she still is. Apparently, she was also a lot of men’s, too, and still is. But that standard was rarely reflected on TV and in movies, and she died when I was nine.

- My first “One True Pairing” (OTP) was Heathcliff and Clair Huxtable. My second was Dwayne and Whitley Wayne.

- I had my very first white friend in first grade when I went to Catholic school (from pre-K–5^th grade I’d attended a black school save the first grade). She was blonde and blue-eyed and looked like she came right out of a fairy tale, like Cinderella before she grew up. We only hung out in the parking lot of the school at the end of the day while our mothers chit-chatted, and never went to each other’s houses like I did with my other black friends. I never saw her again when I left that school.

- I was first touched inappropriately when I was in third grade, except I didn’t know it other than I was confused why my classmate kept trying to stick his hands between my legs. My mother marched down to that as if she had the hounds of hell on leads. The boy didn’t return for fourth grade.

- I first remember being sexualized when I was in fifth grade, because my booty was the first to transform from a child’s shape to a woman’s. “Baby Got Back” became my theme song and I hated it. I was still a child; that song was entirely inappropriate for any of us to be singing at the ages of 9–11, but that was the first realization that this society doesn’t treat black children as children, just little adults, even if none of us were savvy enough to realize that consciously.

- I could never understand why Lisa Turtle, who was arguably the prettiest and flyest girl at Bayside High, could never find a mutual attraction for her, and had a dorky Screech after her for “comic relief”. Takeaway #1—liking a black girl is a funny thing. Takeaway #2—better to be single than to settle (of course, this one, I think, was far more subtle for me).

- Living Single was groundbreaking and I didn’t even know it, for it showed various-bodied-and-hued black women being regarded as sexy, beautiful, lovable, and desirable, something that I took for granted because that was my reality watching my mother and older female cousins. Not only that, the show aged very well. RIDE THE MAVERICK!!

- I had my very first crush (a black boy) when I was three years old, but didn’t do anything because he was shy and probably thought I had cooties. I had my second crush (a white boy) when I was twelve years old, but I didn’t do anything because he was popular and probably wouldn’t be interested because I’m black.

- Also when I was twelve, someone thought my eight-year-old sister was my daughter. …

- I used to be jealous of my younger sister because everyone would say she looked like our mother, which meant she was beautiful (which she is); and few would ever say I looked like anyone, which I took to mean I wasn’t. And when they did give me a relation, it was my grandmother. Way to make a teenage girl feel better by comparing her to her 70-something grandmother! And what made this even worse was a boy in my 8^th-grade home room said I had “grandma hands”.

- By the time I reached high school, I figured out the definition of “hot” for a girl was almost the direct opposite of me, which was just as well because I couldn’t date in high school anyway and I wasn’t attracted to many of the guys at my school (although this isn’t to say none of them were attractive).

- I think I fell in love for the first time during the summer when I was thirteen and an older boy (South Asian) made me feel like a girl.

- At fourteen I started flipping through Sweet Valley High books to see if a black girl was given some “screen time”; if not, I didn’t check it out.

- At fifteen I started following boy bands and would get excited whenever there was a black girl cast in the videos.

- My third OTP, Shawn and Angela from Boy Meets World, will forever be one because for once, being in love with a black girl on a teen-oriented show wasn’t treated as a joke (yes, this includes Family Matters, even if I were rooting for Urkel/Laura).

- I was sixteen years old the first time a black boy (and yes, a crush) told me he didn’t black girls, and I remember being seized with a slight panic that if black boys didn’t date black girls, who in the world did?

- My school had a clothing drive and I went to the grocery store to buy diapers for it. The cashier asked me how old my child was. Considering I’ve always looked younger than I am, this really took me aback. But I only looked younger in the face; my body was that of a grown woman, very curvy and shapely, and I’d always been self-conscious about drawing attention.

- I was seventeen when I got my first “marriage proposal” as well as when the first unrelated male told me I was beautiful. (two separate boys, only one was serious.) We were told to write down something nice about our classmates, and the majority was the usual “funny”, “smart”, “nice” accolades I’d get; but the “beautiful” one stunned me so much that later that evening I’d asked him if he’d meant it, afraid it was joke. He said he meant it, and I barely contained my tears. The first time I thought I was beautiful was later that year when I was in a cotillion. Unfortunately, nobody mentioned it.

- Eighteen was a busy year—first kiss, second molestation, although this molestation was by a man old enough to be my father. It took me months to tell someone because I didn’t think anyone would believe me or folks would think it was my fault. But last time I checked, being braless and wearing shorts in one’s own home during the summer in the South wasn’t grounds for uninvited touches.

- I’d never felt uglier, unwanted, and unlovable in my life than during my four years of college and the four years after it—The Boston Years. It was as if I were living out a rom-com where I was the black, fat, sassy, asexual mammy/BFF who provided the laughs and the sage advice but would never be in consideration for a romantic “happily ever after”. The one and only date I went on during this time was with an ex-con who worked security at my summer job—mind, I didn’t know he was an ex-con until we were on the date. And he kept asking if I could cook (which I must be able to do because I’m a big black woman from the South and all), so yeah, that was a no-go. Incidentally, this is also the time I decided I would give a shot at the writing thing.

- On the other hand, around this time interracial pairings on soap operas featuring black women had, for some reason exploded on soap operas…and quite predictably crashed and burned; but while they were on there, they were awesome. My favorites were Fox/Whitney—Passions (I’m still bitter by how they destroyed this one), Nik/Gia—General Hospital, Paco/Preta—Da Cor do Pecado (a Portuguese telenovela dubbed in Spanish was how I watched, loved this one, probably because this was the only one that got a happily ever after), and Evangeline/almost anyone—One Life to Live. And now I can admit another reason why these relationships were frustrating was because just about all of them were “standard-acceptable” beauties; basically the Lisa Turtles who finally got some loving (as did Lisa for one episode, with Zach…yeah, bitter about that too).

- My heroines tend to fit my very first standard of beauty, that of my mother and other women in my family, which means they are usually short, usually curvy/full-figured, and usually dark to medium-toned in skin color. The more society-standard beauties are usually secondary/tertiary characters. I know for a lot of people, romances are about the fantasy. Well, one of my fantasies is for people who look like me to be unapologetically loved and considered beautiful.

- I get ridiculously excited whenever I see a black woman being loved in real life and in media because the sight is about as frequent as Halley’s Comet. It gives me hope that could be me one day.

- One of my good friends from home gave me an assignment to pick one thing I liked about myself, with special emphasis on the physical self. I had extreme difficulty with the exercise.

- Barack and Michelle Obama are fourth OTP because for once, a black woman being loved is something that cannot be dismissed or ignored on a national stage. If they ever break up (which I forbid them to do) I will be shedding some seriously fugly tears.

- When I was twenty-five I attracted another security guard’s attention, another man old enough to be my father. It was disconcerting because he would always stare at me when I walked in the building and continue to stare until I got on the elevator. Finally one day he said “You have a nice walk.” Freaked me out so badly I muttered a quick thanks and sped-walked to the elevator because I could not determine if his comment was lust or genuine admiration.

- When I was twenty-six, Disney finally decided to create a Black princess, yet I couldn’t be as thrilled as I liked because she spent the majority of the film as a frog.

- For Lent 2010, I decided I would give up low self-esteem, which meant I had to stop sipping on the “I’m Not Good Enough” syrup that had been my BFF since birth. The withdrawal was brutal, and there are still times I fall off the wagon; but I’m much better at running to catch up to it now than before. One of the things I’ve accepted about myself was I’ll never be a single-digit dress size no matter how much weight I lose; and it was okay for me to like the curves I have. And my walk.

- When I was about to turn twenty-seven, my grandmother died. During this time I took a lot of pictures with my camera phone of old pictures of her. She was beautiful, so I guess that means I’m beautiful too (and yes, as soon as I typed that out I burst in to tears, because that, right then, was the first time I said it and truly, truly meant it).

- Yesterday, there was an article explaining why black women were ugly, and I was laughing to myself about the utter nonsense of it all until I became irate that this “PhD” was passing off his conclusions as “scientific fact” instead of his racist opinion. But my favorite part was the author’s confusion why the black women in his “study” thought of themselves as physically attractive when “science” says they’re not. And just thinking about my long, winding struggle to get to a revelation many women never reach, let alone black women, and his attempt to nullify these black women’s opinions of themselves because they do not conform to his/Western-European standard of beauty really pissed me off. But now, I want to give these women high fives for owning their beauty for themselves and refusing to sip the “You’re Not Good Enough” syrup this “PhD” was trying to shove down their throats.

Perhaps it is threatening to some when black women stop believing they can only be asexual mammies or hypersexual Jezebels, or that they can only consider themselves beautiful when a Western European society deems them so…or they have to have enough European or nonblack blood to even hope to be considered beautiful in the first place. That their bodies are always there for the taking—whether by permission or not, and rarely with tenderness and care—and that little black girls (and boys) aren’t little black girls (and boys) because they are merely pre-adults. The politics of respectability are alive and well, making black women scared of their femininity and being unreceptive to genuine, respectful appreciation or not treating themselves as the valuable beings they truly are because being marked as “ugly” means unvaluable, so they treat their bodies any kind of way and allow others to do the same. Every damn day we’re told black women aren’t capable of being loving or being loved; that just because can “do bad all by ourselves” (why it gotta be bad?) we don’t desire to “do good with a supportive partner”. I’m tired of trying to reach a standard I was never supposed to meet; but more importantly I’m tired of being fed the line there is only one standard to meet in the first damn place. I don’t need to be beautiful for everyone—hell, I don’t even need to be beautiful—but I do need to be a good person, and that has nothing to do with my dress size or the perfect symmetry of my face.

All that to say, I’m fierce as hell, and you can kick rocks if you disagree.

10 Facts about Me

2011-05-12T15:31:00.001-04:00

I was in the process of writing a long blog post, but then I got a little distracted and began rambling and meh. So, here's a meme I did for one of my online hangouts. Maybe I'll continue working on the original post...or maybe not, right now it looks daunting (which probably means I should keep working on it #le sigh).

~~~~

1.) I was named after my maternal grandmother (Jordan—RiP Grandma Lillie, one year gone this May).

2.) I’ve sung with Bobby McFerrin (with my college choir Kuumba Singers).

3.) I played Carnegie Hall when I was 18 (orchestra/viola).

4.) I started truly writing when I was 12 years old (poetry).

5.) I haven’t been kissed since I was 18 (I’ll be 28 this month).

6.) My favorite part of my body is my eyes (they are brown, but nothing plain about them to me).

7.) My favorite novel I’ve written thus far is Reconstructing Jada Channing, which is, incidentally, the first novel I’ve ever written and my worst reviewed novel on Amazon (#kanyeshrug).

7.) My favorite desserts are cheesecake and my Grandma Katie’s pound cake (RiP, Grandma Katie, 10 years gone this August).

8.) I love the feel of my natural hair against my fingertips, and it’s a quirk I’ve inherited from my mother, apparently (RiP Mama, 19 years gone this November).

9.) My favorite movie ever in life is Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (Frank all day; this was also my Grandma Lillie’s least favorite movie because we watched it all the time…back to back…#can’t be tamed).

10.) I have a ride-or-die personality when it comes to friends, and length of time between talking doesn’t negate that.

A Year Ago Today. This Minute.

2011-05-09T21:25:00.004-04:00

I didn’t spend a lot of time yesterday talking about my Grandma Lillie, the woman who raised me and my sister, in the audio blog, and that wasn’t necessarily intentional. However, considering today is the actual anniversary of her death, it’s probably more important I do this now than before.

Now, I often say I didn’t have a nickname until I got to college and then was dubbed the “Sav”, but that’s not the truth. I just never considered it a nickname because it wasn’t “nicked”. But my grandmother had given me another name since I had functional memory.

“Butt-Butt”.

Apparently, even at the age of 2/3, my tush was something to behold—that Jordan Body in its early stage. But not only that, I’d even run up to my grandmother and sing “Pat the butt, Grandma, pat the butt!” So she’d call me Butt-Butt and pat my tushie as she’d sing the “Pat the Butt-Butt!” song. Clearly, I was crazy, because there other times when I’d run and hide from when she’d want to “whoop that ass!”

It was not a game.

But then my younger sister came along, complete with the Jordan Body herself, so my Grandmother snatched my first name from me and tacked it onto her! Probably one of the reasons from age BIRTH to about SEVEN of my sis I couldn’t stand her, but then Grandma gave me a new name.

Bana. And then she’d call me “Bana-Bana”. And I don’t think I ever told my friends this at home, but then they started calling me that, because that’s what my grandmother called me. And then my sis calls me “Ban”.

So, yeah. She’s never going to call me Bana anymore, and that’s really…an awful thing to never hear from her again. My poor sister has been crying on and off all day; I think she’s taking this harder than I am in a lot of ways, because she had to watch the demise up close. She was also there when Grandma passed away; I was too busy driving back home thinking she would make it another day. And I miss her. There are some days that are so gorgeously sunny and I think, “Today would be a perfect day to call Grandma”, and then I remember I can’t anymore. Every time I drive home, or arrive from a trip, it is always bittersweet because I remember I can’t call Grandma to tell her I made it safely. But then, so many positive things have happened to me that I can’t help but think she, my Grandma Katie, and my mama are whispering in God’s ear about me. And my sister, for that matter. I firmly think everything happens for a reason, and the reason why I decided to move, or to start my Lent Project 2010, or to follow my own path with this writing thing, I got the strength to follow my lead from her. She supported me fully in my writing, talking me and my books up, almost annoying me with requests to ship her some autographed books from Boston so she could sell them to her classes (she taught arts and crafts) or to damn near anyone who called the house. And she got her sales too.

Grandma was boss. I want to be that boss when I grow up, with the name she gave me.

Lillie Belle Jordan Glover: November 30, 1921 - May 9, 2010

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T18:50:00.003-04:00

I chose to use a picture with my parents instead of my grandmothers because I don't have a photo of Grandma Katie. :( But you can see Grandma Katie's smile in my father's, so :)

More Seedlings

2011-05-06T19:30:00.003-04:00

Amazon Link

PS: Shout out to all my blogging friends who are trying the audio thing! Only took me a week and some change to figure out how to embed audio onto Blogger! lol

The Seeds That Were Planted

2011-05-04T23:20:00.004-04:00

I was about five or six years old and I was at the park near my kindergarten. My mother had taken my sister and me to the park to play, and there was a white family there. Somehow, I and the white boy in that family ended up playing together on the swings, in the tire rounds where the dirt was, etc, until his older sister came up to us with a scowl on her face and said to her brother, "You shouldn't be playing with her!" We both looked at each other in confusion before his sister grabbed his wrist and yanked him away. I went up to my mother bewildered by the whole thing, asking her why was that girl so mean and why couldn't I play with my new friend, and she murmured nonsense to me and guided me with sister in tow to the car to leave.

This is 1988/1989, over twenty years after the end of the modern Civil Rights Movement in the United States.

I often cite Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry as the book that made me want to be a writer, which is true. But when I was answering a similar question during my readers session at RSJ 2011, I realized one of the reasons why I was drawn to the book was because it humanized an interracial friendship that really shouldn't have ever happened in the 1930s South. Jeremy Simms, a white boy, was always friendly with Cassie Logan and her family despite the entire rest of his family being almost beyond racists. Even when I was reading it the first time, Jeremy intrigued me because I wanted to know how he avoided drinking the Kool-Aid while the others in his family seemed to be drinking free refills of it every fifteen minutes or so. He was such a sweet, pure soul, and I remember praying and reading with not a little trepidation that he would end up just as racist as the rest of his family, as Uncle Hammer had portended. I think I would've cried some ugly tears had that happened.

So, Roll of Thunder planted the seed; then Maniac Magee was the fertilizer. I loved this book. I had it constantly checked out of the library, and it was a change of pace because now the protagonist was a white boy instead of the black girl from Roll of Thunder. He was similar to Jeremy in many ways--a loner who didn't really care about conventions and just "did him". He didn't care about the "rules" of the society because he lived outside them, and with that was a certain freedom to take people as they come and make decisions based on that.

You know, like Martin Luther King said he wanted us to do one day. ~~And actually, I have more thoughts about this particular line in a very long and insightful speech is always co-opted but never really practice but that's for another time.~~

I went to an all-black school from the age or three to the age of 11, with a brief interlude at Catholic school for first grade. There was pretty much not a day that didn't go by without us hear something about Martin Luther King, Jr. or Rosa Parks, or Harriet Tubman, etc. I knew much about my history and was taught to be proud of it; but I could never understand why white kids didn't attend our school. I'd even asked my mother why couldn't white kids go to my school; she said they couldn't they just chose not to attend. I couldn't understand that at all, because I thought my school was boss; and then I'd wonder if all white people were just really light black people or if all black people were just really tan white people.

*pats bb!Sav*

I do find it notable that of all the characters who are allowed that particular freedom in those early books were white and male. Of course at the time I wasn't savvy enough to notice such a nuance, but I suppose it has to be them because white males are at the top of the societal ladder, which means they have a freedom of mobility those below don't generally have--particularly black females. And actually, it's only now as I write this blog that I even realize just how early my interest in interracial relationships in literature really was. These two books were among my very favorites as a child, and they had me scouring for more books that highlighted interracial relationships among kids, and see how they bridged that racial divide.

As I became older and started thinking a boy's cooties weren't necessarily a bad thing, my interest became more inclusive and almost predominated by romantic interracial relationships featuring black women (or actually, relationships that featured black women, period, because those shows were just going off the air right when I needed them most *clings to Living Single and bemoans the fact her non-cable having self couldn't access Girlfriends because living in the country meant no UPN without it*). In fact, I'd wondered if one of the reasons Jeremy was so different from his folks was because Jeremy was or would end up a little in love with Cassie, but Ms. Taylor decided to pair Cassie with Moe instead (I liked Moe...Moe *snuggles him*). But I still thought of the "what if?" possibilities had Ms. Taylor decided to go the other route. Then the more I consumed media (mainly TV and movies) and started to have crushes on teen stars (who were usually white) I began to create my own stories where girls who looked like me could get some love. It took a while for me to put those stories on paper, and even then those black girls started to look less like "the most beautiful of beautiful ever" to be worthy of said man to just "regla" girls who could be the most beautiful of beautiful for their man.

Thus sprouted my interest in writing interracial love stories featuring a black woman and a nonblack man. Of course, this choice raises several eyebrows, particularly for those who know me personally because I'm very much proud to be a person of African descent and I'm very much advocate for black love in real life and the media--to the point I get ridiculously excited when I see a black couple being loving to each other because that's something you just so rarely see in the media. But that's the problem--it is as if it is mutually exclusive to be proud to be black/to see black love while at the same time being open to dating/loving outside one's race. And no, it's not good enough for a black couple to be together just because both parties are black; color as the foundation of a relationship will never be strong enough to have that relationship last. One of the reasons I focused my studies on interracial fiction in college because I wanted to see how interracial relationships (not strictly of the romantic variety) were handled through the ages. There were some very, um, interesting ideas (my "favorite" is an actual black and white striped child of an interracial union from like the late 16th century), but there was still an element of...I don't want to say fetishism, but the inability for a story to be told in such a way where the story didn't end tragically or in such a way that I was frustrated with one or both of the lead characters.

I'd decided for my thesis I would write my own interracial fiction--Reconstructing Jada Channing was the very first original story I gave a serious attempt to writing...and then I thought this was crap and decided to start writing Being Plumville. Reconstructing Jada Channing garnered high praise in my departments, to the point it was named the best thesis on African-American Literature at my alma mater for the 2004-2005 school term; and Being Plumville has opened so many doors for me I cannot count. Now, I have several publications out, all of which the main focus is a black woman loving and being loved, because in the end, that's all that matters. And in many ways, giving the heroine a hero who is different from her racially and/or culturally forces her to learn more about herself in the context of not only a black woman, but a member of humanity (and the hero, too, for that matter. And to get one's characters to that plane of "love is love" is my ultimate goal of all.

(Note: Felix Reynolds in Being Plumville is definitely inspired by Jeremy Simms and Ronnie Bass from the film Remember the Titans. If you're not acquainted with either, I highly recommend you check out Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry and Remember the Titans. RtT is an automatic stop-and-watch at my house, I don't even care. My sis and I quote the mess out of that film. Oh, and one more thing--Gerry & Julius = O.T.P.)

Can't Have One without the Other

2011-05-03T23:20:00.002-04:00

In the byline, if you will, of this blog, it says this is supposed to be about my journey as an author. And it has been...just weighted very heavily on the professional side of that journey. What I've been avoiding, even denying in a large sense, is that personal side of the journey; and what I am realizing is the professional can only go as far as the personal will allow. So, in that vein, I will be doing more personal blogging. Probably. Many of the things I'll discuss here I haven't told a soul...haven't even owned up to it myself. But this isn't my first time journaling, and there is something to be said about seeing the progression of moods from day to day to week to week to month to month to year to year. It's scary, humbling, and freeing to see all of this; and to give the world access to it even more so (because even though I can't really tell if people read this blog, I do know some of the few folk who do). But if I call myself a writer, I have to square with the fact I do that every time produce a book. So, be prepared for more BTS posts about what makes me tick enough to write what I write. If for nothing else, it'll probably be beneficial to me to keep myself honest and open to receiving the stories that have chosen me to tell them.

Romance Slam Jam 2011 - The End

2011-05-01T08:05:00.002-04:00

I’m sitting in Union Station, Washington, DC right now, a little tired, but very much blessed. The last two days was full of making even more connections, including a possible editing job for a colleague and some more inquiries about self publishing. I also finally met one of my aces after years of meeting everyone but her (including working with her sister, meeting her mother, her brother-in-law’s family from round my way, other mutual friends—it was beyond time). And she’s good. Y’all, if you ever want to know why some (re: the majority) of these stories happen, is because chick sends me photos or keeps nudging formerly quiet secondary characters into screaming, especially in the Reconstructing Jada Channing universe (i.e.—the whole Inoue brothers arc? Her fault.). I side-eye her, but it is with love.

And we share a brain. It’s ridiculously creepy.

So, she was there with me during the RSJ Mega Book Signing (I'd sold half the books I’d brought, which a significant success rate in my opinion) and got to meet several authors, and we were both very boring hanging out in my room while I bemoaned not wanting to go to the Emma Awards (my fault, I’d been up all night on the phone with BJ (we do not know how to have short conversations), who is another awesome-sauce woman whose book y’all need to buy when it comes out in June) and I’d needed to pack because my first train (the one forces tried to conspire against me to miss this morning) left at 6:23 this morning, and the Awards ended at 11pm last night. But I was good egg, got photographic evidence me and my friend really, truly did meet, and went to the Emma Awards banquet.

The food was great, although I wasn’t hungry and left most of it on the plate, sadly. It was a bit chilly in the hotel, but that had been consistent from jump, so I was glad I’d at least had the foresight to wear an outfit with sleeves. The awards were blessedly efficient with little hiccups and everyone was gracious and a cheerleader for the winners.

And speaking of…I placed in the Aspiring Authors Contest, which means my manuscript will be read by an editor at a major traditional house. I didn’t blog about how much angsting I’d done with the submissions earlier this year; nor did I mention part of my trepidation was because the last time I’d participated in the contest my manuscripts had all but been ripped by the judges. But I was a green one then, naïve, and I have four years of professionally writing under my belt. I came in fourth out of the fourth slots, but I don’t even care. There really is no such thing as “last place” if you placed at all, and I’m so grateful. My “acceptance speech” was a hot mess because I 1.) didn’t think I’d win anything and 2.) wasn’t aware the winners would even have to say something. But everyone was so kind to me and wished me congratulations.

And as for editors, I had another pitch earlier that day; this time with the editor of the Harlequin Kimani line. Although I didn’t have anything that was the right fit for what she was looking, she was so gracious with her advice and just a warm spirit. I’ll say, this core of agents and editors at this 2011 Romance Slam Jam were all phenomenal, so open, so gracious, so encouraging. Pitching is one of the most nerve-wracking things an author could do, and I left both of mine so at ease and comfortable.

I’ll be glad when I finally get on my train back home; I’ll be able to relax a bit and really being to unpack all that went down during this conference, but it was a great experience.

Romance Slam Jam 2011 - The Middle

2011-04-29T17:14:00.001-04:00

I’m recognized more now, and people are genuinely happy to see me, and are holding me accountable for not having much new output, and it’s a fantastic charge to have. This is one of the most open conferences I’ve been to, and I’m pretty sure this will be one of the mandatory conferences as my career blooms. It’s like one big family reunion and it’s wonderful.

Yesterday, I had my reader’s session, which is where a panel authors answer questions from the audience. I…wasn’t as assertive as I could’ve been; but those who know me know I prefer to listen than to talk about myself. My fellow panelists were great—GiGi Gunn and an author who will be released in October through Genesis Press (I remember her actual name, but not her pen name! I know it’s Regena….:-/). Ms. Gunn said I had a great Web site! If only y’all knew how much time and effort it takes to update that thing…that truly made my hour to hear that! And she spoke so eloquently (they both did), so I was content to listen to them! Ms. Gunn, like Ms. Beverly two years ago told me I need to work on my assertiveness. Well, I put that to the test and had a woman buy Trolling Nights on her Kindle right in front of me!

I’m getting there, I promise…

Today, I had an editor pitching session and it went really well! The editor was very nice and gracious, one of the most relaxing ones I’d ever attended. There was also a workshop about selling v. slushing regarding projects, and the agent, Nicole Resciniti from the Seymour Agency had wonderful pointers. And I think I may even have a potential editing job with a fellow author. I also spoke with some more local authors to consider a small little one-day conference maybe, perchance.

In the meantime, I’m now in my hotel room trying to put some of those pointers to paper for one of my almost completed manuscripts. I hope I don’t get distracted, because I want to be able to pitch it soon. It’s in the Reconstructing Jada Channing universe as well as the Being Plumville universe. I think you’ll enjoy it…once it’s finally finished!

Romance Slam Jam 2011 - The Beginning

2011-04-28T06:59:00.002-04:00

I’d entertained the idea of doing audio posts; but the glitch I found was uploading the files to create podcasts. I’ll table that idea for now and I just write them out the semi old–fashioned way for the time being. The trip to Baltimore for the Romance Slam Jam started off…challenging. First of all, it was the first real day of ToM (men, ask the women in your life what that is), which means I was already miserable. And then, found out my original departure of 9:50pm on Tuesday was pushed back to 10:30pm…then 11:45pm…then 12:15am…and I didn’t get on the train until 12:40am on Wednesday. Bless my coworker and her husband’s hearts, the folks who’d offered to drop me at the train station. They hung around until 11pm and told me to text them as soon as I arrived to the hotel…which didn’t occur until about 11:30 or so that morning. Yet considering I wasn’t supposed to get to the hotel until 10-something anyway, that wasn’t so bad. Just, the principle of the thing to wait that long at the train station AND miss my initial connecting train. That was unnecessary stress on one of the worst days of the month for me. But I made it!

And I napped. People, I don’t nap, but I needed to yesterday; otherwise, I would’ve been no good to anyone. I’m just glad I do have a room to myself; I could relax in a way that I wouldn’t have been able to do so with one.

I ate lunch alone and then sat at a table with fellow RSJ people because they’d walked in just as I was finished. Went down to dinner alone and ended up eating with a large group of authors who’ve taken me under their wings a bit. I’m among the youngest authors here, if not the youngest. Per usual. They keep teasing me about my youth here, but it’s all good. I’m always eager to learn from those who’ve been in the game longer and are being successful at it I’m far more settled this third go round than I was when I first came to the RSJ in 2008. I was a nervous wreck then; now I have more ownership over my space in the writing circle.

According to the schedule, I’m the only person in my reader’s session; however, I think that’s going to change considering the other session has three people in it. Either I’ll join them or one will join me. Or I’ll just sit in the other one, because that reader’s session features one of my mentors!

Nevertheless, I’m going to will a great RSJ 2011 into the universe, and maybe I’ll get a bit of writing done along the way. I tend to have good luck with that, considering I’d written the majority of Trolling Nights at the 2008 iteration of it.

Enjoy your day!

I'm Gonna Do Better

2011-04-24T14:00:00.001-04:00

I'd been doing so well with the updating and then I got really slack with it, and I apologize for that. I plan to give this another go, particularly because I have news. I have stopped publication on BEING PLUMVILLE with iUniverse. I certainly appreciate everything about that experience; without it, I wouldn't have learned the book publication process. This journey began four years ago, and it's been both professional and personal. I hope I have several more years to go on it, but thanks to iUniverse for helping me get started.

Support Systems

2011-02-26T09:00:00.002-05:00

This week I talked to several people about my writing journey. This fact isn't new or even really news, except for the first time in a long time, if ever, I took some serious ownership of my craft and crafting processes and being willing to accept whatever fruits are born from it. It was refreshing, and harkens back, actually, to my last post about not every book being for every reader. I want to support myself off my writing, and I owe my parents another "five-year plan" that I don't have other than "writing!", but to know I'll have support even if I never make it humongous is awesome. I have friends who promote me on their Web sites, who send me links to media outlets looking for something I could possibly offer. I people who work with me and ask me what my next project is and how my writing's going. I have people in libraries who actively inform their patrons about "underground" authors such as myself and others. It's amazing and wonderful, and so completely not how I thought this career path would go. I'd always thought writing was a solitary endeavor, alone and without collaboration and corroboration. Maybe it used to be, but it cannot be that way now. I'm grateful for everyone and to everyone who's decided to take the journey along with me--even just a question of how it's going is encouraging for a writer, even if the writer is a little frustrated with the "when's the next one coming?" because the writer doesn't know! But the minute folks stop asking is the minute the writer knows she's in trouble. So, keep asking, keep pestering, even if I huff and roll my eyes a bit. I need each and every prod. It keeps me honest and humble to know I have folks who are rooting for me.

Strolling down Memory Lane toward My Goal

2011-02-17T04:40:00.003-05:00

I've been going over old writing this past week, checking out my stable, as it were, because it's writing contest/awards season; otherwise, I probably wouldn't have bothered. On the one hand, I'm looking at how much are really still works in progress. On the other, I'm looking at how good these works are. This is a change for me, folks, because before, I would nitpick at all the stuff that's wrong about these stories. This time, I'm reading and almost forgetting I wrote it because I'm getting absorbed in the story (I say almost because I'm aware enough to make changes here and there). These stories are strong, even if they don't ultimately win any contests or awards. I'm noticing how much I've improved upon my craft and it's relieving to see, actually. I'm falling in love with my characters all over again, and I know that I will be proud when these manuscripts are finally ready for publication.

Perhaps it's the way I'm approaching this writing contest season now, in that I won't consider any response, whether good or bad, as the definitive word on my talent or the opportunities I have to make it in this industry. In fact, I went back and looked at some old "rejections" (either regarding poor scoring in contests or unsuccessful queries to publishers/editors/agents)--none of them said I couldn't write. I'd been too absorbed in the "no" to really read everything that was being said in the responses. I can write. I've had wonderful friends and mentors encourage me on that front, and every author needs to hear that from someone other than his or herself to remain sane. The real concern, for me especially, was and is truly, "does anyone but me care about this story?" That's what's great about being able to independently publish. It doesn't much matter if a publisher cosigns you or not, I as an independent author can share my story directly to the readers and have them decide if they care about the story. I don't have to worry about publishers playing the odds against my book to determine if they'll foot the bill publishing it (although that is still one goal of mine, as publisher have a larger readership pool to access than little ol' me).

I first heard this from Evelyn Palfrey, even though I'm sure countless others have said it--there is a reader for every book, but no book for every reader. I'm grateful for all the readers I get, truly. I've had so many people come up to me and say things such as, "yours is the first interracial/multicultural/fiction/African-American book I've ever read and I loved it! Comments like that help ground me and keep me focused on why I'm writing in the first place. Making a true living off my writing really is a main goal, to be sure, but I'm trying to write stories people want to read but may not be getting in mainstream publishing.

Yet.

Self-Publishing (in My Opinion)

2011-02-09T04:49:00.001-05:00

I'm up at 3:50 in the morning; I hope I go back to sleep soon. But in the meantime, I'll write this blog post because I 1.) need to do better about blogging and 2.) two different people (one being fellow writer & friend BJ Thornton) asked me this question, although phrased differently: What is the role of self-publishing for the 21st-century writer. Okay, clearly neither question was so succinct as that, but that's my synopsis of their two queries. However, my answer is fairly succinct: a godsend. I say that because no longer are writers at the mercies of agents (even though I have a great one) or publishers (even though I'm affiliated with an awesome one), but DIY publishing is actually a great way for the writer to truly learn about the publishing process, something I don't think strictly traditionally published authors learn until deep in their careers, if at all.

Because you publish your books yourself, you understand and appreciate the costs it requires to put a book together--the editor, the proofreader, the cover art, the formatting, how to price the book, which format(s) to release the book, how to distribute the book, where to distribute the book, how to market the book. You are responsible for it all, either yourself exclusively or finding reliable people to provide the services. Little known fact is the majority of publishers hire freelance editors and proofreaders outside of the "editor" responsible for your project in the house. In that sense, "editor" is actually synonymous for "project manager" than anything else. This isn't a bad thing, because every book should have a champion, and that's what the editor is for the larger publishing houses. For electronic houses, "editor" more often used in its traditional definition than not, but that person is still the author's champion. When you self-published, the author is the book's champion and the editor is as-defined usually. Unfortunately, most self-published authors cannot afford the going rate of the average editor (3-5 cents/word) so they skimp on that level or do it themselves. I do my own editing, for one, and even with my professional experience as an editor/proofreader, it's always good to have an extra pair (or two) of eyes to look over one's work. Shoddy editing/proofreading is a convenient excuse for the industry not to take self-published authors seriously or think they have something worthwile to say (never mind I see many mistakes in traditionally published material...)

Which brings me to the "stigma" of self-publishing. Obviously, I think it's unfair; though not because I'm a self-published author myself. There's the general belief (although I think it's starting to change) that self-published authors are the authors who "can't hack it" in traditional publishing; they are the second/third/fourth tier of talent, relegated to self-publishing purgatory in favor of the ones with true talent. To that, I obviously say, "ha". First and foremost, publishing is a business; publishers will pass up truly well-crafted writing if they don't think there's a big enough market for it. the keywords here, then , are "money" and "big market". That's why many books on the shelves aren't War and Peace or Tale of Two Cities anymore. There's a reason why many books on the shelf are either "genre" or "commercial" fiction. If an author writes this fantastic story, but an agent/editor/publisher doesn't think it'll move thousands (if it's a big publisher) or high hundreds (if it's an small/e-publisher), then it's not going to publish it--no matter how well constructed and written the story is. Of course, there is the basic "nontalented" writer who is obvious to spot, but it's those great talent-small market authors who get caught in the quagmire of the slush pile. Most of the rejections I've gotten have had less to do with my writing talent (in fact, most give me kudos on that) but rather they cannot "see" the market for my work (that is a blog post for another day). Even I approached self-publishing more as a way to give me a boost into the traditional publishing world, even 'dismissing' the fact I was a "true" author because I'd self-published my book.

Almost four years later, I wish someone would tell me I wasn't a genuine author because I had the temerity to not wait for a publisher to tell me I was good enough. But it wasn't until I spoke to a colleague of mine (who'd had much success finding agents but less so finding publishing houses) that she wanted to know about the self-publishing track. I showed her my books, and she seemed pleasantly surprised by the quality, almost shocked. My spine straightened so much and I told her of course it's quality; I don' t know why one would think most authors would willingly put their names on crap. Of course, some do to make that quick (very overpriced) buck; but for those who are serious, we do our homework on the business. And as for myself, so many doors have opened for me because I opened the first one on my own terms, and I like my own terms. I know have more ammo and knowledge when I do talk to the more traditional authors. I'm not blinded and dazzled by the author contract--I can now ask "What can you do for me?" instead of lapping up what the publishers say I can do for them. There's a freedom in not needing the publisher, because you will be a stronger negotiator. You'll know what you're worth in terms of advances, royalties, which rights you need to retain for yourself, how long the publishers should be able to retain the rights to your blood, sweat, and tears. Publishers are genuinely just providing distribution channels--that's it. Unless you're a household name, you're not going to get those publicity and marketing blitzes you see for the JK Rowlings and the Nora Robertses and the Nicholas Sparkses. Unfortunately, many authors are lucky to get to midlist in their publishing houses, and I've spoken to so many traditionally published authors who want more information on DIY publishing because they have stories the publishers aren't interested in releasing but their fans are clamoring to read. The bottom line for the publisher, again, is money, not necessarily the readers. Self-publishing does give the author flexibility as to what his or her bottom line will be.

Self-publishing, to me, is another avenue the author can pursue to reach the most people he or she can. There are advantages and disadvantages to all publishing avenues; but as for me, I don't think there's a reason to bar oneself from any of them, and I'm personally glad I decided to give self-publishing a try.

Reverb 10: Day 31 - Core Story

2010-12-31T04:55:00.005-05:00

December 31 – Core Story.
What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world? (Bonus: Consider your reflections from this month. Look through them to discover a thread you may not have noticed until today.)

My core story is love--love of self, love of others, believing that one is lovable and deserves to be love. That's the story I always strive to tell in my writing. That's the story I'm trying to tell for myself. Love doesn't just apply to the perfect people; one does not need to be perfect to give or receive it. All it needs to be is genuine, without an agenda. People want to give their love, and it's such a better life when one loves him or herself unconditionally. The problem is, it's very difficult, especially in a society where love is codefied with socially accepted beauty, with parameters on who can love whom, with the desert of love is supposedly directly correlated with things that really don't matter in the long run. I write to show people are people, and I'm learning I"m fine just the way I am; lovable just the way I am; that I need to love me, because I'm always with me. If I love myself, I'll never have to worry about being unloved again, and that will be a fantastic thing to know and understand. You receive what you put out in the universe; as soon as I put out that I am lovable and capable of loving, that will be the kind of energy I'll attract in my life, and that's the kind of energy that I not only want, but I truly need as well.

Everyone, thank you for keeping up with me and have a very Happy New Year (and Kuumba!)!

Reverb 10: Day 30 – Gift

2010-12-30T08:44:00.003-05:00

December 30 – Gift.
This month, gifts and gift-giving can seem inescapable. What’s the most memorable gift, tangible or emotional, you received this year?

The gift of acceptance, and it's a gift I gave myself. Learning to accept the good things, to accept the things I cannot change, and to even accept bad things will happen to you, and how to flip it so that I may learn and grow from it. Learning to accept myself and accept that people have already accepted me, and sometimes it's not my place to know why.

Reverb 10: Days 28 - 29

2010-12-30T08:35:00.003-05:00

December 28 – Achieve.
What’s the thing you most want to achieve next year? How do you imagine you’ll feel when you get it? Free? Happy? Complete? Blissful? Write that feeling down. Then, brainstorm 10 things you can do, or 10 new thoughts you can think, in order to experience that feeling today.

I want to be prolifically read next year; meaning, I want people to be able to read my work in such a way that publishers know I have some awesome stories to tell and people truly want to read it. The ten things I can do to accomplish that:

1.) Publish more. 2.) Promote more. 3.) Network more. 4.) Communicate with my lit agent and the publisher I already have more. 5.) Forgive myself more. 6.) Write more. 7.) Read more. 8.) Review more. 9.) Help others more. 10.) Pray more.

December 29 – Defining Moment.
Describe a defining moment or series of events that has affected your life this year.

The defining moment of this year was when I woke up one morning and my irreverent self said, "For Lent, I'm giving up low self-esteem." I think without that decision, there would have been several other events I would not have handled very well, including the accidents I'd been in, the deaths I'd experienced, and even going back to my reunions. That moment of decision straightened my spine and inserted a core mantra inside of my that I could draw up whenever I started feeling really down; and I had friends that helped me along the way. That event was a definite, definite turning point for me.

Reverb 10: Days 26 - 27

2010-12-30T08:24:00.003-05:00

December 26 – Soul Food.
What did you eat this year that you will never forget? What went into your mouth & touched your soul?

As soon as my roommate and I got onto the cruise ship for the RSJ anniversary cruise, we found the food deck because we were all famished. I cannot remember what we had for lunch, but I remember that dessert. It was a turtle cheesecake, and that was one of the best cheesecakes I'd ever had. It was soo good, my roommate even liked it--and she wasn't generally a cheesecake fan! I proceeded to spend the next five days looking for that cheesecake, but to no avail! I loved it; it made me so happy. It was a good way to start off an excellent cruise!

December 27 – Ordinary Joy.
Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year?

Whenever I can find a quiet moment and just let a book suck me in, that's an enjoyable moment; and it's actually these last few days that I've been able to have those because it's been almost nonstop for me this year. But that quiet, me and book moment...yeah. That's an awesome ordinary joy.

Reverb 10: Day 25 – Photo

2010-12-30T08:10:00.003-05:00

December 25 – Photo – a present to yourself.

Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you.

I took this picture of myself after I'd spent an afternoon at a port of call during the Romance Slam Jam cruise. I hadn't intended to stay long off the boat--just go onto the island, snap a few shots, and get back on the ship just to say I'd "been" to Jamaica. I was alone, so that had been the plan, until a group of readers adopted me for the afternoon and we met one of the readers' friends who'd moved to Jamaica a few years ago. During that trip I'd gotten hit on, bartered two of my books for two bracelets, and bought some Jamaican soap as souvenirs. It was a great afternoon; it told me that life is full of unexpected surprises, people can be truly lovely, and I'm so dope the men all pause! ;p Also, this picture is a good indicator of my hair lenght back in April, as it's grown much more since then!

Reverb 10: Days 22 - 24

2010-12-30T07:45:00.005-05:00

I hope everyone who celebrates Christmas had a fantstic one and everyone will have a wonderful New Year! Here's my Reverb10 catch-up post!

December 22 – Travel.
How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?

I traveled by every mode of transportation this year, which is pretty cool--boat, car, train, pane, bicycle! This year, I did fulfill a dream of traveling to the Caribbean as I'd never done it. Maybe next year I'll shoot for South America or even the Western half of the United States, as it's been a while since I'd been there. And Chicago to see my sister.

December 23 – New Name Let’s meet again, for the first time.
If you could introduce yourself to strangers by another name for just one day, what would it be and why?

Hmm, I really like my name, so I don't know if I'd ever want to do that; but if I had to introduce myself with a pseudonym, probably Esther because it means star and I'm trying to let my inner light shine really brightly.

December 24 – Everything’s OK.
What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead?

Around the time my grandmother died, there was so much laughter despite the deep sadness we felt; and so many other things were going right in many people's lives, that I knew not only would we survive this, we would be resilient while doing so. I truly believe Grandma had been putting some things in place for us before she passed, so even though I still get sad now, I can still look around and see how truly blessed I and my family is.

Reverb 10: Day 21 – Future Self

2010-12-21T10:15:00.008-05:00

December 21 – Future Self.

Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead? (Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?) (Author: Jenny Blake)

Dear Savannah of 2011,

Don't ever let anyone silence or devalue your story, including yourself. When you start feeling muffled, open your mouth really wide and shout. It may not feel comfortable those first few tries, but don't worry about that. The more you practice, the more it'll become second nature. And try to use that cleverness for good instead of snark (more often; don't let go of the snark completely, however!)

Also, smile more. You have a beautiful smile, dear. And don't be scared of your walk, either. Your walk is fire; everyone else will be the moths.

Dear Savannah of 2000/2001,

You're about to enter a stage of ridiculousness in your life--both in good and bad ways. When you get to those hallowed halls of ivy, don't be too blown away by it. You made it into that school for a reason; and though you'll continuously meet people smarter, more beautiful, more talented, that doesn't mean your contributions are any less worthy. You will be a friend to the most unlikely of people--do not consider these friendships as shows of pity or that you are unworthy of them. You will be a valuable force to people, a breath of fresh air, a wonder. Allow that; don't discount it. And when you embark on that path to your dreams, be dogged and don't let those stumbling blocks (no matter how well intentioned they are) stop you from keeping on. Get up, brush those scratched needs up, find some bandages, and keep it moving. And if someone offers you a ride, don't be proud; accept it--but do your homework first. You want to take a ride, not be taken for one!

And you betta sang till the spirit moves in your heart.

Reverb 10: Day 20 - Beyond Avoidance

2010-12-20T10:15:00.003-05:00

December 20 – Beyond Avoidance.
What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?) (Author: Jake Nickell)

I wasn't as outgoing as I could've been this year because I was still uncomfortable in my process of building up self-esteem. I thought myself too fragile to be on that social landscape, but now I realize I was selling myself too short, again. I found that out going to my reunions. People really do want to be around me and know about me and that was a cool thing to realize. However, there was a safety net there because I'd known (of) these people before. The trick is now to put what I'd learned there into practice among complete strangers. It has to happen sometime, especially since I want to ultimately make my living as an author.

Reverb 10: Day 19 - Healing

2010-12-20T10:10:00.002-05:00

December 19 – Healing.
What healed you this year? Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution? How would you like to be healed in 2011? (Author: Leonie Allan)

I did a lot of crying this year. A lot. I hate crying; I try to avoid it as much as possible, but crying is a catharsis for all the emotional backlog I'd been keeping bottled up. I cried until my head split; I cried until my eyes were bloodshot. I cried until an entire box of tissues ended up in the trash. I cried for the myriad of hurts I'd packed down and down and down until I couldn't recognize one from the other. I cried for things I didn't even know I was sad about; I cried because I didn't have enough breath for laughter anymore; I cried because I was tired of acting like some cheesy scene in a movie didn't get me right in the gut. I wept for the unchangeable past, the uncertain future, and the volatile present.

Reverb 10: Day 18 - Try

2010-12-20T10:05:00.002-05:00

December 18 – Try.
What do you want to try next year? Is there something you wanted to try in 2010? What happened when you did / didn’t go for it? (Author: Kaileen Elise)

I want to try being more social. I did make some progress, but I tended to want that safety net of a group. In 2011, I want to try this "dating yourself" thing. My friends say it's the way to go, treat yourself to a night on the town, so I think I'm going to attempt that. Also, when football season next rolls around (since my team isn't going anywhere this postseason) I want to go to a game; or at least to a bar and watch it. Hopefully my team will make that outside trip worthwhile, because they certain didn't this year!

*pats Carolina*

Reverb 10: Day 17 - Lesson Learned

2010-12-20T10:00:00.002-05:00

December 17 – Lesson Learned.
What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward? (Author: Tara Weaver)

The best thing I learned about myself this past year was I am awesome, ridiculously so, and I shouldn't think of my awesomeness as an albatross. I need to own it, embrace it, and share it with the world, and it's not my problem if folks reject it. Like Ms. Zora says, "I simply cannot fathom anyone not wanting to be part of my company." That's how I should approach life. And Part B of this lesson is, being awesome isn't the same thing as being arrogant, and the conflation of the two must cease. Nevertheless, there will always be haters but--

Reverb 10: Day 16 - Friendship

2010-12-20T09:50:00.003-05:00

December 16 – Friendship.
How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst? (Author: Martha Mihalick)

I have to shout out two friends in particular for this prompt--BJ & Ruthy. They were especially instrumental to my Lent Project by holding me accountable to make sure I was sincerely dedicated to it. It would not be enough to say I've given up low self-esteem if I do not put any action behind it; and every time I slipped, they called me out on it. They each demanded more of myself; Ruthy held up a mirror to force me to see all of my wonderful qualities while BJ kept prodding me to own them. Sometimes painfully. And it wasn't as if my other fantastic friends hadn't said something similar to me in one way or the other, but these two women in particular were further along the very path I'd set out to travel. These two women were unapologetically awesome, and while Ruthy isn't physically here anymore, she's definitely is in spirit. And BJ, we rock on, chick!

*hugs*

Reverb 10: Day 15 - 5 Minutes

2010-12-20T09:35:00.003-05:00

December 15 – 5 Minutes.
Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010. (Author: Patti Digh)

- Grandma (unlikely I would really ever forget her) and her funeral. I'm glad she's finally at rest and the best thing about funerals is that they really are family reunions. There was a lot of laughter and fond stories, and I learned so much about what a community organizer my grandmother truly was. So dynamic and remarkable and I'm damn lucky and humble to be a part of her legacy.

- First cruise and the powwow I had with many of the superstars of Black romance. That I was able to sit at that table was truly an awesome experience.

- My Lent Project. I must remember this because to forget would be perilous.

- The Harvard Reunions--Kuumba and 5th Class. I needed that reminder of how not everything about my Harvard experience was horrendous.

- My lit agent! I was approached by my agent, not the other way around; and the fact this happened right as my grandmother was leaving this earth tells me it was my grandma's way of making sure her babies were still being taken care of even though she was gone; especially since my sister was offered a full ride to her graduate school as well.

- Ruthy. She unlocked so many hidden pieces of my mind and spirit and she never had a problem calling me beautiful. She's the truly beautiful one. RiP, Ruthy.

Reverb: Day 14 - Appreciate

2010-12-14T11:30:00.002-05:00

December 14 – Appreciate.

What’s the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it? (Author: Victoria Klein)

Myself. I didn't really do that for a long time. I took myself for granted, psyched myself out into thinking I didn't really matter to much of anyone in the grand scheme of things. Yes, I "know" my family did, but many times I felt like I was a failure to them, a burden, and that wasn't a cool feeling. And as for my friends, I truly didn't think I mattered to them. It wouldn't matter if I didn't show up to an event or not because I wouldn't be missed. But then, in the first few weeks of February I told myself to stop that foolishness. Shut up those toxic voices in your mind and pull the wool from your eyes. And that was a hard thing to do. Many tears were shed; many tears are still being shed, but that journey to appreciating myself has been the best thing I've done for me. That if I matter to no one else in the world, I need to matter to myself. I need to appreciate myself. And how I am to express this attitude is being as open and giving of myself as I can instead of being closed and inaccessible.

Reverb 10: Days 12 - 13

2010-12-14T11:25:00.004-05:00

December 12 – Body Integration.

This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn’t mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present? (Author: Patrick Reynolds)

It was actually while my grandmother was in the hospital. We were alone, no doctors, the other family and friends were gone for this period. I just sat with her, held her hand, and sang to her. I just allowed myself to be in the moment with her and she was in and out, but I know she heard me. It was a peaceful feeling. Hopefully, I can get that back without death being present in the room.

December 13 – Action.

When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step? (Author: Scott Belsky)

My next step is to do better about manuscript submissions. I let that slack off this year but I need to get back on that. As much as I like where I've gone and what I've done self-publishing, I have a bigger audience in mind for my work and I'll need help getting my work out there. So, more traditional publishers it is.

Reverb 10: Days 10 - 11

2010-12-14T10:30:00.006-05:00

I haven't been really around to do these every day, so here's another catch-up post of the Reverb 10 prompts!

December 10 – Wisdom.

What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out? (Author: Susannah Conway)

The wisest decision I've made all year was to work on building up my self-esteem instead of languishing in low self-esteem as I'd been doing for so long I can't even really remember the last time I'd truly felt good and confident about myself. I faked the funk so well that I almost believed my hype until I was alone (which was often barring work) and just feeling so low my shoulders would slump automatically. However, this has been one of the best decisions I've ever made, particularly when faced with some very challenging moments during the year. Had I not started down this path, I don't know if I would have been able to survive 2010 as well as I had. I'm grateful for that decision and proud of the progress I've mad thus far.

December 11 – 11 Things.

What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life? (Author: Sam Davidson)

1.) Negativity I have had enough of that, but it's not just negativity from outside factors, but the negativity that can brew within me. I don't need that. So, what I'll do is continue what I've been doing this year in that every time I find myself going down that path, I give myself a light mental slap and automatically find the bright side of whatever is going wrong. I find that generally does perk me up. That traffic jam I hit could give me time to work out a story idea or jam to some songs I hadn't heard in years or plan out what I need to do for the rest of the day or for the next. When I do that, I find my irritation lessens and I'm in a good place. So, yeah.

2.) Drama Unless it's playing out on a stage or on a screen, I don't need it. Luckily, I wasn't really involved in drama this year, so the best I can do is keep myself on the up and up and say what I mean and mean what I say.

3.) Clutter There are many studies that say the your home environment reflects your mental environment. I plead being a writer for the chaos that is the current state of my apartment! Nevertheless, I will do better with removing the clutter from my life by being more organized; and I plan to get that started, hopefully, during the last week of 2010 when I actually get myself situated from living out of boxes. Hopefully!

4.) Extra Weight I'd lost a lot of weight when I'd been in Boston and now I'd gained most of it back. I'm not happy, but I'm not punishing myself over it, either. So, I'm going to start my walking routine again to get those extra pounds off once more. In the meantime, though, I'm going to find some cute outfits to keep my spirits up as I do!

5.) Solitude For so long, I've been a hermit. I've got to stop that because I'm awesome and I shouldn't be selfish and deprive people of my awesomeness. I know this will be one of the harder things for me to let go but I know I need to for personal and professional success.

6.) Procrastination It really does me no favors, so I should be sharper with my responses, particularly when it can involve good things. I find myself procrastinating on positive opportunities as badly as I do with negative situations I want to avoid. I really do need to stop that.

7.) Passivity I need to create action instead of waiting to react to whatever happens. I've done that a bit with my decision to self-publish, but now I need to step beyond that. Getting my name out there and telling people yes, you really do want to get to know me/my characters because their awesome instead of waiting. I need to get my hustle on more than I have been.

8.) Bullshit I don't need people being fake with me. I don't have time. So when I start seeing it, I'll call it out and then avoid it until it stops.

9.) Waste I don't need to be wasteful in 2011. Use everything to it's fullest point and buy quality instead of looking at the bottom dollar. Also, create quality and don't waste any ideas. Just put them in the "abandoned idea" file until it really starts to sprout.

10.) Shyness I need to have faith people will be receptive to me and what I have to offer; so, once I stop being such a hermit and show how awesome I am, I won't dull my shine. Instead, I'll just hand out shades.

11.) Disenchantment So often, doors would close on me and I would think it was the end of that, to the point I would try to get the door to close all on its own. Now, it's time to get those doors open; and if they don't budge, find a key, a sledgehammer, or a window so I can reach my goal, and sing a peppy song while I do.

(I can admit it took me a long time to figure out 11 things, but I do think these are a good start!)

Reverb 10: Day 9 - Party

2010-12-09T14:20:00.005-05:00

December 9 – Party.
What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans. (Author: Shauna Reid)

This year was my 5th Class Reunion from college, and I went. This is notable because college was not, in fact, the time of my life. Well, I rephrase, it wasn't the best time of my life. In fact, many of the challenges I have now were born or exacerbated during that time; and honestly, I'd thought I'd reunited with all the people I cared about a month prior for the Kuumba 40th Reunion (which was awesome!). However, I thought attending would be a good for me to put some demons to bed. I had a serious level of trepidation...that turned out to be unfounded. I was hugging people left and right that weekend; folks telling me how much my entry in the Reunion Class book meant to them on Facebook (irony of ironies, Facebook was created while I was in school and he lived in the next house!) or in person; how they looked up to me or were proud of me because I was pursuing my writing. Folks side-eying me for letting my singing lapse! It was enlightening. I hung out with people for a long time with whom I hadn't been particularly close to the entire four years I'd been at school and had some really powerful discussions. Turns out a lot of us were stuck in "what am I doing here?" the entire time we were there; seeing all of these amazing and awesome people and wondering who thought we should share the same breathing space with them?!

And then I danced, something I rarely had done while I was at school because I was so self-conscious about myself. This time, I didn't care...people were shocked! They 1.) didn't know I could and 2.) didn't know I could like that (old school, baby!)! It was so much fun! The darkness of my old dining hall, the heat, the sweat, the smell of open bar alcohol on my dance partners' breaths, watching people get a little too reunited on the dance floor when it was time for a break. The little pasties that I didn't remember being that good five years ago--it was a good reunion and I'm glad I attended.

Reverb 10: Day 8 - Beautifully Different

2010-12-09T14:15:00.004-05:00

December 8 – Beautifully Different.
Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful. (Author: Karen Walrond)

I'm not even going to lie; when I first read this prompt, anxiety took over. It felt as if this were a "test" to see how far I'd come from when I'd started my Lent Project, and my immediate thought was "not very far."

*slaps hand*

That is a lie, I know, but I also know I have been postponing the really hard parts of the Lent Project, which is full ownership instead of renting it out for various occasions or even being willing to sign a long-term lease so to speak. So, I slept on it (literally, I just went to bed); and then this morning, I peeped some other responses and then started to answer the question myself. I found myself shedding a few tears, having to take a moment, because I was frustratingly stuck. I was having trouble trying to figure out what was different about me that made me beautiful, and how that difference lit up people's lives. Part of the frustration was my continued discomfort in me saying something nice about myself...declaring something positive about the essential me. Even though writing is a personal endeavor that I've made public, it's not necessarily the "essential me", so I can declare I am a good writer (although, confession, it took me a long time to even get to that point). Even though I graduated Ivy League and am proud of that accomplishment, I'm not as hesitant to declare that because it's not necessarily the "essential me". And furthermore, I cannot really claim those as traits that make me "different" because there are many people who are writers and who are Ivy-League graduates, and that certainly doesn't guarantee anyone's beauty one way or the other. So, that long-winded explanation leads to this--the prompt frustrated and discomfited me because I couldn't fall back on the two things that I'd felt secure in declaring.

But I finally figured out something that I am going to own--The way I think is beautiful. Not what I think, but the way I think. It's as if I take information and then automatically flip it over to some (admittedly sometimes unnecessary) next level and play with it there before responding to a dynamic. I know I can fluster people sometimes because I'm dealing with something on Level D and the person with whom I'm talking really had just wanted to stay on Level A and maybe flirt to Level B. I make some of the most random connections sometimes; but I know my friends also count on that too. My sister is especially good at saying something random and I immediately know from whence the thought came, and she appreciates it so much. So, all that to say, when I don't get something, folks around me do a record scratch. In fact, one of my cousins called me out on it once when I was around 16/17 years old; I was NOT on my game with our hourly "Dozens" match and he was actually concerned for me! *pats him* Or my sister still teases me about being slow on the joke in White Christmas about the Doctor and the Well (let's just say, I didn't go Level D or even B with that one; my feet were glued and stapled to Level A! I was young, darn it! And yeah, sis is younger than I am but that's neither here nor there, okay? Not everyone can graduate magna cum laude!!! :P ).

So, I can make people laugh with the way I think when I say something clever; or give them a different perspective to help them solve a particular puzzle they have to them. Or people like the stories I write, which is a direct result of how I think. How I think it's linear; it leaps and bounds and skates and skitters. It meanders often, to the point I think of various scenarios just for fun. And then I amaze myself when those mental wanderings get me to an awesome destination that usually finds itself in a story I tell--whether to my friends or in a book that I write.

Reverb 10: Day 7 - Community

2010-12-07T14:20:00.005-05:00

December 7 – Community.

Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? (Author: Cali Harris)

My job, actually! I work with a group of amazing people and they have really been a great support system for me. They boarded me overnight so I could catch a pre-dawn train; they shuttled me 20 miles out of their way to and from work when I was having car issues; they were understanding and gracious when my grandmother passed; they've been encouraging me on my professional career; and several have said they valued my opinions and I certainly value theirs. Coworkers have even forced me to be social, inviting me to happy hours that have lasted much longer than an hour and full of very worthwhile conversation. I am thankful and grateful for all of that, and I'm so lucky that every place I've worked thus far has been full of amazing people.

As for my community goals in 2011, my goal is to be more active in the community at large as a citizen, not necessarily in terms of an organization. Just be seen and present instead of falling back to my hermit tendencies. I will also like to follow up on the mentoring I'd gotten information on but never really followed through; that hadn't been the time then. I think it's finally arrived.

Reverb10: Days 1 - 6

2010-12-06T19:50:00.006-05:00

My friend Nuri hipped me to this and I decided I would do it, and do I decided it would be a good way to avoid any more accidental hiatuses, at least for this month! I'm almost a week behind, but that's all right. I'll try to catch up in this post days 1 - 6 and then dedicate one post to the rest of the prompts.

~~~

December 1 - One Word.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
(Author: Gwen Bell)

Challenging. This year has been among the most challenging I've ever had. I have lost several people near and dear to me, including my grandmother on Mother's Day when I wasn't there, and a friend of mine who'd been instrumental to my growth as a writer and as a person. I've also decided to give up low self-esteem during Lent and for onward, and that is still a work in progress to completely own my awesome. Professionally, it was the dealing with uncertainty that is a constant challenge, even when they include the highs of releasing a new short story, gaining a literary agent, and more exposure and encouragement from fellow writers. On the other hand, the lows of dealing with negative reviews for a work that is very close to my heart, not being prolific in promotion and releasing more work as I would like; and even attempting a new style/genre of writing. However, all of those challenges that I've faced this year have hopefully prepared me for next year and the word I would truly like for it to be.

Fulfilling.

December 2 - Writing.
What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
(Author: Leo Babauta)

I play Cafe World on Facebook every morning, and that certainly has nothing to do with writing! And I can eliminate it; I probably won't, though, as it's become part of my daily routine! And also, in a way, it my daily nod to the friend I'd lost, since I'd joined the game strictly for her in the first place!

December 3 – Moment.
Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)

The first (of two) car accident I was in this year; I'd just pulled out of the ATM behind a rather large SUV. I looked down in my lap at my wallet that was still open and then looked up. The SUV's taillights weren't on, so I thought that meant we were moving...until I realized the SUV was not in fact, moving. I smashed up the front of the car really well, and I began shaking so badly, especially when a very irate driver came out the car berating me about talking on my cell phone (I was not) and asking me if I knew there was a pregnant woman in the car (I obviously did not). This bank run that was supposed to have taken 10 minutes tops ended up being over an hour, but what I took away most was "God Is Good", because no one was hurt, everyone walked away, and everyone, other than the irate driver, was nice enough to ask if I were all right as the SUV had several passengers and I was by myself. It was also the conversation I remember something wasn't right with my grandmother, because she didn't get all hyper with worry. She was very calm and measured; not that my grandmother was prone to hysterics, but her tone was a lot calmer than I'd expected, almost resigned. That conversation was a month and a week before she passed.

December 4 – Wonder.
How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (Author: Jeffrey Davis)

The wonder in my life is realizing how things work out even if I think they are bleak; how things may not come how or when you want them, but exactly how and when you need them; and seeing how the consequences of past decisions pan out and being amazed at the what the results of trusting the instincts yield.

December 5 – Let Go.
What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why? (Author: Alice Bradley)

Low self-esteem, because it's a cancer. It's not completely eradicated yet, but I'm much further along now than I was at the beginning of 2010.

December 6 – Make.
What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it? (Author: Gretchen Rubin)

The last thing I made was a mess; the materials I used were papers and clothes on the floor of my apartment--complete with opened shipping boxes and suitcases all over my living area. And the thing I would like to make is not a mess, and that would require an eternity of free time...or at least the holiday break, perhaps.

Accidental Hiatus

2010-12-03T14:30:00.006-05:00

I truly did not mean to just peace out the way I have, so I apologize. I think part of the reason I became so silent is because so much was going on and there is so much to say but not enough words to say them. So, this is my apology for that and thank you very much for sticking with me and by me.

The high points:

- I've been writing! As you know, I released Go with Your Heart back in August and the response for that has been wonderful. Beautiful Trouble Publishing is a supportive publisher and I appreciate them giving me the chance to tell that story and for trusting me to help format their books! I just finished this year's NaNo (still in the RJC universe, but this time it's about Henry's parents Lydia and Takeshiro Inoue!) and as exhausting as that experience was, I was grateful for the challenge. I really enjoy writing these two!

- I made a contact with an editor at Harlequin who was so giving of her time and dispensed very useful advice. The trick now is for me to follow it!

- Kwame Alexander has offered me wonderful opportunities this fall, including being part of his Kwame and Friends (including Marcus Amaker and Joanna Crowell) reading at the John. L. Dart Public Library at the beginning of October and being a panelist at the Capital BookFest in November, along with Heidi Durrow and Noni Carter. Both women are fantastic writers and wonderful people, so it was truly an honor to share the panel wtih them! I also met Carol Mackey, who was so gracious, and Ms. Dori Sanders, with whom I had a fangirl moment. She said I could write! Y'all, I was definitely beaming like a kid in a candy store (speaking of which, definitely need to read Clover again! I also met another writer, Nana Ekua Brew-Hammond who encouraged me to keep my chin up and don't give up on traditional publishing. I took a picture with Victoria Rowell (that didn't save to my phone! *cries*), who is as gorgeous and talented in real life as she is on screen and I watched her panel with AlTonya Washington. I started talking to a young student who was also presenting because she was part of Kwame Alexander's Book-in-a-Day Program, and that was one of the most worthwhile conversations I'd ever had. I have every confidence this young lady will go far! The final panel was with Ms. Tananarive Due and Tina McElroy Ansa, who were fantastic and spoke some serious truth about what it means to be a writer and a community of writers. It was the perfect way to begin NaNo and a recharge of why I wake up at five or earlier every morning and start writing.

- Please go support my girl BJ Thornton. She's awesome and I want to write like her when I grow up. And Karen Lord. She was reviewed in The New York Times. Holla!

The low point:

I lost a very dear friend to me, Ruthy Charlot, in mid-October, which just really threw me for a loop because it was so unexpected. But every writer has their go-to cheerleaders, and Lord knows she'd become one of mine. She challenged me to be better, not in terms of skill, but in terms of having the courage to tell the story I truly want to tell...or the story that truly needed to be told. She made me more discerning about what I say, how I say it, and to whom I listen. She was even editing a story for me that was to be published back in November (That's on indefinite hold right now, but it will be released at some point.). She was brilliant, encouraging, and one of the most beautiful people I knew. She's missed. Dearly.

So, in these last four weeks of 2010, I hope I continue being productive and that 2011 sees more of me on your bookshelves and this blog, quite frankly!

SJF Books Universe

2010-12-03T14:23:00.001-05:00

If you ever had a question for my characters, there's now a place to ask! First up is Reconstructing Jada Channing!

Writing While Sleeping

2010-08-06T13:50:00.005-04:00

Yesterday evening, after a yesterday afternoon of great home-cooked lunch and awesome discussions with coworkers and the yout' who were study and volunteering at the Center, was full of happy hour with coworkers, licentious old white men who wanted a taste of brown sugar, and an excellent live musician who played real music (including Bill Withers, which made me happy, happy, happy!). I had ~~some~~ a drinks and sang a little, and I was happy (I'm a happy intoxicant...and a featherweight). I get home and I'm coming down from the happy hour (that was actually about 3.5 hours, but who's keeping track?) and I get ready for bed. As I was falling asleep, a bit of dialogue came to me.

"Two weeks ago, I never even knew you existed and now you're my entire world."

Her former, cynical self would've scoffed at such a line, thinking it cheesy; but the heart of her current being swelled until it released its fullness on her gentle sigh.

(c) 2010 by Savannah J. Frierson

No, I did not bounce up from my repose and jot down that line. I just prayed I'd remember it in the morning (which I did! yay!) and continued on to sleep. Why that line even came to me, I think, is because my coworker said she wished she would've known me and the other coworker three years ago so she could've invited us to the wedding. And that stuck with me, because there are people who come into your life that you never knew existed and you truly wonder what your life was like when they hadn't been in it; or what it could've been like if they hadn't been in it.

#deepthought

So I'm sleeping...I'm sleeping...and then suddenly I'm at work and Cornel West is at the administrative desk where I spend those 8.5 hours of my day. And there's a patron or someone here to speak to my boss and he's asking me about my relationship with Dr. West. And I start going on about how he was my very first professor at Harvard during my very first class at Harvard on 9/12/01 (true story) and then that scene fades away and I'm at a park holding hands with a tall, solid (and borderline buff, actually) blond gentleman. And apparently I'm his wife. And apparently he is beyond in love with me. And apparently I'm 31 weeks pregnant. And he drove a white, beat-up, 1998 Jeep Cherokee ~~(I may or may not have done a Google Image Search so I could get the correct year of the Jeep)~~ with the right side mirror hanging on for dear life and black scuff marks on the driver's side door. It's his very first vehicle, and it doesn't annoy me because I'm suck on the "WTH?" of the entire situation. Apparently, we'd been attending a friend's wedding (and in the subconscious of my dream I think it's actually an AU of Tim/Bevin) but it is actually I and some other nameless blond (I never learn his name or get a really good look at his face, actually). And in fact he's the one who told me I was pregnant and how far along. Of course, I look down and suddenly I have a belly ~~(I mean, a bigger one than I normally have...and a really nice pregnancy!chest; my dress was too cute, I have to say!)~~. Then I proceed to panic because I'd had a drink during happy hour and I have to console myself with the fact many of our predecessors had drank and smoked during pregnancy and folks didn't keel of and die then!

And then I wake up, and I'm annoyed because it's 4-something in the morning but more because despite my confusion about what was going on, I had never felt so loved and protected. I knew I could make him laugh and he could make me laugh (he was endeared by my "I promise I won't screw the baby up!" rationalizations) and he'd held me like 1.) he'd never let me go 2.) would shank someone for even thinking about hurting me.

I think I just caught a glimpse of what I try to get my characters to experience, especially my heroines. And it's funny how happy-hour discussions stay with you (is alcohol a serious absorbent?) to the point it helps you write even while you're asleep.

Not that I have any danger of turning into a lush. I'm beyond a featherweight!

GO WITH YOUR HEART Available Now from Beautiful Trouble Publishing!

2010-08-05T10:00:00.005-04:00

Go with Your Heart is out now! This is my first offering with Beautiful Trouble Publishing. Check it out and let me know what you think!

Shiloh Ray never thought her life would end up with her being a part-owner of a saloon with her brothers in the Oklahoma Territory, but that was just what had happened six years after she and her brothers escaped a Confederate camp during the Civil War. She hadn't seen the soldier who'd helped them escape in all of that time, but he was never far from her thoughts. He reenters her life at the same time the new doctor in town sets his sights on her, and she must decide whether to revisit her past or prepare herself for a new future.

Go with Your Heart

Your characters' voices are especially evocative. How do you write your dialogue? Is it an organic process or do you have to work at it?

2010-07-29T05:49:00.001-04:00

It's beyond organic! They are always talking. Being an author/writer is one of the few occupations where 'hearing voices in your head' is moderately acceptable!

Ask me anything

What was the biggest disappointment in your life thus far?

2010-07-28T13:07:00.001-04:00

I'm disappointed in the fact I'm still not as assertive as I'd like to be, but I'm working on it daily!

Ask me anything

"Go with Your Heart"--Coming Soon from Beautiful Trouble Publishing

2010-07-28T09:45:00.002-04:00

Shiloh Ray never thought her life would end up with her being a part-owner of a saloon with her brothers in the Oklahoma Territory, but that was just what had happened six years after she and her brothers escaped a Confederate camp during the Civil War. She hadn't seen the soldier who'd helped them escape in all of that time, but he was never far from her thoughts. Yet he reenters her life at the same time the new doctor in town sets his sights on her, and she must decide whether to revisit her past or prepare herself for a new future.

The release is part of Beautiful Trouble Publishing's "Cowgirl Series".

~~~~

Shiloh turned to douse the rest of the lights, so many questions whirring through her mind. It had been four years since she'd seen him, since he'd guided her and her brothers to a Union camp under moonlight. She hadn't wanted to leave him in the midst of war, with the deafening reports of guns and the smell of smoke and burning flesh, and had tried in vain to convince him to stay with them. But he'd smiled, kissed her forehead, and promised he'd always be with her. Shiloh didn't know how that would've been possible when she nor her brothers had no idea where they were going after their escape; but they'd ended up West, and West was a lot of territory. Still, that hadn't stopped her heart from beating extra fast whenever she'd caught a glimpse of someone who could've been familiar. Funny how it remained steady when she finally did reunite with the man who'd changed her life so much.

Shiloh heard him stand and she glanced his way as she moved from behind the counter to the door. He approached but maintained space between them. She'd forgotten how tall he actually was, having to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. Then again, her brothers weren't tiny, either, but it was merely a tilt of the head to look at either of them. The lamps from the street provided a little light in the otherwise darkened saloon, but she wouldn't have needed that to know he was staring at her. The power of his eyes couldn't be ignored.

"I will walk you home," he said softly.

She shook her head and left the saloon, his footfalls thumping behind her on the plank steps. "That's unnecessary. It's just down the way. Within shoutin' distance."

"Your brother thought it fit to walk you there before he left."

"I'm a single woman and he thinks I can't take care of myself," Shiloh said, walking on to the boarding house. Nashoba's laugh seemed to curl into her ears, making her smile.

"You know that's not true. He just wants to make sure you don't have to, chilita. That is what one does for someone he holds dear."

Shiloh looked away from him to hide a blush he wouldn't be able to see even if it were high noon. Very rarely did someone speak to her with unadorned tenderness. Nashoba had called her brave and was still able to acknowledge the fact she was a woman. Even her brothers could be borderline crude with her, but that was their way. She didn't put up with foolishness or posturing, but that didn't mean a small, feminine part of her didn't want or appreciate soft words and gentle phrases. Granted, she preferred britches to the long skirts most women wore. She enjoyed the freedom and the ease with which she could move. She also thought that much fabric was a bit wasteful, and she didn't abide by unnecessary excess.

"It is the same reason why I am walking you back, Shiloh. That and because…"

He didn't respond, as if letting the memories of what happened between them all those years ago swirl between them. It had been intense, bringing about irrevocable changes for her, she knew; but she sensed for him as well. Definitely for his people. She couldn't help but hear of the battles going on throughout the territories between the Indians and the Army. But he was here, and at least the shell of him was whole.

"I've missed you too," she whispered, stealing a peek at him.

"Hmm," he intoned, stroking his chin. "Miha moma…"

Shiloh burst out laughing and shoved him lightly. "I will not say that again! You lucky you got that much out of me."

"I've gotten more than that in the past…"

She abruptly stopped walking, glad she had that excuse for she was at the boarding house. He turned to her, his lips tilted in a half grin. Shiloh looked down at her feet to hide her responding grin, the boots she wore dusty from the road and scuffed from age. A larger pair of boots, much newer and nicer, came into view, the tips of those touching the tips of hers.

"I will see you again," Nashoba said.

"In another four years?"

"Not quite that long," the deep voice replied. "Sleep well, chunkash champuli."

Sweetheart. Grinning wider, Shiloh kept her head bowed and didn't raise it again until she was sure Nashoba was out of sight.

New Release--"Trolling Nights: Interludes"

2010-07-16T10:50:00.001-04:00

Hey, y'all! Have you missed Tim and Bevin Capshaw? Fret not! I just posted up a collection of short stories featuring the Capshaws. Two may be familiar to you while one is completely new. I'm trying a new publisher/distributor, also. Please let me know if there are any issues. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for your support!

Best,

bana

~~~~

"The First Weekend" Timothy Capshaw celebrates his first weekend in Charleston and sees someone he knows will make his trip more worthwhile than he'd ever imagined.

"Always Sweet" Bevin Moore's act of charity unsettles her in delicious ways.

"Welcome Home" Tim's return to an empty house from a three-month mission overseas wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.

"TROLLING NIGHTS: INTERLUDES"

Brainstorming

2010-07-14T18:10:00.003-04:00

Would anyone be interested in buying short stories featuring the characters from established novels as I write them or should I wait until I have several and publish them all at once? Quick reads, so to speak? I'm trying to figure out the best way to do this. I may go to a different self-publishing company to do this... *hmm*

Making Moves

2010-07-13T01:25:00.004-04:00

So, it's close to 1:30 in the morning and while I'm not wide awake, I'm definitely awake enough to type this. It doesn't help it's kind of hot in my apartment right now, which that, and the fact I left my pot roast and sweet potato souffle on the stove because I really conked out around 9 this evening (but didn't go to sleep; that process took an entire hour, but I was definitely willing it with all my might), woke me up around midnight, I'm also just anxious. My book sales have been trickling, but luckily I can still say I'm selling books even though it's really been over a year since I released anything brand new. In that year has been a period of adjustment--new job, making more networking contacts in the publishing industry, losing my grandmother, car accidents (yes, that's plural), and the fact I'm essentially a secretary at my day job with no benefits and not the kind of security that makes my family happy. I really like what I do there, but the type of job it is really is in the distinction--temporary. I knew that when I applied and when I accepted it, but my coworkers are so supportive and they're really good. I can say I've been lucky to have worked in two different places where the people I'm with support each other and encourage each other. I can admit fear to losing that should I move on, but I do have to consider that now, especially when my authoring/editing income has been a little lean. This isn't to say I haven't been writing; while I wouldn't say I've been writing like a fiend, I've finished a novel and two short stories this spring/summer, not to mention the other work that's already done that needs somewhere to go.

Oh, and I have an epublishing agent as well. If I didn't mention that before, I definitely am now. That was a big scary step to get that agent because I've been doing it by myself for so long (and I could make that analogy extend to my ~~lack of a~~ love life, but I may just give that to a character. Heh.), but I knew it was necessary. It's okay to have help along the way, and my Lent project has helped me not only accept it when offered, but seek it out. Except, I didn't seek out this agent, she sought me out, and I liked what she had to say, so I'm excited and realistically hopeful. I'm also going to be part of the Capital BookFest Charleston in November. Peep the appearance list. Yes...y'all think I can multitask being an author and a fan?

I also format books for Beautiful Trouble Publishing, and I've been asked to write something for them. Hopefully, y'all will like it. It's a historical short story (actually closer to a novella) featuring an ex-slave who is reunited with the Confederate soldier who helped her and her brothers escape a Confederate camp during the Civil War. As soon as I let you know how I managed to keep that short I'll tell you!

Okay, the A/C cut on and off, so maybe it's a bit cooler for me to attempt sleep. But if you're up also reading this blog, I have some other things you can read that actually feature plot. And happy endings. Those are awesome, yes.

Over It: The Mainstream Media's Preoccupation with Black Women and Marriage

2010-06-09T11:45:00.004-04:00

A month ago, my grandmother, the woman who raised me, passed away on Mother's Day. She was a woman who was so very loved in her community, a woman who'd worn her husband's wedding ring, a husband who'd died thirty-seven years prior, until days before she made her transition. She was from an era when more often women, irrespective of race, were married than not; but she lived during a time when that expectation shifted, especially for black women. I count myself as lucky that I had a grandmother who impressed independence, success, and being the best "Me" I could be instead of one who bothered me about when was I going to give her great-grandbabies. In fact, she impressed upon my sister and I caution and good choices—be very careful when and with whom you build a family. Somehow, I don't think she was the only grandmother/mother/aunt/godmama/sister/cousin who has been telling women of my generation that same bit of advice.

However, it seems it's hurricane season, and black women are the mighty rocks in the middle of an ocean bracing against the punishing waves of mainstream media and “experts” who are only so-called because said mainstream media (MSM) stuck a microphone in his face regarding black women and (the lack of) marriage. Yes, his. Very few women, and even fewer black women, seem to be part of the discussion. Instead, we’re called upon to react, not to propose a hypothesis, because maybe we’ll tell it like it is, which many of these “experts” don’t want to hear. It’s much easier to tell us what we’re doing wrong; what we should be doing, instead of acknowledging that we’re doing many things right—and even many things MSM tell other women (read: nonblack women) to do in order to “get a man”. No, let’s just bypass strong, committed relationship, but “a man”. Not necessarily “a good ~~black~~ man”, because those are unicorns who don’t want black women no kind of way. Our standards are astronomical, some of these “experts” say, because the majority of us demand a partner who is on our level (not solely status/material level) or who is working to get there, and vice versa. Of course, you have the outliers in every race of women who want someone to do everything and give them everything for nothing in return; but as normal when people of color are in the media, those outliers, the negatively stereotypical ones especially, are used as the boilerplate for all of those people of color; in this case, black women.

When we’re growing up, we’re told to reach for the sky with our goals in terms of a career & life aspirations; that we can do anything and be anything as long as we set our minds to it. Why then, should I and other black women expect/settle for the anthill when it comes to our mates—irrespective of color or gender? The black women discussed in these articles are accomplished, educated, intelligent, well-traveled, financially secure, and overall attractive. Why is it, then, their fault they don’t “have a man”/partner? More, why is it there are no articles about slack, noneducated, little-traveled, and broke women having problems getting “a man”? Or is the case of “of course those women don’t have life partners” w/ a subtle insinuation of it doesn’t matter how high you (black women) climb, you still aren’t worthy? Or even more damning, “the ‘sadiddier’ you get, the less likely you’ll find a man (of any race) who wants you.”? Naturally, this is not only counterintuitive, but also nonsensical. I’m of the firm belief you get what you put out, and if I put out “I want half-assed men/partners”, that’s all I’m going to get, which will inevitably leave me unhappy. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be unhappy; and there’s a reason an anthem in the black community among women especially is “I can do bad all by myself.”

Which may be why black women aren’t getting married in the first place. The divorce rate, particularly, apparently, for black women in this country, is ridiculous, and it would be ridiculous for anybody to marry just to avoid being a negative statistic. I think I and a lot of other black women would rather put off marriage or not get married at all than to marry someone not worth the effort. Some are even willing to “man share”, especially when one considers the apparent “dearth” of “available (i.e., worthwhile) ~~black~~ men”, but even many articles admit most women don’t even know they’re sharing men. Then folks seem to be operating under the assumption these women even want to get married at all; like Tina said, “What’s love got to do with it?” Marriage is a sacrifice that, until recently, didn’t really work in an independent woman’s favor. You’re giving up your name, your identity to “cleave” unto a whole new one. If you are established as one person, it’s a pain to have to change your name, and all the things that are in it, because you married the love of your next five-to-ten (even though the societal time frame should be until death). And did I mention divorce is expensive? Being single is definitely more fiscally sound than getting married to your first ex-husband. But this recent deluge of articles about black women and why are they single and why no one wants to marry them seems to be trying to induce a state of panic among the targeted group of black women, in which I include myself: educated, intelligent, well-traveled, possessing of good home training, and attractive. And single. But I also have standards, standards that are actually more flexible than many would assume given these articles. They’re so flexible, high melanin content is actually not a requirement in my dating choices.

Yes, folks, that means I’m open to interracial dating.

But when you read those articles about “interracial dating at all time high”, there is the continuous sidebar of “except for black women ~~and Asian men~~”, but very little analysis of how the intersection of race and gender pan out into those baleful statistics. How the masculinization of black women and the emasculation of Asian men in Western society in particular play a role in their “suffering” marriage rates to people in other ethnicities. There’s even little acknowledgment of the racialization of marriage to begin with, that “interracial” marriage only counts if there is a white person involved. But as the rhetoric pertains to black women in general, the either/or of it all is, quite frankly, frustrating. The articles are usually framed as “black women are the least likely to outmarry of all races” which means “the pool of available black men is shrinking because a ‘great’ number of them outmarry”, thus “black women need to look elsewhere, or else they’ll be alone” except “Well, black women aren’t at the top of the list for chosen mates, even for black men”. Of course, this rhetoric breeds contempt between the sexes intra-racially, which is counterproductive on so many levels. Some vocal black men claim black women aren’t loyal, aren’t “down”, are greedy and whatever other negative stereotypes they’ve absorbed from society, and vice versa. And as someone who writes many love stories featuring black women with nonblack men, this previous tack of “excuses” why to outmarry is annoying, myopic, and just as racist as a KKK member saying black people are lower than dirt. As a black woman born of a black man and a black woman, and a woman who has seen many Barack & Michelle Obamas in her family before she even knew a Barack & Michelle Obama existed, I take great exception to the “grass is greener” school of thought for interracial marriages. The funny thing about pedestals, folks can fall off once you put them up there.

I’m not looking for a pedestal. I’m not looking to be worshipped or to worship someone other than my God. I don’t need to put down black men to “justify” why I like Bob or Juan or Yoshi or Mohammed or Hakan, and black men need to stop doing that to justify their nonblack partner. It 1.) cheapens why you’re in the relationship in the first place and/or 2.) reveals you don’t like yourself or who your people are. Having sex and having children with someone of a different race doesn’t make it love/nonracist. Ask Sally Hemmings or the countless other black women who’ve had to submit to white men’s sexual force. “We’re all the same color when the lights go out” people like to say to “prove” they aren’t racist, but how you treat me when the lights are on matters far more to me than how you do when they’re off. And contrary to popular belief, I’m not going to let you treat me any kind of way. Respectful or loving, or you can keep stepping, which would be your loss, because I have a lot of love to give. But I love myself and respect myself too much to just give myself willy nilly.

I’m over it. Over it. I’m over the MSM telling me I think I’m too good for the right love; that I should just accept anything because he’s “all right” and has high melanin content or because he’s white (there’s very little talk about other ethnicities of men/partners for us, curiously). I’m tired of these articles focusing on material criteria/status markers when, for me anyway, those are not the top five qualities I look for in a mate. Can we talk? Can we make each other laugh? Can we create those butterflies in each other’s bellies with just a glance or a smile? Do our faces split into an automatic grin whenever someone just mentions your/my name? Do we have the same values; and if not, do we still respect and listen to each other when we differ? Why are folk so concerned about not only who I let in my bed, but who I let put a ring on it? And yes, Beyoncé got it wrong—I’m not letting anyone who merely likes me put a ring on it, either. You gotta love me and vice versa. Two-way street. Until then, I and many other black women will live our successful independent lives until Mr./Mrs. Right is ready to enter a partnership with us instead of settling for Mr./Mrs. Right Now; and for my part, I’ll continue to write about black women falling in love with their The Ones no matter the color. I always tell my readers I may put my black heroines through some mess, but she will always have her happy ending. That’s why I write the books and that’s why you read them.

I have the right and even the responsibility to demand that for myself in real life too. Don’t be mad you can’t make the cut. Step up your game, son!

Lillie Belle Jordan Glover: 1921 - 2010

2010-05-09T22:15:00.000-04:00

&hearts

2010 RSJ Cruise Recap

2010-04-22T14:25:00.003-04:00

It would’ve been much wiser for me to write a log of what happened each day I was away, but that would’ve been too logical, so I didn’t do it. Instead, I let myself experience everything—including my going to bed much earlier than any self-respecting twenty-something should, but bump that because when a woman’s tired she’s tired! Yet my waking hours—none of them was wasted. I was rarely bored, and unlike the last time I’d gone to this conference, few of my waking hours were spent in my room by myself (although at the last Romance Slam Jam, I was writing Trolling Nights—so I was productive!). I think the best way to do this is to go day by day, although I’m sure to combine some days as some thoughts may flow into the other.

Wednesday through Friday

My coworker/friend hosted me Wednesday night and gave me a ride to the train station Thursday morning. The train pulled out of Charleston at 5AM and I pulled into Miami around 6:45PM. What did I do on the train? Sleep. I tried some writing and I tried some reading, but I primarily slept. It was frigids on the train, and if I didn’t have too much stuff because of my books, I would’ve packed a blanket, no lie. I also called my friend because it was her birthday, and then my grandma and sis. But other than that, Travel Thursday was uneventful. Also, the hotel in Miami was okay. It was very “It will do, pig” and nothing epically awesome or epically tragic.

Friday had me taking an unexpected, unwise, and highly blessed romp through Miami in an effort to get my nails did. I got off too early from the bus, because the street I wanted was 8^th street, but there are apparently 80 “8^th Streets” in Miami, and the one I was on wasn’t mine. I walked through a Miami neighborhood that was no South Beach. There were fenced-in yards, “Beware of Dogs” signs on said fences, and bars on the windows on my way to the nail salon. This is where Boston/city living kicked in, because I walked like I knew where I was going (thank god for VZ Navigator!) and though I’m sure maybe three black people (and probably none of them American) lived in that neighborhood, I greeted people I saw and kept it moving. Damn near kissed the nail salon when I found it! The place was definitely not tourist-Miami. It was a neighborhood joint, complete with the meat man selling beef (all of this is in Spanish and I could follow a little). Busted out my Kindle and started talking to another woman beside me about ebook readers and the types of books we like to read. Didn’t mention I was an author but that’s okay. At the end of it all, my polish on the left pinky and right thumb didn’t make it pristine like out of the salon, but I’m not so vain that I whined too much. I’m a writer—I use my hands, it was bound to happen; but my feet were tight.

Friday evening was the book signing. Rochelle Alers remembered me from RSJ 2008 and gave me a hug. I…was shocked as hell…and so squeed on the inside! And then Pamela Leigh Starr—one of the first authors I read who wrote IR remembered me and we chatted a bit. Sat next to Shirley Hailstock, who was an RWA president and one of the foremothers of Black romance (and I love her voice; it’s such a calming, soothing tone). Finally met Iris Bolling—fellow self-published author, although she took a step beyond me and owns her own small publishing company—who won Debut Author of the Year, and she gave me a hug and said there was no reason for me to shy and lack confidence. Met Lissa Woodson, aka Naleighna Kai, who basically taught a master class on “getting your hustle on” all week. She was sold out at the book signing and STILL managed to sell more on the cruise to everyone—and I mean everyone. Met people who kept saying “I keep seeing your book on Amazon…” and then they look at me oddly like they cannot believe I wrote that book and then the six others I have published. I was much calmer this year, something Monique Lamont noted when we saw each other (I was a hot mess, last time, wet behind the ears and high strung don’t even begin to cover it!). Deatri King-Bey, Evelyn Palfrey, Denise Jeffries, AC Arthur, Gwyneth Bolton, Viola Walker, and Victoria Wells were all people I (re)connected with at the signing. Every one of these authors was so gracious and excited to see one another. It was bolstering, and the traditionally published ones had much advice for me and wanted to learn more about self-publishing and the wealth and willingness to share information was invigorating.

And because I was more comfortable with myself, over the course of the three years since Being Plumville came out, I was more comfortable approaching readers who might not have ever heard of me; but then there was one woman who’d e-mailed me before the event wanting to know if I had books. I met her and we got into a discussion about black romance and black love, black women in love, interracial love, and it was so great! And then other readers willing to give me a chance just based off of another author speaking to me or buying my book or telling me they’ll check me out—it was so great! Considering I’d arrived to the signing DIRECTLY after getting off the bus from the nail salon (the return trip was drama-free!), it was great.

I had dinner with Gwyneth Bolton and her husband afterwards, and it was wonderful getting to know them. Afterwards, I think I met my roommate (I say think because by this point I was doing the slow-blink so my memory’s a bit fuzzy!).

Saturday

In the future, I’m going to need this hotel to be on point with its breakfast service on cruise embarkation day. They know everyone and her cousin is trying to get on a boat somewhere, so why was service so slow? The poor hostess had to do double shifts by being a server too! Be that as it may, when we finally got the food, it was good. Ate with Victoria Wells and her sister, along with some other readers, but there was minimal conversation outside of “where’s the waiter?” Yes, it was that problematic. As we checked out of the hotel, the readers and the authors got a chance to chat more, so I hung out with my roomie, Monique Lamont, and Denise Jeffries while we waited on transportation to the pier. Those two women are mad funny and very nice for letting us tag along with them! Also, I will say Carnival Cruises is one of the most efficient operations I’ve ever seen in my life. Considering how many people were waiting to get on the boat, the embarkation process was swift.

Once on the boat, had some of the best cheesecake ever and that was the last time I saw it all trip! When I say I was hunting for that cheesecake…I know I should be ashamed to admit it, but I was. It was so good! We met the people with whom we would be eating dinner with for the next five nights and they were from Houston, DC, and California by way of Kansas City. I met one of the readers before at Beverly Jenkins’s Pajama Party in October, so small world! But they were wonderful dinner companions. They were picture happy too. Y’all should be proud of me, because I didn’t try to lean out the pictures! After dinner, we had the welcome reception, and I finally met Bridget Midway there, who is also someone I’d like to be when I grow up in terms of hustling and getting her name out there. I sold more books (practicing my hustle!) and I even drank some alcohol (I don’t drink normally, but...I’m not going to turn down free liquor!). And then I promptly went to sleep.

I blame the liquor.

Sunday

Started off my day taking pictures of Cuba and walking the track on the deck. That wind…grace of God I didn’t go blowing overboard—it was so strong! I don’t know how many laps I did, but I think I earned the melons, pancakes, grits, eggs, sausage, croissants I had for breakfast. I sat and talked a long while with Niambi Brown Davis and another reader, and they thanked me for doing their walking for them! Lol After that I got ready for my day, including getting my netbook because I was going to do some writing, dammit! Except, I didn’t. Instead, I sat with Ms. Alers, Gwyneth, Deatri, Lissa and some readers and we just talked for the next four hours about everything from television to movies to fandom (yeah, that was me lol) to healthcare, to courtesy in society to black identity to publishing, romance as a genre to black writers in general and it was good! It started to pour-down rain while we were talking, but we weren’t on an exposed area of the deck and where we were, there was a retractable dome, so it was all good. But, yo, I can say I shot the breeze with these women; and even though I was the youngest at the table, people still included me and I really should’ve taken notes listening to them. They were so full of wealth and wisdom and I’m very lucky I was included in that conversation. Sooner than we thought, it was time for dinner. It was the Captain’s night, but I didn’t go meet him. I wanted my cheesecake! That I didn’t get…alas. But I did dress up-ish, nice top and black slacks. After dinner I talked with Iris about ebook publishing and I felt every rock on that boat on that 8 deck (my cabin was on deck 1 and the aft—not a bad cabin, actually). And then, because I was determined to do some writing, I went on the main deck and find a little corner tucked away. I started writing, and I bounced my knee, which caught the attention of some guy. He came and made small talk, first about my knee, then made the assumption I was worried about something. I said not really, then told him I was a writer. I gave him my card; he asked what I wrote about. He told me about his wife and kid and then he said he would buy a book. Awesome, but I was getting sleepy, so he said he was going to get the money and come back. I signed the book because I needed this to be a quick transaction because I was sleepy.

Dude never came back. I was too sleepy to feel rooked.

Monday

It was raining (and by raining, I mean torrents), so I had to go to the gym to do my walking. It was as if the entire ship was in there, but luckily I timed it just right so a treadmill became available as soon as I walked in. I preferred the deck, but during my twenty-minute exercise, found out Sherlock Holmes was coming on later that day; but in the meantime, I caught the beginning of The Time Traveler’s Wife as I walked. Then I ate breakfast alone and took too many pictures of the Ocho Rios port. I couldn’t meet my friend in Jamaica. :( However, even though those plans fell through, I said there was no way I wasn’t getting off the boat and actually go to Jamaica. So I waited a few hours (and finished watching The Time Traveler’s Wife. It was definitely a wait for cable movie IMO) after the rush off and I was content to just stay right by the dock and get back on. Besides, Sherlock Holmes was coming on later and I hadn’t seen it yet. Come to meet some of my dinner-table buddies waiting for a friend who now lived on Jamaica! I’d intended to just sit with them and then go back to the boat when their friend arrived, but they invited me along and…I went! Man, as soon as you got on the street, folks were trying to sell you something, take you somewhere, etc. One woman said she’d twist my hair. Of course I said no—as nice as her hair was; if they’re anything like black hair salons, I would’ve been wherever she’d do my hair well after the boat set sail! And…it’s just not that safe to do. Anyway, we are browsing the stores for things and as I browse, I see a guy sitting against the wall near a store. He looked like he was wearing a uniform so when he looked at me I acknowledged him. No, he wasn’t the authorities, but a vendor, selling bracelets (1 for $3 and 2 for $5). And…he started to hit on me: “I like a woman with big breasts, big hips, big thighs, big ass—” *record scratch* I wasn’t ready for all of that! I said “Oh…” I mean, what do I say in response? This is all as he’s trying to sell me his bracelets, by the way. So I told him I’d take two bracelets in exchange for one of my books (because I had them with me; and yes, I sold some books in Jamaica). So he did (and he took a picture with some of my books) and then he asked for my number. I said no, because those International charges aren’t cute, but he could e-mail me. He said he didn’t know how to e-mail. I told him go to a library and ask for help (but much more nicely; I’m trying to keep this recap as efficient as possible! lol). Then we left and I had some Jamaican rum at a restaurant on the island (not…a local hangout spot by any stretch—definitely for cruise folk). Then we said goodbye to the tablemate’s friend (we exchanged cards) and returned to the boat in time for me to miss the first 20 minutes of Sherlock Holmes. I don’t think those 20 minutes were very important anyway.

That evening was the dinner and the Emma Awards, which honors the best in black romance and Ms. Alers gave the keynote address. She touched on a lot that we spoke about on the confab Sunday afternoon, and it was awesome. The awards ceremony was nice and quick too! I wasn’t up for anything but everyone who was nominated and won were very deserving. Afterwards…I went to bed. I’d had liquor at the ceremony.

It was free! It was green! I was feeling adventurous…

Tuesday

Grand Cayman Island day! Today was being lazy on the beach day too, hence no walking this morning. My roomie, who’d gone to a Jamaican beach the day before, decided to take it easy today and just go on shore when she felt like it. So, I was by myself and got on the tender to shore (if you didn’t catch the last tender at 3:15pm ship’s time, you’re SOL because the boat was leaving at 4pm, so this was a day you really had to be mindful of the time—especially when GC is an hour behind!), Kindle at the ready because I have books to read! Except, AlTonya Washington was also on this excursion. She had a book too.

We did no reading.

We pretty much talked the entire time and, like before, it was a great conversation! Here’s an author traditionally published with THE premier romance publishing company, and she’s self-publishing as well and we started talking about the state of publishing, especially for African-American writers, and it went into a discussion about relationships, etc. She’s a SC native, so we had that connection. I gave her The Beauty Within to have and I have her books on my Kindle. After returning to the ship, we had lunch and talked some more. Learned a lot from her!

Later that night, there was a Michael Jackson tribute in one of the clubs so I went to that; later that night, I actually got up and did Karaoke (No More Rain (In This Cloud) by Angie Stone, but I have to dock 2 pts from the Karaoke machine for having no Nina Simone. How do you let that happen?!).

Wednesday

The Caribbean was not having it. That water was rough on our last day. We felt every rock on that boat—ridic. Nevertheless, the Reader Sessions were that day, and I stayed for all of them. I was also part of one. They were all informative and I’m glad I stayed for all of them. Ms. Starr and Altonya both approached me and said they loved the books of mine they were reading. That certainly helped me sell more books! Also, because I’d mentioned Mildred D. Taylor was among my favorite authors during my Readers Session, Emma Rodgers (one of the founders of the Slam Jam and the woman for whom the Emmas are named) gave me her card and recc’d 100 Years of Solitude for me to read. Considering the last time I’d read that book it was in Spanish, I think I’ll give the English version a try! I spoke with Crystal Rhodes who spoke with me as well, said she was impressed with me, bought a book from me for her daughter. She’s a playwright, traditionally published and self-published, so her encouragement meant a lot! Lutishia Lovely/Zuri Day took a look at the Trolling Nights cover and raved about it. I told her I did the cover and she was even more impressed.

Can I just say shout out to the self-published authors? True story; we are the business. Renee Flagler is on point and doing her thing. I loved the look of her books. Just classy. Ann Clay was very lovely as well and has several projects in the works. We also exchanged cards. I met some more readers, passed out more cards, then ate some lunch. I don’t really remember what all I did after the Reader Session, but probably packed because it was not a lot of down time between then and dinner. At the last dinner found out someone knew a classmate of mine from Harvard and I would be seeing this classmate this weekend. I declare the world is entirely too small! I told my friend when I saw her and she got all happy and gave me a big hug like I was the woman I’d mentioned! Lol We took more pictures and then said goodbye to everyone, thinking it would be the last time we’d see each other.

Except it wasn’t. I definitely saw Ms. Alers again, Ms. Clay, and I went with Monique and Denise to the airport (even though my friend Shayla was letting me stay with her and her family in town before taking a flight to Boston the next day—it was just easier for my friend to get me from there). So there were more goodbyes, but even these weren’t final. I’ll do better keeping in touch, I promise, and we’ll see each other, God willing, in Baltimore for the next Romance Slam Jam. And as for me; I didn’t sell all of my books; in fact, I gave a lot away, but that wasn’t the main point for me. I got exactly what I needed to get out of this trip—confidence and the chance to own what I was doing. I didn’t really own it last time in 2008, although everyone I met was encouraging. The fact people, this time, were saying how proud they were of me, how encouraging, how inspiration almost—it was a great and humbling feeling. I learned so much and I was able to teach as well. I had a really great roommate who taught me how to cruise properly and I hope she keeps up with her writing! The next RSJ, I’m going to need her to have a red badge instead of orange for aspiring! And thank you to the readers who were willing to listen and give me a chance and to the authors who were willing to listen and give me advice. Yeah, RSJ Cruise was definitely good. And if I forgot anything or anyone, that doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate the experience, just means my grandma didn’t pass on her elephantine memory to me!

Speaking Truth to Power

2010-03-13T18:45:00.000-05:00

Last week I went to a luncheon where Beverly Jenkins was the keynote speaker. As soon as she saw me, she gave me a large hug and was genuinely pleased I was there. She called me a surprise. Now, I went in expecting her to be surprised and pleased to see me, but the genuine happiness with which she’d greeted me took me aback in a good way. I told her that I was working on my self-esteem, giving up the low variety for Lent (and beyond). That I cannot move forward professionally until I face the personal issues because those issues affect how much I’m able to put myself out there to accomplish the goals I’ve set for myself. Speaking this revelation out to her brought tears to my eyes and I almost started crying. She told me she was glad I came to that place and to remember “God doesn’t make mistakes” and that I’m not a mistake. She continued with some professional tips I should do and then the program started.

Knowing is half the battle, as the cliché goes. The rest of that cliché should be “it’s also the easiest part of the battle.” The doing is harder. It’s much harder, and because I’m so afraid of failing I’m afraid of the doing. Last week I fell back onto some counterproductive habits—dulling my own shine, cracking jokes to hide what’s really going down, minimizing just how terrified I am to go into this new territory of my life—of healing. I’m afraid to heal because I’ve gotten so used to this brokenness, I’ve figured out how to become comfortable on those cutting fragments. But that’s not really what it is, and only now can I admit it.

Healing means telling everyone I’ve been lying.

My laughter and my jokes were so I didn’t start crying about how unhappy I was—even though I had all these things going for me. They hid the guilt I had for feeling the way I did. They hid the shame I had for not using these gifts to the fullest. This world is very competitive, and when I went to Harvard especially, all I saw were people who had “better” gifts or knew what to do with the gifts better than I did. I remember freshman year, right at the beginning, and we were asking each other where we got in other than Harvard. When it was my turn I remember looking down and mumbling the places I’d gotten acceptances: Columbia, Duke, Harvard, Princeton, Stanford, Yale (and Duke was my “safety school”). Those were the only places I’d applied to as well. They all looked surprised and impressed and I shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big thing because it wasn’t “a big thing” in my house. If I hadn’t gotten into those schools I would’ve been a failure. I’d messed up. It’s only now, actually, that I own that moment. Hell, yeah, I was kickass academically and all these schools knew it. And then I found this choir that became my family, and I remember asking my dad was it okay that this choir felt like more my family than my actual family, and he said that was the family I’d chosen, not the family given to me. They give you what you need and there’s nothing wrong with that. I became a leader, and the more I became a leader, the more I felt unworthy for it. Bobby McFerrin came to do a brief residency and my choir sang with him. McFerrin was so impressed he invited us to sing with him at a music festival in Germany. The director said he was only going to choose the best voices to go with him, so I automatically assumed I wasn’t going to go even though I’d auditioned for the small subsection of the group and made it—the only freshman to make it. And not only that, the women in the group were apparently concerned about me, but the director said he saw something in me, the way I interpreted the songs, and his vote of confidence got me in. That “vote of confidence” actually shook me even more because I felt as if I’d only gotten in because the director said so, not because they wanted me.

I withdrew, and it continued. I was getting frustrated because the choir was changing and not in a way I thought it should, and that it was becoming a popularity contest and that even though I was one of the leaders, I didn’t consider myself popular. Basically, without Kuumba, Lord only knows what would’ve happened to me at Harvard. That school requires a healthy sense of self-possession and esteem. Without it, you don’t make it.

Such is life.

Part of my declaration to be a writer isn’t this lofty sense of “this is what I was born to do” but as an “F-U” to my fam who said the likelihood of my success was small. And when the prediction, as logical as it was, started panning out, that really beat my already fragile self-esteem. Rejection after rejection came in. I’d submit to contests and some of the judges would determine I had no talent. For years I didn’t say I was a writer. That was a secret. Even here on LJ and other places where I posted up my work (whether fic or otherwise), I didn’t get many comments whereas someone else would have hundreds or even thousands. I took that to mean no one was reading, although I can say I’d rather get no comment than a “this is garbage”! Even after Being Plumville came out, I still didn’t mention my work because I’d self-published it. I’d done it myself, and if I didn’t do it the “traditional” way, it doesn’t count. This notion is underscored by the fact the publishing industry still considers self-published works as stepchildren. It doesn’t help that many self-published works are low in quality and high in price, but I knew mine wasn’t that…even if it took me a week to actually open the box of books I’d gotten right after the book was finished. March is the three-year anniversary of Being Plumville and I’m proud of that story. I’m not ashamed of it as I had been—I can admit that now. I’m proud and I stay I’m a writer and that I have seven published works. I see the “wow” on people’s faces when I say that. I used to joke that I had no life and the characters came in and took me over. And while part of that it’s true, it was more I could escape there and have everything work out. I had control (even if I were under my characters’ whims; I knew they wouldn’t steer me wrong). I had no such control in real life. Things happened that I couldn’t control even despite my best efforts, and that scared me, so I withdrew. I also joke that writers are one of the few people who can say “I hear voices in my head” and not be considered crazy. But even with all those voices, the one that would always resonate the most was “You won’t win.”

Somewhere along the way, I began redefining what success was. I stopped looking at New York as the definition of success. It’s getting my book out there to as many people as possible. But beyond that, I started gaining confidence that I have something to say and that people are willing to listen. For so long, since I was young, I was told to be quiet, that I don’t have anything of worth to say, that I’m not making sense. When I first started singing in the choir, the leader of my subgroup was working with me on my first lead “Steal Away”. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with how I was singing until she stopped, her eyes went wide, and she said “You don’t open your mouth when you sing!” Of course I looked at her as if she were crazy, but then she showed me how she wanted me to sing and she said “See!” and declared it much better. That’s what this writing journey has been—opening my mouth. And that’s what my personal journey has to be too. I’ve got to open my mouth and not just let faults and problems come out. If I can own the bad then I better learn to own the good. Own my awesome. Own that I have the right to accept the good things that are on the horizon for me, and that I shouldn’t feel guilty they’re coming for me. I should stop being surprised when someone says something nice about me and stop trying to deflect it. Accept the goodness this person has seen in me instead of trying to make things “normal” by pointing out the bad.

But mostly, stop lying to people. Stop giving them what I think they want and give them the genuine me. I can’t receive the blessings due to me if I don’t present “me” to receive them.

formspring.me

2010-02-19T06:38:00.003-05:00

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/bana05

formspring.me

2010-02-19T06:38:00.001-05:00

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

I see myself happy and comfortable both professionally and personally. I see myself loving and being loved. I also, hopefully, see myself as a parent. And I see myself still writing and always writing.

Ask me anything

formspring.me

2010-02-18T15:57:00.001-05:00

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/bana05

formspring.me

2010-02-15T21:22:00.001-05:00

Why do you think ir romance and erotic lit has yet to go mainstream? why do only authors of color seem interested in telling stories with non-monochromatic casts?

Erotic lit is in bookstores proper nowadays. Books-A-Million especially has dedicated bookshelf space for it. In terms of IR Romance, the market is still considered too small for it to go mainstream (as I'm assuming you're not talking about the very popular white woman/native/arab man. Those get bookshelf space in bookstores). And I think authors of color are more used to telling stories with diverse casts because they have to deal with diversity every day. White authors don't necessarily have to lead diverse lives so those aren't the stories they usually tell or maybe are even aware they can tell. But that's just based on my limited observations.

Ask me anything

Savannah Book Festival Recap

2010-02-09T12:45:00.003-05:00

- Very windy. Like, ridiculously so, which made it almost unbearably cold. I tried to pretend I'd just left Boston and not rock my gloves, but then I kept it real and put them on. My luck I was right by the tent opening. Had it not been windy and just a few degrees warmer, that would've been the spot, but alas. Also, I would whip my head around every now and thing because I kept hearing my name (even though I knew they weren't talking to/about me)--hard habit to break, okay!

- Sold two copies of Being Plumville and one copy of Reconstructing Jada Channing, which means my time was successful. For me, I go mostly to network (which is huge, as y'all know how shy I am), and met some great folks there! The guy behind me sold seven books! Was really happy for him because he was a first-time author.

-A woman who didn't buy a book but took my card asked if I thought the situations from Being Plumville could happen today. And I told her yes, as when I was younger I started playing with a white boy on the playground and his older sister made him stop playing with me. I had to ask my mama why she would do that. And I'm sure twenty-plus years later scenarios like that are still happening, albeit, hopefully, not with great frequency. She then proceeded to tell me she'd married a Chinese man and briefly about having to deal with that in regards to her son and how, even in his 40s, he still faces some things.

Never know who will relate to you sometimes.

- Bertice Berry gave me a signed business card and she was happy I'm an author. Yeah, I fangirled a little bit, not gonna lie.

-People love Being Plumville's book cover; it got several compliments. Also, white people stayed pausing at I'll Be Your Somebody's book cover too.

-Met a former neighbor of Jamaica Kincaid from Vermont at the Festival. The world is truly tiny.

-I'm thinking about going into motivational speaking because several times at the Festival I encouraged authors/would be authors about putting themselves out there ~~for the slaughter~~.

It's February?!

2010-02-05T09:40:00.005-05:00

And I'm so behind with my life in general. What I have been doing, however, is writing commission fiction for people donating to Haiti Relief Efforts, which has shifted me back a bit. That's a good cause and I'm glad to be doing it. Also, I've signed myself up to attend the Savannah Book Festival on tomorrow, and I feel slightly unprepared, but that's not a new feeling. I need to do better, though. And it's Super Bowl weekend. I'm conflicted because I like the Colts and don't dislike the Saints, but slight edge goes to the Colts for me. Either way, though, I won't be sad about who wins this year so I reckon that's okay.

I see the end for the Reconstructing Jada Channing sequel, aka, Coming Home. However, I don't want to write it. I'm avoiding it because it's not going to be pleasant or pretty and I think my characters talk too dang much! I've also sat on a submission request, I think, for too long, which is either my fear standing in the way or my impatience with how long the entire process will take. If I'm honest, I know it's more of the the former than the latter. I should be used to rejection; that's generally all I get. Yet in this case, it's really a matter of will it genuinely fit with this particular publisher? I'm unsure, but I reckon I should let them tell me no, right?

Oh, this game, this game. It would probably go much smoother if an agent actually liked me, but alas.

Finally met Kwame Alexander. Good people! Did I mention I really like working where I do? Because I do. My boss told him about me and I'm excited about the Capital BookFest coming to Charleston. If y'all don't know about Charleston, y'all about to!

Also, had a meeting with Dianne Johnson a few weeks ago. She's good people too! I really appreciated her taking the time out to talk to me (even got me to start seriously considering young adult genre...again). Apparently she knows my people quite well so that was a bit surreal! Nevertheless, connections are good. I have to remember that because being a writer makes it too easy to be in isolation, at least for me, anyway. I have to constantly remind myself there are people who want me to do well and succeed and are willing to help me do so. I can do bad all by myself to be sure; but everyone has help to do good.

Okay, so, hopefully I'll see some of you tomorrow. And then, hopefully, y'all will see a new release from me before the year ends!

It's Been Quiet, I Know...

2010-01-05T09:30:00.002-05:00

I've been writing and editing, which means the publishing part has cooled down since August. I'd also started a new job back in September, so there was so much flux going on in my life that I couldn't sit down and say or do boo to anything. And I had to replenish my savings, because being unemployed for six months does make the first bit go away rather quickly.

Now, for this year, I'm facing a philosophical dilemma about continuing self-publishing or trying to go the traditional route. I'm actually quite satisfied with how I'm going now. Sure, I would love to reach a wider audience, but I can release books when I want, how I want, and take a greater share of the money than if I were with a publisher. Beyond that, though, I want to support up and coming publishers who will be responsible for the images they put forth, especially about black women. I want to be a part of something like that, empowering, invigorating, enriching, encouraging, not bottom line or bust. I do need to be more business savvy this year and still work on my shyness. I have so many people who want me to do well, but it's easy to get stuck in your head where the doubt festers and gets loud and rank. So...that's what I'm going to do. I need to set up a schedule of sorts, and learn more about cover art/bring in some folks I know to help me out as well. I gotta put more money into this in order to succeed, I know. I think now, despite the fact I'm not nearly as deep-pocketed as I was last year, I can allot those finances much smarter than I did last year.

Anyway, I'll try to update this blog and my Web site better than I did last year too.

Happy Holidays!

2009-12-25T17:54:00.004-05:00

I've been quiet because NaNo was in November and then I've been deep in finishing it up. If you go to my Google Group, you can see what I've been working on (which is a continuation of Reconstructing Jada Channing). Also, I'm also a diva! Thank you! Anyway, I hope everyone is having a safe holiday season and I hope you have a new year! See you then!

Savannah

Help Verb Noire

2009-10-28T05:50:00.002-04:00

Help Verb Noire, an independent publisher dedicated to providing a place for people of color to tell their own stories.

2009 Lub-Dub Awards

2009-09-22T07:15:00.000-04:00

Winner's List

best bbw: "Trolling Nights" by Savannah J. Frierson

author of the year: Savannah J. Frierson

Thank you for voting! Really appreciate it!

Reminder: Lub-Dub Awards

2009-09-14T09:50:00.001-04:00

I'd put a link up previously, but this one is more in depth. If you all would be so kind as to vote for me...that would be awesome! You can submit your votes via e-mail to dreamwild1985@gmail.com, and I bolded my name for easy finding. The deadline is today--I'd held off on purpose because it'll be fresh in your mind to do the voting today (that's how I operate anyway...)). Thanks in advance!

Best Hero :
Tim Capshaw in “Trolling Nights” by Savannah J. Frierson
Dorian Christensen in “Hostage to Pleasure” by Nalini Singh
Tyson Kincade in “Kincade’s Rose” by Aliyah Burke
Adrian Redwolfe in “In Blood and Worth Loving” by Marilyn Lee

Best Heroine :
Ashaya Aleine in “Hostage to Pleasure” by Nalini Singh
Faith Wheeler in “Tempting Faith” by Crystal Hubbard
Tamara Holifield in “The Blacker the Berry” by Lena Matthews
Miki Kendrick in “Go Fetch” by Shelly Laurenston

Best Alpha Male :
Fenris in “A Guardian’s Desire” by Mya
Dorian Christensen in “Hostage to Pleasure” by Nalini Singh
Adrian Redwolfe in “In Blood and Worth Loving” by Marilyn Lee
Russell Crichton in “The Blacker the Berry” by Lena Matthews

Best Vampire/Warewolf/Shape-Shifter :
Jace Archane in “A Kiss of Ashen Twilight” by Rae Lori
Freya Daniels in “A Guardian’s Desire” by Mya
Adrian Redwolfe in “In Blood and Worth Loving” by Marilyn Lee
Dorian Christensen in “Hostage to Pleasure” by Nalini Singh
Dante Grimaldi in “Dante’s Wrath” by Eve Vaughn

Best Author of the Year :
Savannah J. Frierson
Eve Vaughn
LaVerne Thompson
Lena Matthews

Best Publisher :
Liquid Silver Books
Red Rose Publishing
Parker Publishing

Life Time Achievement Award :
Marilyn Lee
Sandra Kitt
Eve Vaughn

Best Website/Fan-Group/Blog :
The Official Marilyn Lee Fan Club
Fans of Interracial Romance on Goodreads
Fans of Interracial Romance on Yahoo!
Interracial/Multiracial Romance Readers Group

Best Fan :
Caylah Walters
Shawnette from Goodreads
Danielle Hill
Johnandvan

Best BBW :
“Eye of the Beholder” by Marilyn Lee
“Trolling Nights” by Savannah J. Frierson
“In Blood and Worth Loving” by Marilyn Lee

Best Contemporary :
“Trolling Nights” by Savannah J. Frierson
“Tempting Faith” by Crystal Hubbard

Best Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Paranormal :
“A Kiss of Ashen Twilight” by Rae Lori
“Starstruck: Hunter” by Michelle Lauren
“Hostage to Pleasure” by Nalini Singh
“The Alpha Promise” by Hayat Ali
“In Blood and Worth Loving” by Marilyn Lee

Best Erotica :
“In Blood and Worth Loving” by Marilyn Lee
“Beg for It” by Minx Malone

Best Historical :
“Badazz Daddy Squad: Ragnar” by Jeanie Johnson & Jayha Leigh
“After the Lies” by Mandessa Selby

Best Fight Scene :
“A Guardian’s Desire” by Mya
“A Kiss of Ashen Twilight” by Rae Lori
“Go Fetch” by Shelly Laurenston
“Hold On” by LaVerne Thompson

Best Love Scene :
“Hostage to Pleasure” by Nalini Singh
“The Blacker the Berry” by Lena Matthews
“Tempting Faith” by Crystal Hubbard

Best Choice to Become A Movie :
“Tempting Faith” by Crystal Hubbard
“The Megalodon Team Series” by Aliyah Burke
“Starstruck: Hunter” by Michelle Lauren
“Trolling Nights” by Savannah J. Frierson

Best Cover Art :
“Rendezvous with Fate” by Jeanne Sumerix
“A Kiss of Ashen Twilight” by Rae Lori
“Beg for It” by Minx Malone
“Pursuing Zarah” by Jennifer Cole

Best Short Story :
“Tempting a Wolf” by Tressie Lockwood
“Promises” by LaVerne Thompson
“Tempting Neal” by Marilyn Lee
“Your Local Handyman” by Stephanie Williams

Best Novella :
“Starstruck: Hunter” by Michelle Lauren
“The Blacker the Berry” by Lena Matthews
“Boss Man” by Marie Rochelle
“Beg for It” by Minx Malone

Best Novel :
“Trolling Nights” by Savannah J. Frierson
“Tempting Faith” by Crystal Hubbard
“Dante’s Wrath” by Eve Vaughn
“In Blood and Worth Loving” by Marilyn Lee
“Eye of the Beholder” by Marilyn Lee

Best Series :
“The Undead Series” by Emma Petersen
“The Tycoon Club Series” by Marie Rochelle
“The Drace Brothers Series” by Marie Rochelle
“The Megalodon Team Series” by Aliyah Burke
“The Three Sisters Series” by LaVerne Thomspon & Stephanie Williams

Best Story of the Year :
“Trolling Nights” by Savannah J. Frierson
“Tempting Faith” by Crystal Hubbard
“In Blood and Worth Loving” by Marilyn Lee

Some News and Notes

2009-08-26T10:53:00.001-04:00

If you're going to be in Charleston on September 29, 2009 @ 7PM, why don't you stop on by the Moja Festival and...I dunno...meet me? And if not you, someone you know? Thanks. :)

Also, if you can mosey on to The Lub-Dubs and maybe vote for the categories that feature me and then vote for...me...that would be much appreciated. And, thank you to those who even did! Didn't expect that, and that's quite awesome.

This review of TROLLING NIGHTS is really kind of great. She almost makes me want to read my own book, and I RARELY do that after I finish one. I'm like an actor who can't watch a movie/show she's in...one day I'll get over that...maybe...But it wasn't only that review. I got two other separate messages from readers about that book and my work in general, and that was just so great because the vacuum is strong some days, and I reckon God needed to remind me I'm doing what I need to do.

Tomorrow I'll be at the SORMAG Online Conference as a panelist for self-published authors and freelance editing. Feel free to stop by and ask me some questions. I would actually go on today because it focuses on readers. But they have discussions and topics that think are relevant for readers and writers at all stages.

And apparently I released a new book yesterday lol. I'm part of an anthology, so check it out as well! Shara & Friends Naughty Bites, Volume 4.

A Letter from My Mama

2009-08-24T22:21:00.001-04:00

I got this letter back in 2005 when I graduated from college. It's dated August 24, 1989, and it's written by my mother commemorating my first day of first grade. And I can be honest and say I hadn't looked at that letter from that graduation day until March, when I moved back to SC and started this "new phase" of my life to be a writer, or at the very least a professional wordsmith. When I opened this letter, the first thing I noticed was my mother had beautiful handwriting. And then...the letter was twenty years old, and I wondered where the hell twenty years went. Then the fact I wanted to know what she was thinking when she wrote it...what she imagined for me and my sister even as she sent me skipping on to first grade. And I wondered if she would be happy and proud of me, proud of my sister, and wishing she were here to say so. I also noted she was probably triply emotional because only two days prior had been her birthday, and who knew three years later she'd be dead.

"Marching off to another era" is what she'd said of my six-year-old self. Twenty years later I'm doing the same; instead of her crying this time, it's I. But I can't run from her arms like I no doubt did going to my first-grade class; or run into them like I did after that first day of school. And then my sister never got the opportunity, and how just...unfair that is. But here we are, her two baby girls marching, one of us wondering if she'll ever get to that destination she's had her eye on since junior year in high school, and the other still looking at the map to figure out where she wants to go. But hopefully Mama's marching with us. Hopefully we'll march as fiercely as she did, the majorette she was, as regally as she did, as beautifully as she did.

The letter is hanging on my wall, the only thing hanging on my wall in my bedroom. And I read the words she said to me 20 years ago. And I love her and I miss her.

I'd wished my sister a happy birthday on Mommy's birthday, because without hers we certainly wouldn't have ours.

Mommy would've been 59...I think she wouldn't have looked a day over 39. And apparently she passed that gene onto my sis and me, because I'm really not at that age where I can appreciate being thought of as still in high school when I've so been there and done that!

Available Now: Rerelease of AJ'S SRENDIPITY

2009-08-17T18:00:00.003-04:00

In conjunction with Aliyah Burke's latest release from her Megalodon Series Dimitri's Moon also Available Now!

Available Now!

Greek Alejandro Melonakos hadn't been shopping for the love of his life during a routine market run for his restaurant, yet that was exactly who he found. The petite and curvy American Samara Grossman had captured his heart upon his first sight of her and he hadn't wanted it back—just hers in return. Will AJ be able to convince Samara they were meant to be together during her five-day vacation in Athens, or will his serendipitous find be all for naught?

The release features a new cover and an extra chapter for readers to enjoy!

Also get this and other titles in Kindle Format! For more, visit SJF BOOKS!

Ask the Character: Benjamin Drummond (8/09/09 @ 4PM EST)

2009-08-07T11:45:00.001-04:00

Hi, all,

I'm starting up an institution on my Web site--Ask the Character. I'm not sure if it'll be once a month or bi-monthly, but I'm going to start with Benjamin Drummond from Being Plumville. To my knowledge, he's willing to answer any questions posed; he just won't guarantee you'll get a satisfactory answer! Anyway, I'm going to start the chat @ 4PM EST at my Web site on Sunday, August 9. I hope you can make it and armed with questions!

Re-Release of AJ'S SERENDIPITY! (08/17/09)

2009-08-01T10:45:00.001-04:00

In conjunction with Aliyah Burke's latest release from her Megalodon Series Dimitri's Moon dropping August 15, 2009.

Greek Alejandro Melonakos hadn't been shopping for the love of his life during a routine market run for his restaurant, yet that was exactly who he found. The petite and curvy American Samara Grossman had captured his heart upon his first sight of her and he hadn't wanted it back—just hers in return. Will AJ be able to convince Samara they were meant to be together during her five-day vacation in Athens, or will his serendipitous find be all for naught?

The release features a new cover and an extra chapter for readers to enjoy!

Publishing and the Privileging of White Expression

2009-07-24T11:15:00.002-04:00

As a primarily self-published author, I take on a lot of the responsibilities of a more mainstream publishing conglomerate. I have to, obviously, do my own writing; do my own editing (with some pitfalls, admittedly, because I cannot catch everything myself despite my best efforts); my own book covers; my own book pricing; and, most importantly, my own promotion. The actual formation of the book is the easy part, funnily enough; the promoting my book is a smidge harder. There’s the belief self-published books are by authors who “can’t hack it” or aren’t good/talented enough, so they’re immediately regarded as, if not outright trash, “less than” those who could get through those “pearly” mainstream publishing gates. Let it be known that yes, I would love to have the same reach as books with mainstream publishers can achieve, but I don’t necessarily need the mainstream publisher to go with it. If not for the other perks I could get by being a more mainstream-published author (access to more distribution channels, access to writing associations that provide healthcare), I’d consider that route as less than a necessity and more of a “do it if you want.” Then again, I am probably already there more than I realize. I like the freedom I have from total control over my product, even if that means I shoulder all the responsibility, and I’m a little frustrated I can’t get my product into as many hands as I would like or people dismiss it solely because I put it out myself and not because they disliked the story. And then I realized people would be dismissing it even if it were in every Barnes and Noble and Borders and Books-a-Million this country had to offer.

I’m a black author who writes about black women; and not only that, many of these black women 1.) don’t hate the fact they’re black, 2.) are involved with nonblack men, 3.) don’t hate black men.

And, of course, the only people who care to read about black women are other black women, obviously; and since only about five black women in the whole country read (if you go by mainstream publishers’ insinuations), then why put any money behind those stories, anyway? If you’re not writing something that’s salacious, overly heavy and deep ala Toni Morrison, or minimizes the “Negro Factor”, then your book will not enjoy the same amount of support as your white counterparts. Not only that, if a white author can write a similar story, his/her account will be “more authentic” than yours, because stories by white authors, no matter what the color of the characters, are always more universal than stories by Authors of Color (AoC), no matter what color the characters (and goodness help the AoC who writes about white characters)…especially if these stories are love stories.

Which are what I write.

When my first book came out, I was on a plane returning to Boston after having my very first book signing in my hometown. I was sitting beside a very happy white man (he’d been imbibing a bit), but he was chatty and friendly, and I told him I was an author. Never mind that being the first time I ever uttered those words out loud and actually meant them, but his eyes had perked up and he asked to see the book. I gave him the only copy I had on me, knowing I would get it back. He flipped through to the middle and began to read. After a few moments, he then pulled out a fifty, gave to me, and demanded I autograph “his” book. And then for the rest of the plane ride we started talking about race relations and how things have changed or haven’t, and it wasn’t those conversations where he was “challenging the authenticity of my experiences”, but an honest-to-goodness dialogue. It was the first time I realized my stories really could be universal, because I can admit this white man’s face was not among the ones I saw in the audience for whom I’d been writing. By this point, my novel had been rejected several times, one letter even going so far as to say I mentioned race too much, even though the potential agent knew the story was about a black girl and white boy who were former childhood friends reunited on a newly integrated college in 1960s Georgia.

Good luck trying to avoid mentioning race often in that story!

But it wasn’t just the white man who surprised me. It was the white women who’ve e-mailed me and said how much they just loved this book and asked to put it in their libraries; it was my white teachers from high school in South Carolina who just looked at me in amazement and couldn’t stop raving about this story. It was the black men at the book fairs who would talk me to death about the book and its relevant themes while holding it in a ninja grip. It was the black boys who saw their mama/sister/aunt in Coralee and really liked the book. It’s the white boy who, after hearing discussions about it, said he was going to buy it because the story sounded interesting.

Thank goodness I’d started self-publishing, or else I doubt I would’ve gotten to see all of this for myself. I would’ve been shuttled off into the “black sections of the bookstores”, the sections that are as far from the entrance and tucked around a corner so that nobody but those who know what they’re looking for will ever find it. I actually talked to someone from Borders Corporate about that, and she…couldn’t give me an answer. Not that it surprised me. There are arguments for and against having an African-American section and having books integrated into the bookstore as a whole. But the convenience of the section aside, I, as an author, don’t want my books separated like that. It’s like a big ole “blacks only” sign that apparently doubles as a force field to prevent those who don’t meet the melanin threshold barrier from entering the section or something. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life seen a white person come to that section whenever I’ve gone into bookstores unless they’re getting Zora Neale Hurston or Richard Wright for their kids’ English classes. And then this whole business about being “tricked” into reading black books because the cover wasn’t clear? I know all books I see have at least dust-jacket or back-cover blurbs, and if the blurb was good enough to pull you in…I don’t understand why the actual color of the characters can make a reader flip the script. Was it because these white readers really could relate to stories about black characters—especially romances? Did you know black women liked to be held tenderly? That black women liked to be courted and wooed? That black women do have jobs other than wearing a polyester uniform and taking someone’s order? That black men really do run companies they created from the ground up and then don’t run after the first white/nonblack woman they meet once they’ve made it? That black men still are attracted love black women? That black people can have healthy, loving relationships? That white/Asian/Native/Hispanic men of all races can be attracted to love a black woman without fetishizing her? That this same premise applies when the couples are same sex as well?

But there are some major “politics of respectability” going on in “black imprints” for mainstream publishers. Some of the guidelines include “heroine must not be involved with anyone but the hero; couples must use condoms; heroine isn’t allowed to get pregnant without being married or engaged”, and I’m thinking, not even white women in novels have to adhere to such strict rules! I don’t know how many “Secret Baby” stories Harlequin publishes in a month. But if the black characters don’t, it’s suddenly “street lit”, which has its own problematic connotations about suspected quality of the writers and its readers (i.e., mostly and unfairly negative, even if I don’t read street lit myself). But this either/or dichotomy over what kind of stories black authors at mainstream publishers are allowed to tell are exactly why many of us aren’t accepting any old contract we get from them. That we’re putting our books out ourselves. Because after four hundred years of not being able to say a damn thing, like hell I’m not going to say what I want and how I want now. But the publishing industry/media at large continues to have its “Time to Kill” moments and put white faces on black stories or insert white people in stories not about them, as if “White folks, or it didn’t/doesn’t happen/matter!” is the appropriate business model in a world that is certainly not majority white and, in the case of the United States, in a country that is headed by a nonwhite family and will increasingly not be nonwhite in the next few decades. The default universal experience has not been, nor will it ever be, “white”. And, sure, people have the right to write whatever they want, which includes white people writing nonwhite characters (though there doesn’t seem to be the same regard for nonwhite authors writing white characters); but when those white authors get a larger share of the market telling my stories, I just have to echo Ms. Mahalia Jackson: “How come, mister, you think you can tell me about that old song, when it was born in my mouth?”

I can carry a tune. I can sing just fine.

Some FYIs

2009-07-22T12:15:00.008-04:00

1.) I have a blog post brewing about white authors writing about black characters...and why white authors who write about black characters get a larger market share than black authors writing black characters; and why black authors who write about white characters would probably have to self-publish it before a "mainstream" publisher puts out the story. Yeah, it'll be long and involved and probably won't be up for a couple more days.

2.) I have books in Kindle Format now, including the just-released "I'll Be Your Somebody". Check them out and for those who have a Kindle, please tell me how they look!

3.) I have Twitter. I think this platform will get me into even more trouble than I really need to be in, but I've been told it's a good marketing tool. We'll see.

4.) Been editing like crazy. If you're interested in my services, hit me up at sjfediting@gmail.com.

5.) I have a release coming out in August. Hint: You've read it before. :)