| ||||||||||||||
| | ||||||||||||||
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The Beauty Within Viritual Release on Black Author Network!
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Black Women's Fiction and Romance
Right now I'm reading Leaving Cecil Street by Diane McKinney-Whetstone. I'd just finished reading her Blues Dancing about a week ago and Tempest Rising before that, and between reading these three stories, and then thinking about other Black Women's Fiction writers such as Alice Walker and Toni Morrison, I realized something. It's rarely a happy story. There is just so much pain discussed and shown and seen, especially on the part of black women, that I just feel heavy and want to cry. And then I think, is that all of our stories? Is that it? How we're not loved enough, or we're used too much, or we're ignored, or we're spotlighted for all the wrong reasons. We easily stray, we stay on the wrong straight-and-narrow? And to think that was what was only offered up until almost thirty years ago when Black romance really started taking off.
Let it be known I appreciate Ms. McKinney-Whetstone and Ms. Morrison and Ms. Walker and Ms. Angelou, etc. I do, and I like how they write, and I loved Blues Dancing almost as much as I loved Tumbling, but I think my current personal space is making my reading of Leaving Cecil Street so hard. I just . . . I want these black women to not only be loved, but to love themselves. And the reason why I appreciate these stories is because often, so very often, we don't as black women, and it shows us that. So when I am reading about these husbands, who love their wives as they say and the author says, straying, or these dirty old men preying on little girls/women (which is particularly notable because someone on an online group put forth her personal theory that little black girls are rarely seen as children, but just small adult black women, and I can't say I disagree with that), or women abusing other women because it's easier to hurt someone else than to deal with the pain you feel yourself, especially because you were never taught how, I just . . . I'm nodding and trying to hold tears at bay and wondering when will it be our turn as a people, to allow ourselves to feel loved and be loved and demand more than what we've been getting. And no, the answer is not "forget black men" and "black men are dogs" or whatever other reasons you hear to rationalize outdating (on both sides). It may not start with us, because we are children when we learn how the world operates, and it takes a long time to unlearn some things, but it does end with us. There has to come a point where we just say "stop" and "no more." I think all the women I've mentioned above allow their heroines to get there, but to watch that journey to that point, breaks my heart, especially when, in many ways, it mirrors my own.
I didn't really discover black romance until Brenda Jackson and reading Surrender. I didn't appreciate it then, either. I was still in high school, I was more fascinated with interracial fiction, especially after reading Sandra Kitt's The Color of Love, so while I thought it was a good story, I set it off to the side because I wanted to read more interracial fiction, especially since they were the types of stories floating around in my head. Fast forward to the beginning of this year and Wild Sweet Love by Beverly Jenkins, and then it was on and popping. I rediscovered Brenda Jackson, became introduced to Gwynne Forster, Francis Ray, Rochelle Alers, Donna Hill, Gwyneth Bolton, Dyanne Davis, AlTonya Washington, and practically inhaled Beverly Jenkins. And I even realized Ms. Kitt wrote more than just interracial romance (see, Adam and Eva), and that she was the first to write for Harlequin. Thank God for these women and their books and the many others who are breaking out onto the scene, or else it would be nothing but heavy reading for black women. And maybe, another part of my hesitation for black romance was because my main readings of black women authors were those heavier tomes, and I was not trying to have any more of that during my "leisure" periods. And, to an even sadder extent, because I didn't see any of that in my own life or on my own television, I thought it was more fictional than even interracial romance. At least Zack and Lisa had a kiss; and Winnie and Christian dated each other. There was no black couple like that in my everyday life, even if I had cousins who were in good marriages.
So now, here I am having published four times, three interracial stories and one AA story. Having completed five more, all of which are interracial, and I am struggling with one story that is completely women's fiction and two stories that are both interracial and aa. As the heavier books show, love, romance, relationships are far more complicated and messy than romance books show, but romance books let you feel that happiness and joy that everyone needs, especially black women. I write both, and apparently in the same story lol. I write both because I need both--I don't want nothing but heaviness in one story and nothing but light in another. I want to run that gamut of emotions, I want to feel . . . everything a human being could feel, everything a black woman doesn't usually allow herself to feel. I want to own that pain that I try to ignore, and I want to own that joy that I try to deny. And maybe that goal makes it difficult to place me with publishers or agents, but my counselor yesterday asked me who is my audience. I didn't answer her for a moment, because I knew it was an incredibly selfish one. I write for me. I am my audience. And something one of my writing instructors back in college says still stays with me now, even if I found that class personally such a struggle--the most personal story is often the most universal.
Let it be known I appreciate Ms. McKinney-Whetstone and Ms. Morrison and Ms. Walker and Ms. Angelou, etc. I do, and I like how they write, and I loved Blues Dancing almost as much as I loved Tumbling, but I think my current personal space is making my reading of Leaving Cecil Street so hard. I just . . . I want these black women to not only be loved, but to love themselves. And the reason why I appreciate these stories is because often, so very often, we don't as black women, and it shows us that. So when I am reading about these husbands, who love their wives as they say and the author says, straying, or these dirty old men preying on little girls/women (which is particularly notable because someone on an online group put forth her personal theory that little black girls are rarely seen as children, but just small adult black women, and I can't say I disagree with that), or women abusing other women because it's easier to hurt someone else than to deal with the pain you feel yourself, especially because you were never taught how, I just . . . I'm nodding and trying to hold tears at bay and wondering when will it be our turn as a people, to allow ourselves to feel loved and be loved and demand more than what we've been getting. And no, the answer is not "forget black men" and "black men are dogs" or whatever other reasons you hear to rationalize outdating (on both sides). It may not start with us, because we are children when we learn how the world operates, and it takes a long time to unlearn some things, but it does end with us. There has to come a point where we just say "stop" and "no more." I think all the women I've mentioned above allow their heroines to get there, but to watch that journey to that point, breaks my heart, especially when, in many ways, it mirrors my own.
I didn't really discover black romance until Brenda Jackson and reading Surrender. I didn't appreciate it then, either. I was still in high school, I was more fascinated with interracial fiction, especially after reading Sandra Kitt's The Color of Love, so while I thought it was a good story, I set it off to the side because I wanted to read more interracial fiction, especially since they were the types of stories floating around in my head. Fast forward to the beginning of this year and Wild Sweet Love by Beverly Jenkins, and then it was on and popping. I rediscovered Brenda Jackson, became introduced to Gwynne Forster, Francis Ray, Rochelle Alers, Donna Hill, Gwyneth Bolton, Dyanne Davis, AlTonya Washington, and practically inhaled Beverly Jenkins. And I even realized Ms. Kitt wrote more than just interracial romance (see, Adam and Eva), and that she was the first to write for Harlequin. Thank God for these women and their books and the many others who are breaking out onto the scene, or else it would be nothing but heavy reading for black women. And maybe, another part of my hesitation for black romance was because my main readings of black women authors were those heavier tomes, and I was not trying to have any more of that during my "leisure" periods. And, to an even sadder extent, because I didn't see any of that in my own life or on my own television, I thought it was more fictional than even interracial romance. At least Zack and Lisa had a kiss; and Winnie and Christian dated each other. There was no black couple like that in my everyday life, even if I had cousins who were in good marriages.
So now, here I am having published four times, three interracial stories and one AA story. Having completed five more, all of which are interracial, and I am struggling with one story that is completely women's fiction and two stories that are both interracial and aa. As the heavier books show, love, romance, relationships are far more complicated and messy than romance books show, but romance books let you feel that happiness and joy that everyone needs, especially black women. I write both, and apparently in the same story lol. I write both because I need both--I don't want nothing but heaviness in one story and nothing but light in another. I want to run that gamut of emotions, I want to feel . . . everything a human being could feel, everything a black woman doesn't usually allow herself to feel. I want to own that pain that I try to ignore, and I want to own that joy that I try to deny. And maybe that goal makes it difficult to place me with publishers or agents, but my counselor yesterday asked me who is my audience. I didn't answer her for a moment, because I knew it was an incredibly selfish one. I write for me. I am my audience. And something one of my writing instructors back in college says still stays with me now, even if I found that class personally such a struggle--the most personal story is often the most universal.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Thank You!
Thank you all so much! Because of you, The Beauty Within has sold 100 copies in one week! I appreciate it so much! I hope you are enjoying the read too!
*hugs to you all*
Sav
*hugs to you all*
Sav
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Announcements
1.) Vote for me at 2008 Fall N.O.R Reader Choice Awards under Best Historical Romance - Fall 2008 for Being Plumville!
2.) I will be at the Boston Book Bazaar in Boston on October 18, 2008 from 12-7 PM. Hope to see you there!
3.) I have two Author's Showcases on Black Authors Network Radio Tuesday, October 14, 2008 and Tuesday, October 28, 2008 from 9-10 PM EST both dates.
4.) I will be having an Author's Corner with Savannah Chase on Friday, October 10, 2008 at 8 PM EST. See you there!
5.) Now you can buy or send books for me to autograph! Go to the Autographs section for more information!
2.) I will be at the Boston Book Bazaar in Boston on October 18, 2008 from 12-7 PM. Hope to see you there!
3.) I have two Author's Showcases on Black Authors Network Radio Tuesday, October 14, 2008 and Tuesday, October 28, 2008 from 9-10 PM EST both dates.
4.) I will be having an Author's Corner with Savannah Chase on Friday, October 10, 2008 at 8 PM EST. See you there!
5.) Now you can buy or send books for me to autograph! Go to the Autographs section for more information!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Available Now!: The Beauty Within
When full-figured barber Tyler Carver enters GD Fitness for a personal training session, she immediately butts heads with her trainer Gunnar Daniels. Refusing to allow Mr. Just-Walked-off-an-Abercrombie-&-Fitch-Billboard’s rudeness, she gives him a piece of her mind and storms off. Too bad she can’t stop thinking about the gorgeous gray-eyed grump.
Former fashion model-turned-gym-owner Gunnar Daniels, having a day sent express from hell, thinks it can’t get any worse until Tyler Carver, in all her curvy, chocolate glory, takes his breath away the moment he locks eyes with her. Knowing he acted out of character during their session, he apologizes to her. Yet, he wants so much more.
Can Tyler and Gunnar help each other discover that beauty is more than skin deep…that the beauty within is what truly decides the beauty without?
I've also done two interviews just in time for the release: One at Dyanne Davis's Web site and the other at the SORMAG Blog. Check me out!
Thanks so much for your support! I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart!
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Beauty Within: Coming September 30th
When full-figured barber Tyler Carver enters GD Fitness for a personal training session, she immediately butts heads with her trainer Gunnar Daniels. Refusing to allow Mr. Just-Walked-off-an-Abercrombie-&-Fitch-Billboard’s rudeness, she gives him a piece of her mind and storms off. Too bad she can’t stop thinking about the gorgeous gray-eyed grump.
Former fashion model-turned-gym-owner Gunnar Daniels, having a day sent express from hell, thinks it can’t get any worse until Tyler Carver, in all her curvy, chocolate glory, takes his breath away the moment he locks eyes with her. Knowing he acted out of character during their session, he apologizes to her. Yet, he wants so much more.
Can Tyler and Gunnar help each other discover that beauty is more than skin deep…that the beauty within is what truly decides the beauty without?
~~~~~
Tyler really wished she were more surprised to see Gunnar walking through the door than she was, but she’d been expecting…hoping…he would stop by for another haircut again.
She refused to think of the implications of doing so.
It had been two weeks since his first visit, and she hadn’t seen or spoken to him since then; but given the way Damon had interrogated and Wendy had teased, Tyler had deduced Gunnar had said something to warrant such reactions. It was bad enough her sister had sniffed out her attraction from the beginning, but the fact Damon all but said Gunnar had some interest in her was a little more than disconcerting. Wendy, of course, had taken that and ran all the way to the altar and a house in the suburbs, and Tyler had to tell both of them just because there was a possible mutual attraction, that didn’t necessarily mean anything would come of it or that she even wanted something to happen. It was possible to window shop without going into the store and making the purchase, after all.
Possible, but damn hard sometimes.
Gunnar was wearing his usual leather jacket and smirk, but instead of the breakaway pants he’d been wearing the last time, black jeans hugged his strong thighs and ass she knew damn well would make an excellent trampoline for a quarter. He took off the jacket and hung it on the coat rack this time, revealing a deep blue crew neck sweater that enhanced the musculature of his torso and arms.
She really needed to buy a new smock!
Tyler shook her head. The smock she wore had been her father’s, and its sentimental value made it priceless. She would not become so silly over a man to replace her father’s smock for one that would make her, what, sexier? Please.
“Hello, Mr. Daniels,” she said. She’d been sweeping when he entered, and she hadn’t paused in her chore.
“Ms. Carver. How are you?”
“Fine. You? How may I help you?”
He brushed a hand over his head. “Can I get a haircut? I know I didn’t make an appointment, but I figured it would be okay to walk in since the last time I was here it wasn’t busy.”
Tyler shrugged, trying to go for a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Sure. You can have a seat—”
“Ah…I was wondering if I could get a wash too? I figure I should go for the full effect since I missed out on it last time.”
Tyler eyed him. His smirk didn’t seem as cocky as it had been in the past. In fact, there was a hint of red in his neck and cheeks, and she was suddenly struck by the fact he seemed nervous. She blinked at him, not knowing what to do with that revelation.
“Oh…”
“I mean it’s okay if—”
“Sure,” Tyler said quickly, then shook her head in bemusement. This was the strangest man she’d ever met. “It won’t cost extra if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s very nice of you to throw in a wash,” Gunnar said with a wink.
She refused to acknowledge the heat that had flooded her body. “You can have a seat at the bowl. I’ll be right with you.”
She quickly swept the debris into a neat pile on the dustpan and threw it in the trash. She set the broom and the dustpan in the corner before going to her bathroom and washing her hands. When she returned Gunnar was still sitting up right, looking at her with a tiny grin on his face.
“What?”
“You’re so thorough.”
“Thorough?”
“Yes. It’s not a bad thing. It’s actually quite refreshing.”
“Is it?”
Gunnar nodded. He was staring at her again. She’d never known eyes to have such a presence of their own, but his did. It didn’t matter that the rest of him was such an impeccable specimen of the male form, his eyes ensnared her every time. He probably spoke more with his eyes than with his mouth, and Tyler admitted she tended to like what his eyes said.
She shivered slightly.
“Are you cold?”
“A little,” she mumbled, though that was the farthest from the truth. She went to him and pressed against his shoulders to get him to lean back. His eyes were ever on her, piercing as always, and Tyler wondered if she would be able to complete her job without making an absolute fool of herself.
“Let me know if the temperature is okay,” she murmured, turning on the water. She took the nozzle and wet his hair gently, breathing a sigh of relief when his eyes slid closed. Now she would be able to work.
“Feels great,” he said, his voice a low hum. Her body matched that hum. She was dismayed by how it reacted to him. She hadn’t felt this way since…
She shook her head, refusing to darken her day with thoughts of that time.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Extremely Humbled
A disclaimer: I'm operating on about four hours of sleep because my flight from home was delayed three hours, which means I had to get a new itinerary and instead of getting back to Boston around 10-something last night, I got in around 12-something last night and couldn't get to sleep until an hour later. So, if this post has a tendency to ramble, I apologize.
But, yesterday. It went well. Really well. I probably got as much from it as the kids did, maybe more.
The one downside, the original teacher who was supposed to do my discussion had back surgery, and he was among my favorite teachers while in high school. So instead, I had a chemistry teacher whom I'd never had, but she'd taught my sister (whom she loved, obvs!), and she was great. I'm glad I got to meet her and talk with her.
The one surprise, I had to speak in front of the entire student population--all 2K kids. I was not prepared. I knew I would be talking to a smaller discussion group, but when the one of the student body officers introduced me, a brief moment of panic filled me, but I kept it short and sweet and hopefully coherent!
All right, now to the discussion. There were only six students in my group, but the members were four boys and two girls; two freshmen, two sophomores, two seniors; one biracial girl, one black boy with a Puerto Rican mother, one white boy, and the other three were black; one had transferred from Jacksonville, FL, one had been in SC from Chicago for a year, and one had come from Hawaii (military kid). And there was the chemistry teacher who was a white woman, and me.
My book was under the theme of diversity. I think my group represented that very well.
So, as you know, it was really quiet when the discussion started. None of the kids wanted to say anything, and one boy hadn't even read it (the transfer from Jacksonville) because he'd already had a book from his old school that was on the Summer Reading List. Made no never mind to me, because it was A Raisin in the Sun, and that's a fantastic play. He chose well. Anyway, it was pretty much me and the teacher at the beginning. She asked if anyone had ever experienced discrimination, and the kids said no. I nodded and shared my story of a shopkeeper "reminding" me and another friend of mine, also a black young woman, to not leave the store without purchasing our items; after which, my friend and I made sure to grab all manners of clothing and walk around the store with them, and then put them not where we'd gotten them before leaving the store. After that, some students shared their own instances of discrimination and the ball got rolling somewhat.
Then the teacher asked what was their favorite scene. Again, not much willingness to speak up, but then one of the freshmen (they were both boys) said the beginning when their in Professor Carmichael's office and Benny and his football coach are waiting for the tutor, and in walks Coralee, and the fact the tutor was completely against it but Benny was excited to see his childhood friend. And then more scenes, most of them in the beginning, but then a senior (the transfer from Hawaii and one of the two girls) said she didn't have a favorite scene because she enjoyed the entire book.
Did my jaw drop or did it drop?
She also confessed she wasn't trying to do any Summer Reading because she didn't feel like it and she didn't think she'd be interested. Her mother had chosen Being Plumville to read and this young woman was determined not to crack open the book; but then she turned it over and read the back, and then she finished reading the book in a day.
I was blown away.
Furthermore, one of the young men, the transfer from Chicago, said Coralee reminded him of his mother, and I really had to cheer. Not because my character reminded him of his mother, but because he unconsciously/subconsciously recognized a point I was trying to make in the story, about how many black women are socialized to put themselves either last or their happiness on the backburner for "the betterment" of the community, and then from there I started talking about my own experiences as a black woman, and the teacher related that to her experience as a white woman--but the operative word was woman. And then, the other sophomore (the other young woman) said she enjoyed the book, especially so because her father is white, and she knows about the looks she gets when she's with her parents and how they'd dealt with it and she appreciated it.
By the time we had to break for lunch, they were wondering if I were going to be around for the second part. Um, of course! Yes, I'd been nervous up until I walked into the gym and saw the whole of my alma mater looking at me, but then that feeling of "I got this!" came over me, so even when I had to give my impromptu little speech, I felt very confident about it.
I had lunch with various literacy coaches and other teachers/administrators in the district. Some asked me what my book was about and I told them, but when I addressed the overall group, I didn't even really talk about the theme of my book but rather how to get students to read. I told them very honestly I didn't do my summer reading because very often what I had to read didn't interest me in the slightest. I said the reason why all the kids had done their reading--a fact that had surprised all the teachers--was because they had a choice about what to read, and they could choose something they thought would be relevant to them. I even talked up Ms. Beverly Jenkins because even though I went to college and concentrated in African-American Studies, I still learned from her books, which are primarily African-American Historical Romances. I said think about putting nontraditional books on the list--including romances. You can have them for junior/senior classes or have parents sign off if you think there might be some issues. But really, look around the school--you have evidence in your face that whatever their going to read in a romance . . . they probably already know!
I also told them about my journey thus far to being published, and someone asked about "which house" had released my work. That tiny prick of shame that had come before, since I'm not with any traditional publisher and have a block of e-mail space of rejection letters, didn't come this time. I said proudly I self-published, and I don't regret it. Yes, I'm still trying to get a major publisher, but that doesn't mean I should wait for one, either, especially when I know there's an audience for my work.
Even if I'm constantly surprised by how large that audience actually is.
One of the teachers asked the coordinator of the literacy program at my school if she had any extra copies of Being Plumville. I assumed she did because there were only six people in my group. Heh. Apparently, she'd ordered 40 and all of them had been sold, just many of the students had chosen/been assigned to other discussion groups in which to participate.
*boggles*
Not gonna lie, I had a bit of pep in my step after hearing that, and I went back to my group on even firmer ground than when I'd left it.
My group was also more talkative. The teacher, who'd been at the lunch with me, asked what Being Plumville meant, because I'd explained the title at the lunch--being who your community wants you to be instead of being who you're supposed to be. And then the discussion really got started. I told them about how the South gets a bad wrap in many ways; that the North isn't the racial harmony utopia you read about in history books. I told them, based on my experiences, don't be afraid to know something; don't be afraid to be yourself, because you try to be who someone else wants you to be, you're going to be miserable. One of the students agreed and said how he'd fallen into the wrong crowd briefly trying to "fit in", but he started talking to people who he never thought he'd talk to, and now they were his best friends, and he felt happier. The senior girl started talking about her own experiences moving from school to school; the freshman from Jacksonville even started opening up.
Of course, I was asked about black men/white women v. white men/black women and if I'd gotten more grief about writing the latter when the former was so prevalent. I admitted feeling that sting of rejection whenever I saw a black man with a white woman, but I also spoke about how women are usually "the bearers of the culture" so women tend to have less flexibility in general about being allowed to outmarry. I also touched on the "self-hating" charge, and about black women especially who outdate/marry and are accused of "hating black men". The senior boy spoke about a friend who'd dated interracially, but that they'd not had any problems, but the relationship had also been bm/ww. I said for me, it's not even about that; it's about why should I limit my pool of eligible partners to like 2% of the population? That makes no sense! Black people are 12-13%, half of that is women, which means that's 6% that gets cut down because of the 18>x group, so let's say it goes down to 4%, and then black men who are already married (or too old for me), gets down to 2%, and then I have to weed only through 2% more? Not hardly. If white women have 50% of the population, I want 50% of the population! But more than that, I'm not going to limit myself to make other people feel better, and I'm not going to put other people down just to make myself feel up.
They had to do a book review during this second part of the group, but we were so busy talking they could hardly write! I tried to keep quiet so they could do their assignment, but they kept asking me questions! I also tried to remember they were in high school, and I have college under my belt--college at an Ivy League School at that--and I didn't want to sound inaccessible or use too big words (because when even kids at Harvard are clowning you for your vocabulary choices, then . . . that's something!). I didn't want to turn it into a lecture with concepts that might be out there, but I also realized I couldn't help it because part of why I was writing was to meld all those things together in the story, and I was writing Being Plumville at the same time as my thesis, so sometimes it couldn't be helped.
By the time it was over, I think everyone was disappointed! I know I was. What surprised me the most, however, was everyone liked this book! Remember the demographics--2 freshmen, two sophomores, two seniors--FOUR BOYS! Even the one who didn't read it (from Jacksonville, and he's the white boy) said he had to go get my book! I smiled on the outside but I was actin' a straight foo' on the inside! The sophomore boy said he was sad he didn't have a book for him to sign because he'd checked it out from the library. I gave him the copy I'd brought and signed it for him. Everyone who had a book asked me to sign it; I also gave the senior girl the copy of AJ's Serendipity that I'd brought and showed them the copy of The Beauty Within that will be released at the end of the month. I gave them my business cards and told them if they had any questions or wanted any advice to e-mail me. I meant it.
I'd stayed longer than I'd anticipated so I could talk to my soccer coach. He was like, "when are you coming back?" and I said I didn't know because of work, etc, and he just stared at me. Then I realized he meant permanently! I laughed and I said I don't know what I could do down here because SC isn't a mecca of publishing, let me tell you! But he said, "You don't understand how much of an impact you'd make"--(keep in mind, my coach is white)--"How many black, female, Harvard graduates from SC do you know? He got me. I know of two, not counting my sis because she hadn't graduated yet. But I remember also going into the career lab. There were pennants of various colleges on the walls. One pennant was of Harvard. When I'd gone there, there was no such pennant. But I was reminded of just how big of a deal what I'd done is . . . I was the first person from my school to go to Harvard (and, actually, I believe Ivy League in general)--my sis, the second.
I told this all to my sis and she said, "Savannah, I don't think you realize how good your book is." She's right, but instead of getting all big-headed about it, I just let that fact settle inside me. I actually tried to read a bit before I went to the school yesterday, but I couldn't. You know how some actors can't watch movies they've been in? I think I might be an author who can't read what she's written after it's published. I don't know. But what I do know, I'm so glad I went back to school. It's funny, because when I'd left high school I couldn't wait to leave. Now, I can't wait to go back.
But, yesterday. It went well. Really well. I probably got as much from it as the kids did, maybe more.
The one downside, the original teacher who was supposed to do my discussion had back surgery, and he was among my favorite teachers while in high school. So instead, I had a chemistry teacher whom I'd never had, but she'd taught my sister (whom she loved, obvs!), and she was great. I'm glad I got to meet her and talk with her.
The one surprise, I had to speak in front of the entire student population--all 2K kids. I was not prepared. I knew I would be talking to a smaller discussion group, but when the one of the student body officers introduced me, a brief moment of panic filled me, but I kept it short and sweet and hopefully coherent!
All right, now to the discussion. There were only six students in my group, but the members were four boys and two girls; two freshmen, two sophomores, two seniors; one biracial girl, one black boy with a Puerto Rican mother, one white boy, and the other three were black; one had transferred from Jacksonville, FL, one had been in SC from Chicago for a year, and one had come from Hawaii (military kid). And there was the chemistry teacher who was a white woman, and me.
My book was under the theme of diversity. I think my group represented that very well.
So, as you know, it was really quiet when the discussion started. None of the kids wanted to say anything, and one boy hadn't even read it (the transfer from Jacksonville) because he'd already had a book from his old school that was on the Summer Reading List. Made no never mind to me, because it was A Raisin in the Sun, and that's a fantastic play. He chose well. Anyway, it was pretty much me and the teacher at the beginning. She asked if anyone had ever experienced discrimination, and the kids said no. I nodded and shared my story of a shopkeeper "reminding" me and another friend of mine, also a black young woman, to not leave the store without purchasing our items; after which, my friend and I made sure to grab all manners of clothing and walk around the store with them, and then put them not where we'd gotten them before leaving the store. After that, some students shared their own instances of discrimination and the ball got rolling somewhat.
Then the teacher asked what was their favorite scene. Again, not much willingness to speak up, but then one of the freshmen (they were both boys) said the beginning when their in Professor Carmichael's office and Benny and his football coach are waiting for the tutor, and in walks Coralee, and the fact the tutor was completely against it but Benny was excited to see his childhood friend. And then more scenes, most of them in the beginning, but then a senior (the transfer from Hawaii and one of the two girls) said she didn't have a favorite scene because she enjoyed the entire book.
Did my jaw drop or did it drop?
She also confessed she wasn't trying to do any Summer Reading because she didn't feel like it and she didn't think she'd be interested. Her mother had chosen Being Plumville to read and this young woman was determined not to crack open the book; but then she turned it over and read the back, and then she finished reading the book in a day.
I was blown away.
Furthermore, one of the young men, the transfer from Chicago, said Coralee reminded him of his mother, and I really had to cheer. Not because my character reminded him of his mother, but because he unconsciously/subconsciously recognized a point I was trying to make in the story, about how many black women are socialized to put themselves either last or their happiness on the backburner for "the betterment" of the community, and then from there I started talking about my own experiences as a black woman, and the teacher related that to her experience as a white woman--but the operative word was woman. And then, the other sophomore (the other young woman) said she enjoyed the book, especially so because her father is white, and she knows about the looks she gets when she's with her parents and how they'd dealt with it and she appreciated it.
By the time we had to break for lunch, they were wondering if I were going to be around for the second part. Um, of course! Yes, I'd been nervous up until I walked into the gym and saw the whole of my alma mater looking at me, but then that feeling of "I got this!" came over me, so even when I had to give my impromptu little speech, I felt very confident about it.
I had lunch with various literacy coaches and other teachers/administrators in the district. Some asked me what my book was about and I told them, but when I addressed the overall group, I didn't even really talk about the theme of my book but rather how to get students to read. I told them very honestly I didn't do my summer reading because very often what I had to read didn't interest me in the slightest. I said the reason why all the kids had done their reading--a fact that had surprised all the teachers--was because they had a choice about what to read, and they could choose something they thought would be relevant to them. I even talked up Ms. Beverly Jenkins because even though I went to college and concentrated in African-American Studies, I still learned from her books, which are primarily African-American Historical Romances. I said think about putting nontraditional books on the list--including romances. You can have them for junior/senior classes or have parents sign off if you think there might be some issues. But really, look around the school--you have evidence in your face that whatever their going to read in a romance . . . they probably already know!
I also told them about my journey thus far to being published, and someone asked about "which house" had released my work. That tiny prick of shame that had come before, since I'm not with any traditional publisher and have a block of e-mail space of rejection letters, didn't come this time. I said proudly I self-published, and I don't regret it. Yes, I'm still trying to get a major publisher, but that doesn't mean I should wait for one, either, especially when I know there's an audience for my work.
Even if I'm constantly surprised by how large that audience actually is.
One of the teachers asked the coordinator of the literacy program at my school if she had any extra copies of Being Plumville. I assumed she did because there were only six people in my group. Heh. Apparently, she'd ordered 40 and all of them had been sold, just many of the students had chosen/been assigned to other discussion groups in which to participate.
*boggles*
Not gonna lie, I had a bit of pep in my step after hearing that, and I went back to my group on even firmer ground than when I'd left it.
My group was also more talkative. The teacher, who'd been at the lunch with me, asked what Being Plumville meant, because I'd explained the title at the lunch--being who your community wants you to be instead of being who you're supposed to be. And then the discussion really got started. I told them about how the South gets a bad wrap in many ways; that the North isn't the racial harmony utopia you read about in history books. I told them, based on my experiences, don't be afraid to know something; don't be afraid to be yourself, because you try to be who someone else wants you to be, you're going to be miserable. One of the students agreed and said how he'd fallen into the wrong crowd briefly trying to "fit in", but he started talking to people who he never thought he'd talk to, and now they were his best friends, and he felt happier. The senior girl started talking about her own experiences moving from school to school; the freshman from Jacksonville even started opening up.
Of course, I was asked about black men/white women v. white men/black women and if I'd gotten more grief about writing the latter when the former was so prevalent. I admitted feeling that sting of rejection whenever I saw a black man with a white woman, but I also spoke about how women are usually "the bearers of the culture" so women tend to have less flexibility in general about being allowed to outmarry. I also touched on the "self-hating" charge, and about black women especially who outdate/marry and are accused of "hating black men". The senior boy spoke about a friend who'd dated interracially, but that they'd not had any problems, but the relationship had also been bm/ww. I said for me, it's not even about that; it's about why should I limit my pool of eligible partners to like 2% of the population? That makes no sense! Black people are 12-13%, half of that is women, which means that's 6% that gets cut down because of the 18>x group, so let's say it goes down to 4%, and then black men who are already married (or too old for me), gets down to 2%, and then I have to weed only through 2% more? Not hardly. If white women have 50% of the population, I want 50% of the population! But more than that, I'm not going to limit myself to make other people feel better, and I'm not going to put other people down just to make myself feel up.
They had to do a book review during this second part of the group, but we were so busy talking they could hardly write! I tried to keep quiet so they could do their assignment, but they kept asking me questions! I also tried to remember they were in high school, and I have college under my belt--college at an Ivy League School at that--and I didn't want to sound inaccessible or use too big words (because when even kids at Harvard are clowning you for your vocabulary choices, then . . . that's something!). I didn't want to turn it into a lecture with concepts that might be out there, but I also realized I couldn't help it because part of why I was writing was to meld all those things together in the story, and I was writing Being Plumville at the same time as my thesis, so sometimes it couldn't be helped.
By the time it was over, I think everyone was disappointed! I know I was. What surprised me the most, however, was everyone liked this book! Remember the demographics--2 freshmen, two sophomores, two seniors--FOUR BOYS! Even the one who didn't read it (from Jacksonville, and he's the white boy) said he had to go get my book! I smiled on the outside but I was actin' a straight foo' on the inside! The sophomore boy said he was sad he didn't have a book for him to sign because he'd checked it out from the library. I gave him the copy I'd brought and signed it for him. Everyone who had a book asked me to sign it; I also gave the senior girl the copy of AJ's Serendipity that I'd brought and showed them the copy of The Beauty Within that will be released at the end of the month. I gave them my business cards and told them if they had any questions or wanted any advice to e-mail me. I meant it.
I'd stayed longer than I'd anticipated so I could talk to my soccer coach. He was like, "when are you coming back?" and I said I didn't know because of work, etc, and he just stared at me. Then I realized he meant permanently! I laughed and I said I don't know what I could do down here because SC isn't a mecca of publishing, let me tell you! But he said, "You don't understand how much of an impact you'd make"--(keep in mind, my coach is white)--"How many black, female, Harvard graduates from SC do you know? He got me. I know of two, not counting my sis because she hadn't graduated yet. But I remember also going into the career lab. There were pennants of various colleges on the walls. One pennant was of Harvard. When I'd gone there, there was no such pennant. But I was reminded of just how big of a deal what I'd done is . . . I was the first person from my school to go to Harvard (and, actually, I believe Ivy League in general)--my sis, the second.
I told this all to my sis and she said, "Savannah, I don't think you realize how good your book is." She's right, but instead of getting all big-headed about it, I just let that fact settle inside me. I actually tried to read a bit before I went to the school yesterday, but I couldn't. You know how some actors can't watch movies they've been in? I think I might be an author who can't read what she's written after it's published. I don't know. But what I do know, I'm so glad I went back to school. It's funny, because when I'd left high school I couldn't wait to leave. Now, I can't wait to go back.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
High School High
Tomorrow, I'm going back to speak at my high school. Apparently, Being Plumville was on their summer reading list, and they wanted me to come talk about it with the students. I feel weird about it! In many ways, I just left high school, even though I've had almost eight years between then and now. I've done college and graduated and now I'm in the daily grind of work. Not to mention I've written a few things . . . that they've actually read.
I think it's because I've changed so much in many ways, and yet not at all in others. To go back and walk into your past, essentially, that you're doing things now nobody ever fathomed when I was there and having people who "knew me back when" see me now. Clearly, they are proud of me because they asked me back. I'll say, I didn't intend for Being Plumville to be read by children, but even Amazon.com has it under its textbook promotion. Wha? That's so odd. I don't know how else to say it. Something that I started because I was writing my thesis at the same time, and I was curious about some issues that are going on inside me (and still are) has become this "thing" that I never envisioned. Teachers who saw me as a student who played the viola and was on the soccer team now know what I did on my "off" times . . . that I wrote. If they came back and saw my choir in 2005, they'd realize I sing, too. Just the various sides of me will come to a bit of a head tomorrow, and I'm in this very suspended place about it. I'm excited, but apprehensive--about how the students will receive me; how they received my book; how my old teachers will receive me; if I say something I shouldn't because they're too young to understand/get it/appreciate it/agree with it.
I'm not quite the quiet little girl who kept her mouth shut back in high school; I'm much more secure in what I think and not as shy about letting people know it. I used to lay in the cut in high school, unobtrusive because being a chubby black girl who wasn't necessarily poor and was deemed "smart" and didn't have much of a social life was a bit of an aberrance, and kids have a tendency to mock what they don't understand . . . what isn't "normal." I saw Saved by the Bell; I watched those after-school specials; I read Sweet Valley High; I wasn't trying to go out like all the other nerds did.
But what's funny, Facebook. Facebook has been a surprise in a good way. All these people are now friending me, people with whom I wasn't close back in the day; or people I knew only because we shared a class, but never a conversation, or very few conversations. The "cool" people, the "popular" people, to my none of those things. These people friend me or leave me messages saying how proud they are of me or how they can't wait to get my book, etc. And my jaw drops because I didn't think I was that memorable, or memorable enough for them to friend me. Yet, this is opening my eyes to something: just because you do your best to be unseen, doesn't mean you aren't. Just because you keep to yourself and try not to bother anyone or "do your own thing", doesn't mean people aren't paying attention to you and watching you and rooting for you.
Story time: Junior year in high school we got our transcripts to prepare for senior year. They tried to block out our class ranking, but it seemed the permanent marker wasn't dark enough to mask those pesky little numbers. Everyone and her blind dog's dead mother knew who numbers 1 & 2 were--identical twins of all things. But the third spot . . . heh. Me. So I had a dual feeling of "hell, yeah!" and "aw, shit!" (if I'd been the cussin' kind back then ;) ) because, dang, if that further didn't separate me from the pack, especially regarding other black kids at my school (this is clearly, clearly, another post). But, we had a soccer game either that night or sometime soon after, and I was sitting next to one of the "popular" black girls who was also on the team watching the Varsity team play (I was on JV, and quite happy there lol). She asked me what my rank was. I didn't want to answer, but she was nice, and I mumbled it. She said, "huh?" so I said it again louder, but just as, dare I say it, apologetic about it. She nodded, then she smiled and said, "I'm so proud of you."
What?!
I had no idea. Understand, in any given class I had, I was either the only black person, black girl, or one of five or less of either permutation thereof, so I felt on the fringe of the "black community" at my school, especially since my group of friends was mixed . . . which was something you didn't really get at my high school (my cafeteria could've been the cover of Dr. Tatum's Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?). But some sort of invisible burden had been lifted off my shoulder at that, and it felt really good.
So, maybe, by me going back to school and speaking, I can lift that invisible burden off someone else's shoulders, someone who's been told by her culture in school, her culture in her neighborhood, her culture as portrayed by the media, that says you shouldn't excel; that you shouldn't want to be the best you can be. That is is cool to "do the damn" thing, and that being black or being poor or being female or being whatever means you shouldn't, or that you're automatically something else, or your fill-in-the-blank card is on probation. It took me a long time to get to that point, and in many ways, I hang on to it by the tips of my fingers.
But ultimately, as my sis and my friends, those same few people who've been there even when I was unobtrusive and shy(er), said that I represent someone from their community who left and "made good", and that is important for them to see, especially considering I am primarily of a demographic who has the least chance of doing so.
I'll have to remember that when I talk tomorrow.
I think it's because I've changed so much in many ways, and yet not at all in others. To go back and walk into your past, essentially, that you're doing things now nobody ever fathomed when I was there and having people who "knew me back when" see me now. Clearly, they are proud of me because they asked me back. I'll say, I didn't intend for Being Plumville to be read by children, but even Amazon.com has it under its textbook promotion. Wha? That's so odd. I don't know how else to say it. Something that I started because I was writing my thesis at the same time, and I was curious about some issues that are going on inside me (and still are) has become this "thing" that I never envisioned. Teachers who saw me as a student who played the viola and was on the soccer team now know what I did on my "off" times . . . that I wrote. If they came back and saw my choir in 2005, they'd realize I sing, too. Just the various sides of me will come to a bit of a head tomorrow, and I'm in this very suspended place about it. I'm excited, but apprehensive--about how the students will receive me; how they received my book; how my old teachers will receive me; if I say something I shouldn't because they're too young to understand/get it/appreciate it/agree with it.
I'm not quite the quiet little girl who kept her mouth shut back in high school; I'm much more secure in what I think and not as shy about letting people know it. I used to lay in the cut in high school, unobtrusive because being a chubby black girl who wasn't necessarily poor and was deemed "smart" and didn't have much of a social life was a bit of an aberrance, and kids have a tendency to mock what they don't understand . . . what isn't "normal." I saw Saved by the Bell; I watched those after-school specials; I read Sweet Valley High; I wasn't trying to go out like all the other nerds did.
But what's funny, Facebook. Facebook has been a surprise in a good way. All these people are now friending me, people with whom I wasn't close back in the day; or people I knew only because we shared a class, but never a conversation, or very few conversations. The "cool" people, the "popular" people, to my none of those things. These people friend me or leave me messages saying how proud they are of me or how they can't wait to get my book, etc. And my jaw drops because I didn't think I was that memorable, or memorable enough for them to friend me. Yet, this is opening my eyes to something: just because you do your best to be unseen, doesn't mean you aren't. Just because you keep to yourself and try not to bother anyone or "do your own thing", doesn't mean people aren't paying attention to you and watching you and rooting for you.
Story time: Junior year in high school we got our transcripts to prepare for senior year. They tried to block out our class ranking, but it seemed the permanent marker wasn't dark enough to mask those pesky little numbers. Everyone and her blind dog's dead mother knew who numbers 1 & 2 were--identical twins of all things. But the third spot . . . heh. Me. So I had a dual feeling of "hell, yeah!" and "aw, shit!" (if I'd been the cussin' kind back then ;) ) because, dang, if that further didn't separate me from the pack, especially regarding other black kids at my school (this is clearly, clearly, another post). But, we had a soccer game either that night or sometime soon after, and I was sitting next to one of the "popular" black girls who was also on the team watching the Varsity team play (I was on JV, and quite happy there lol). She asked me what my rank was. I didn't want to answer, but she was nice, and I mumbled it. She said, "huh?" so I said it again louder, but just as, dare I say it, apologetic about it. She nodded, then she smiled and said, "I'm so proud of you."
What?!
I had no idea. Understand, in any given class I had, I was either the only black person, black girl, or one of five or less of either permutation thereof, so I felt on the fringe of the "black community" at my school, especially since my group of friends was mixed . . . which was something you didn't really get at my high school (my cafeteria could've been the cover of Dr. Tatum's Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?). But some sort of invisible burden had been lifted off my shoulder at that, and it felt really good.
So, maybe, by me going back to school and speaking, I can lift that invisible burden off someone else's shoulders, someone who's been told by her culture in school, her culture in her neighborhood, her culture as portrayed by the media, that says you shouldn't excel; that you shouldn't want to be the best you can be. That is is cool to "do the damn" thing, and that being black or being poor or being female or being whatever means you shouldn't, or that you're automatically something else, or your fill-in-the-blank card is on probation. It took me a long time to get to that point, and in many ways, I hang on to it by the tips of my fingers.
But ultimately, as my sis and my friends, those same few people who've been there even when I was unobtrusive and shy(er), said that I represent someone from their community who left and "made good", and that is important for them to see, especially considering I am primarily of a demographic who has the least chance of doing so.
I'll have to remember that when I talk tomorrow.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Trolling Nights
First draft is done, 93,735 words. For some reason I rounded up the total to 95K on Facebook, but in my defense, it is late, and my brain's shut down. Anyway, yay Tim and Bevin! *hugs them* I'll post up some excerpts at some point.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Tumbling, by Diane McKinney-Whetstone
My cousin Denita knows me well. She gave me Tumbling over Fourth of July, thought I'd like it, and I only now got a chance to finish it. Ooh, boy, it was a hard book to read; not because the mechanics of reading was difficult, but because the emotions that it drew to the surface made me feel really, really raw. Noon and Herbie; Ethel, Fannie, Liz. Willie Mann. Reverend Schell. Thomas Moore. Black people in the '40s and '50s in South Philly. My grandma was there; as was my dad. She could've easily been talking about them or a neighborhood like theirs. Gentrification. 60 years later it's still going on; still having a devastating affect on black and other minority communities. About passion and having it taken away from you . . . given to someone who shouldn't really have it, but she's the only one there who'll take it; a father resenting his child; a daughter resenting her father; a woman loving too much but not in the way the receiver wants. Slick, silver-tongued, too-fine man that woo the innocence from a girl who just wants to be held. A girl who knows too damn much and people are frightened by that knowledge, mad at it. A woman who offers healing the only way she knows how.
There were no villains in this story. No one was all good or all bad. They were human, and textured and tactile, like you knew them personally; like you were invested in how things turned out almost more than they seemed to be; that you wanted everything to come out right for everyone--not "comeuppance" right; "find peace" right.
When I grow up, I want to write like this too.
There were no villains in this story. No one was all good or all bad. They were human, and textured and tactile, like you knew them personally; like you were invested in how things turned out almost more than they seemed to be; that you wanted everything to come out right for everyone--not "comeuppance" right; "find peace" right.
When I grow up, I want to write like this too.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Updates and a Chat
I finally got a response back for a submission I made for Manna Tree. The good news is the editor thought the story was well-written and packed with strong emotion. Unfortunately, she passed on it. This is one of those bittersweet rejections, because the person recognizes the talent, but aren't feeling the story. One day . . . I'll marry the two. But jeez, it's still frustrating as all get out.
Anyway, I'm going to have a chat tonight from 7-10 PM EST at my Web site. It's pretty much an open chat, but I will be discussing my works--both released and upcoming; posting up excerpts of works in progress; and even giving away some books. I hope you all can make it!
SJF Books Chat Room
Anyway, I'm going to have a chat tonight from 7-10 PM EST at my Web site. It's pretty much an open chat, but I will be discussing my works--both released and upcoming; posting up excerpts of works in progress; and even giving away some books. I hope you all can make it!
SJF Books Chat Room
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Hard Drive
Beyond dead, it is. This news does not make me happy. Something inside it is broken. o.O I haven't dropped my laptop in a good minute! I don't know what happened.
Do you think God is telling me I need a new computer? I . . . don't know how I feel about that message. I will say that for my experience, Dell is fantastic in terms of customer service, so I'll probably get another one. I have to go to Staples and get my beyond-dead hard drive, though.
But, now I can continue to work on Trolling Nights (as well as two other WiPs that decided to bite this month. Oy). The feedback I'm getting on this story really is awesome. Now that I can go forward, I'll be posting some things up.
And would anyone be interested in a chat this weekend? Friday too soon? Sunday?
Do you think God is telling me I need a new computer? I . . . don't know how I feel about that message. I will say that for my experience, Dell is fantastic in terms of customer service, so I'll probably get another one. I have to go to Staples and get my beyond-dead hard drive, though.
But, now I can continue to work on Trolling Nights (as well as two other WiPs that decided to bite this month. Oy). The feedback I'm getting on this story really is awesome. Now that I can go forward, I'll be posting some things up.
And would anyone be interested in a chat this weekend? Friday too soon? Sunday?
Friday, August 15, 2008
Oh, NOW He Talks!
Okay, those of you familiar with Being Plumville might be a interested in this news.
Felix is now speaking to me after, basically, four years of being mum.
So . . . yeah. Onward.
Felix is now speaking to me after, basically, four years of being mum.
So . . . yeah. Onward.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
My Hard Drive: 2004-2008
*Cries*
It was a sudden death, one that hadn't been expected. There were no spurts, no fainting spells . . . just the clicking death knell and then silence. Because I had no idea what was going on, I tried to restart it twice . . . and then a third when the Dell people told me to run a diagnostic.
All of my most recent work for Trolling Nights is on that hard drive, as well as the updates I made to The Beauty Within and Reconstructing Jada Channing. BUT, I had updated my backup drive about two weeks ago, so it's not as bad it could've been and sending out some drafts to friends of mine (even if they are in pdfs) was probably the best thing I could've done.
I am not at a point of no return; I am at an inconvenient detour. I thank the Lord that's all it is. However, for those who read this blog, please pray I CAN recover those files. I'd really liked where I was going with Trolling Nights especially, but thank goodness I haven't lost too much that I cannot recreate it. To make things a little more "oy", I'd planned on sending out submissions this week, but I reckon not right now anyway. But . . .
This is definitely not as bad as it could've been But I'll be backing up my docs like a FIEND when I get back up and running, you best believe.
It was a sudden death, one that hadn't been expected. There were no spurts, no fainting spells . . . just the clicking death knell and then silence. Because I had no idea what was going on, I tried to restart it twice . . . and then a third when the Dell people told me to run a diagnostic.
All of my most recent work for Trolling Nights is on that hard drive, as well as the updates I made to The Beauty Within and Reconstructing Jada Channing. BUT, I had updated my backup drive about two weeks ago, so it's not as bad it could've been and sending out some drafts to friends of mine (even if they are in pdfs) was probably the best thing I could've done.
I am not at a point of no return; I am at an inconvenient detour. I thank the Lord that's all it is. However, for those who read this blog, please pray I CAN recover those files. I'd really liked where I was going with Trolling Nights especially, but thank goodness I haven't lost too much that I cannot recreate it. To make things a little more "oy", I'd planned on sending out submissions this week, but I reckon not right now anyway. But . . .
This is definitely not as bad as it could've been But I'll be backing up my docs like a FIEND when I get back up and running, you best believe.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Options
The owner of Red Rose Publishing told me first-week totals of The Coach's Counselor . . . they definitely overshot my expectations. So I thank you for buying the story, and tell others to get their copy. It's a dope story. Bernie is a dreamboat. I wanna be Eunice when I growed up. The RRP's owner loves the story. Can't get much better than that, peoples. Buy! Buy! Buy!
In less enthusiastic news, Sunday morning I awoke to a lovely (this is not sarcasm) rejection letter from an agent regarding Reconstructing Jada Channing. Was I disappointed? Absolutely, because my pitch to her had gone really well and she'd seemed exciting about it; and to know months later the project with her is a no-go does smart.
But then, I realized there is this lovely thing called self-publishing, and my straits weren't as dire as they'd seemed upon reading the e-mail. TPtB at HBF Publishers have it, and even if that doesn't work out, I can still put it out on my own. RJC doesn't have to languish until someone puts her seal of approval on it--I could publish the novel whenever I want, really. And considering it's my baby . . . I probably SHOULD publish it myself instead of risking a publisher/agent culling it out to "make it more marketable" (which sometimes, from what I've been told, could be a struggle between the author's original vision and the publisher's vision, and with this story in particular . . . there is a specific vision I have in mind for it). And if I really play my cards right, should I be picked up by an agent, and they do a reprint . . . the value of the first edition will be exceedingly high, right?
Or that's what I'd heard. Sotheby's, here I come!
(A girl can dream, can't she?)
It's a strategic game, this publishing business. I'm taking the bull by the horns, yes, but I also can't wait for the day until I can relinquish them and concentrate on the part of this business I want the most--the writing. Another idea has come and bit me, and one sentence on a Post It has grown into something that's taken me hours of research, so many "restarts" that I don't remember. And this isn't counting all the WiPs that are waiting for their day in the sun. I'm in that period of the job that sustains me is impeding on the career that feeds me. NOT a good feeling, because I actually like my "able-to-live" job, but this WRITING, people. This is what I'm supposed to do. And it's scary to be good at other things . . . have a greater chance at success at those others things . . . but those other things are in the way of THE THING.
Options. Sometimes I don't know if it's better to have too many or not enough.
In less enthusiastic news, Sunday morning I awoke to a lovely (this is not sarcasm) rejection letter from an agent regarding Reconstructing Jada Channing. Was I disappointed? Absolutely, because my pitch to her had gone really well and she'd seemed exciting about it; and to know months later the project with her is a no-go does smart.
But then, I realized there is this lovely thing called self-publishing, and my straits weren't as dire as they'd seemed upon reading the e-mail. TPtB at HBF Publishers have it, and even if that doesn't work out, I can still put it out on my own. RJC doesn't have to languish until someone puts her seal of approval on it--I could publish the novel whenever I want, really. And considering it's my baby . . . I probably SHOULD publish it myself instead of risking a publisher/agent culling it out to "make it more marketable" (which sometimes, from what I've been told, could be a struggle between the author's original vision and the publisher's vision, and with this story in particular . . . there is a specific vision I have in mind for it). And if I really play my cards right, should I be picked up by an agent, and they do a reprint . . . the value of the first edition will be exceedingly high, right?
Or that's what I'd heard. Sotheby's, here I come!
(A girl can dream, can't she?)
It's a strategic game, this publishing business. I'm taking the bull by the horns, yes, but I also can't wait for the day until I can relinquish them and concentrate on the part of this business I want the most--the writing. Another idea has come and bit me, and one sentence on a Post It has grown into something that's taken me hours of research, so many "restarts" that I don't remember. And this isn't counting all the WiPs that are waiting for their day in the sun. I'm in that period of the job that sustains me is impeding on the career that feeds me. NOT a good feeling, because I actually like my "able-to-live" job, but this WRITING, people. This is what I'm supposed to do. And it's scary to be good at other things . . . have a greater chance at success at those others things . . . but those other things are in the way of THE THING.
Options. Sometimes I don't know if it's better to have too many or not enough.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
July=Dead Zone . . . Sort of
Which is why I'm only now posting about it in August! Ha! July is the dead zone month for me creatively, because my job . . . the one with benefits that allow me to go to the doctor and maybe survive once I retire (if that is still even an option by the time I reach that point) got insane. I worked a total of 207 hours in July (not counting the editing job I do for Red Rose and etc). Technically, I am only supposed to work 175 hours/month. I had no space in my head for anything creative. At all. I'd try to write and it just looked so foreign and AWFUL. It was not a good look. Even my bosses were like "get some rest."
But did I do that? No. Instead I call myself going out of town EVERY OTHER WEEKEND. What is this foolishness? Granted, the first weekend of July was the 4th, and I went home to South Jersey to the fam--Dad and Cousins I haven't seen in almost two years. I figured it was about time. I also had the opportunity to meet Eve Vaughn, erotica writer extraordinaire. Keep in mind, I've been fangirling her for several minutes, until another member of TST told me she loved my writing.
*gaping*
Right, so obviously, I was like, "we must meet" and we did. And we talked . . . actually not about writing! Which is fantastic, because when you don't talk about writing, you talk about things that make you a writer or give you inspiration/material for writing in far more organic and salient ways, to me, anyway. I learned so much about her, and she me, and we met for much longer than I thought. She's good people, Eve Vaughn, and all of you need to check out her books. And speaking of, we went to Borders, and her book was on the shelf! So of course, I bought it, even though I already had a book with me I wanted her to sign. I want that to be me one day, just browsing through the shelves and see a book with my name on it . . . yes. And then she had the nerve to say (as she signing her books for me, no less) she can't wait until I'm a bestselling author.
Um, whose book was just bought at a bookstore? Certainly not mine! lol
But the bigger thing is that even though she's definitely ahead in the game, she has nothing but well wishes for ME. I'm still learning how to get used to that, all of these established SUCCESSFUL authors who are expecting great things from me. I've not really ever had that in terms of something that's REALLY important to me. Academically, yes, that went without saying. But this writing thing, something that I haven't started sharing with the world with my name until about four years ago . . . I realize I am an infant in this business. I really am, but people are so excited for me.
It's humbling. Mentors rule.
So, two weeks later, the week that I worked 50 hours for my benefits job, I went directly from the work to NYC for the Harlem Book Fair. It was really a last-minute decision, because I was EXHAUSTED, but I need to network. That is something that needs definite improvement in my skillset, I feel, so I went.
Glad I did. I really only sat through two panels: the one on African-American Publishing and the one on Black Romance and Street Fiction. That last one was the main reason I went to NYC, and I wasn't disappointed. Although the Publishing panel was more geared to nonfiction/self-help publishing, it highlighted the importance of African-American booksellers, word-of-mouth, and creative ways to gain access to the resources the major mainstream/white publishers have in comparison. As an African-American author who writes primarily Interracial romances no less, that was a very worthwhile panel for me, because I know it's going to be harder for me to gain access to some of those resources than other types of romance writers. However, the Black Romance panel . . .
I rode on the elevator with Sandra Kitt and didn't figure it out until she sat on the panel.
*dies*
Clearly I was more exhausted than I thought, because Sandra Kitt . . . she was THE FIRST black romance novelist/interracial romance novelist that I EVER read. Ever. And my slow self didn't catch on it was her, which meant I missed a GREAT opportunity to talk to her. But, she was fantastic on the panel. She broke down the history of black romance, kind of shocked it's only a few years older than I am, and she talked about her way of writing her novels. She, like I, can't just have them falling into the bed after a sentence. She takes the slow-burn approach. And considering she was the first I read, maybe that's why I do, too. But it's hard for me to write sex/intimacy just for the sake of it. Like Ms. Kitt, it has to make sense for the characters and the story, or else why bother?
Also on the panel were Leslie Esdaile (LA Banks), Gwynne Forster, and Nathasha Brooks-Harris; and it was moderated by Donna Hill. Just listening to these ladies speak was so informative and wonderful. I learned so much--I think I was probably the only one there with a notepad and writing notes, like I was Black Romance 101 and I had a quiz in two days! After the panel, I found a huge pair of ovaries somehow and approached them all. Ms. Forster actually remembered me from Chicago, which is notable because the only interaction we had was me asking her to autograph my book of hers! Ms. Brooks-Harris, who sat on the panel with me and Ms. Jenkins, gave me a hug and her contact info! And THEN, in a move that surprised even me, I asked them to sign MY proof copies of The Beauty Within and Reconstructing Jada Channing because I didn't have a book of theirs to sign--to give me inspiration and encouragement when I start to lose focus and faith. They did so willingly, even Ms. Banks, who I'd never met until I asked her to sign my book. They were all so gracious and stayed and signed as many books after the panel as they could. The only reason Ms. Kitt couldn't was because she had a panel directly after the Black Romance and Street Fiction one ended, or else I would've asked her to sign too.
After that, I met an online friend who, which shocked me, said I was the first romance novelist she'd ever read. Wha? MORE shocking was she was the SECOND person to tell me this in as many weeks (the first being my coworker who actually read the proof copy of The Beauty Within before I even did--said she loved it. yay!)! She was patient and let me meet some members from Beverly Jenkins's Yahoo Group and the authors to sign my books. Unfortunately, the long week had caught up to me during the panel because I had a headache the size of Jupiter, so she let me get some drugs from the corner market (the combination of the lack of sleep, eating little that morning, the heat (it was HOT), and meeting everyone . . . she was awesome with her understanding). Then I had to hurry to a manuscript pitch, and she had to go to the ATM because she was buying two copies of AJ's Serendipity for me. Yay!
Of course, I got sidetracked walking through the Fair and talked with an author, Lizette G. Carter, who was with a traditional publisher and self-published her second release and doesn't regret the move. This is further ironic because the manuscript pitch I gave was actually for HBF Publishers, a DIY publishing company established by the same person who started the Harlem Book Fair. I thought it was going to be an editor from a publishing house, but I'm glad because I now have yet another avenue to get my books out there, and it sounds like something that people should keep an eye on in the future. They liked my pitch, and apparently so much so because the reps mention me on their blog!
Too cool! Especially since I know I was among the last to have a pitch with them!
But, of course, to further complicate things, I spoke to Ms. Banks again to thank her for signing my book and briefly about my publishing experience thus far, and she encouraged me to talk to her editor at St. Martin's Press, because traditional publishing is the way to go, in her opinion.
So, two votes self-pub, and two votes traditional pub, because Ms. Banks is VERY successful and clearly it's worked for her fantastically.
I don't know what got to me, people, but I must've been either too tired to let my shyness hinder me or the pain medication I took to get rid of the headache gave me some extra courage. I talked to the editor and gave her my card, and she was lovely with giving me advice and quick To-Do and Not-to-Do pointers for when I submit to editors and agents. Considering the fair was winding down, I was very appreciative of her taking the time out to talk to me!
Finally, I leave and meet up with a friend I hadn't seen since I went natural with my hair (so, over five years ago). He gives me the name of his agent, who SELLS books, and we talk about ways in which to get our names out there (he writes, too, mainly commercial fiction/thrillers). I hope I helped him with my limited expertise, but his connections into the publishing industry are really out of control, so I don't see him having such an issue with getting his work into the right hands, and he has a style and a product that lends itself well to crossover/mainstream publication.
So I make it back from my weekend in NYC (complete with an, essentially, two-hour detour to Philly because I got on the wrong bus! yes . . . 50-hour weeks are clearly no good), and then from then until about last Friday not an original thought crossed my head because I had no space. Couldn't really even be excited that my first contracted story The Coach's Counselor was going to be released at the end of the month because I was THAT out of it. I even thought the stuff I'd already written was utter garbage, which made Aliyah want to reach through her monitor and slap me for speaking, in her opinion, utter nonsense.
Well, I'm better now! I'm writing again, on Trolling Nights especially, which those who have read drafts are loving, especially Tim . . . which I really can't blame them because he is a whole lot of hotness (Maybe I'll be nice and post up a few more chapters here, yeah?). The Beauty Within is formatted and ready to go barring me seeing just ridiculous errors in this (hopefully) final proof. Other authors are doing the dang thing and releasing books so I'm never bored when my own characters are trippin'. And I'm an Author Spotlight on Rae's blog! Check it out!
But did I do that? No. Instead I call myself going out of town EVERY OTHER WEEKEND. What is this foolishness? Granted, the first weekend of July was the 4th, and I went home to South Jersey to the fam--Dad and Cousins I haven't seen in almost two years. I figured it was about time. I also had the opportunity to meet Eve Vaughn, erotica writer extraordinaire. Keep in mind, I've been fangirling her for several minutes, until another member of TST told me she loved my writing.
*gaping*
Right, so obviously, I was like, "we must meet" and we did. And we talked . . . actually not about writing! Which is fantastic, because when you don't talk about writing, you talk about things that make you a writer or give you inspiration/material for writing in far more organic and salient ways, to me, anyway. I learned so much about her, and she me, and we met for much longer than I thought. She's good people, Eve Vaughn, and all of you need to check out her books. And speaking of, we went to Borders, and her book was on the shelf! So of course, I bought it, even though I already had a book with me I wanted her to sign. I want that to be me one day, just browsing through the shelves and see a book with my name on it . . . yes. And then she had the nerve to say (as she signing her books for me, no less) she can't wait until I'm a bestselling author.
Um, whose book was just bought at a bookstore? Certainly not mine! lol
But the bigger thing is that even though she's definitely ahead in the game, she has nothing but well wishes for ME. I'm still learning how to get used to that, all of these established SUCCESSFUL authors who are expecting great things from me. I've not really ever had that in terms of something that's REALLY important to me. Academically, yes, that went without saying. But this writing thing, something that I haven't started sharing with the world with my name until about four years ago . . . I realize I am an infant in this business. I really am, but people are so excited for me.
It's humbling. Mentors rule.
So, two weeks later, the week that I worked 50 hours for my benefits job, I went directly from the work to NYC for the Harlem Book Fair. It was really a last-minute decision, because I was EXHAUSTED, but I need to network. That is something that needs definite improvement in my skillset, I feel, so I went.
Glad I did. I really only sat through two panels: the one on African-American Publishing and the one on Black Romance and Street Fiction. That last one was the main reason I went to NYC, and I wasn't disappointed. Although the Publishing panel was more geared to nonfiction/self-help publishing, it highlighted the importance of African-American booksellers, word-of-mouth, and creative ways to gain access to the resources the major mainstream/white publishers have in comparison. As an African-American author who writes primarily Interracial romances no less, that was a very worthwhile panel for me, because I know it's going to be harder for me to gain access to some of those resources than other types of romance writers. However, the Black Romance panel . . .
I rode on the elevator with Sandra Kitt and didn't figure it out until she sat on the panel.
*dies*
Clearly I was more exhausted than I thought, because Sandra Kitt . . . she was THE FIRST black romance novelist/interracial romance novelist that I EVER read. Ever. And my slow self didn't catch on it was her, which meant I missed a GREAT opportunity to talk to her. But, she was fantastic on the panel. She broke down the history of black romance, kind of shocked it's only a few years older than I am, and she talked about her way of writing her novels. She, like I, can't just have them falling into the bed after a sentence. She takes the slow-burn approach. And considering she was the first I read, maybe that's why I do, too. But it's hard for me to write sex/intimacy just for the sake of it. Like Ms. Kitt, it has to make sense for the characters and the story, or else why bother?
Also on the panel were Leslie Esdaile (LA Banks), Gwynne Forster, and Nathasha Brooks-Harris; and it was moderated by Donna Hill. Just listening to these ladies speak was so informative and wonderful. I learned so much--I think I was probably the only one there with a notepad and writing notes, like I was Black Romance 101 and I had a quiz in two days! After the panel, I found a huge pair of ovaries somehow and approached them all. Ms. Forster actually remembered me from Chicago, which is notable because the only interaction we had was me asking her to autograph my book of hers! Ms. Brooks-Harris, who sat on the panel with me and Ms. Jenkins, gave me a hug and her contact info! And THEN, in a move that surprised even me, I asked them to sign MY proof copies of The Beauty Within and Reconstructing Jada Channing because I didn't have a book of theirs to sign--to give me inspiration and encouragement when I start to lose focus and faith. They did so willingly, even Ms. Banks, who I'd never met until I asked her to sign my book. They were all so gracious and stayed and signed as many books after the panel as they could. The only reason Ms. Kitt couldn't was because she had a panel directly after the Black Romance and Street Fiction one ended, or else I would've asked her to sign too.
After that, I met an online friend who, which shocked me, said I was the first romance novelist she'd ever read. Wha? MORE shocking was she was the SECOND person to tell me this in as many weeks (the first being my coworker who actually read the proof copy of The Beauty Within before I even did--said she loved it. yay!)! She was patient and let me meet some members from Beverly Jenkins's Yahoo Group and the authors to sign my books. Unfortunately, the long week had caught up to me during the panel because I had a headache the size of Jupiter, so she let me get some drugs from the corner market (the combination of the lack of sleep, eating little that morning, the heat (it was HOT), and meeting everyone . . . she was awesome with her understanding). Then I had to hurry to a manuscript pitch, and she had to go to the ATM because she was buying two copies of AJ's Serendipity for me. Yay!
Of course, I got sidetracked walking through the Fair and talked with an author, Lizette G. Carter, who was with a traditional publisher and self-published her second release and doesn't regret the move. This is further ironic because the manuscript pitch I gave was actually for HBF Publishers, a DIY publishing company established by the same person who started the Harlem Book Fair. I thought it was going to be an editor from a publishing house, but I'm glad because I now have yet another avenue to get my books out there, and it sounds like something that people should keep an eye on in the future. They liked my pitch, and apparently so much so because the reps mention me on their blog!
Too cool! Especially since I know I was among the last to have a pitch with them!
But, of course, to further complicate things, I spoke to Ms. Banks again to thank her for signing my book and briefly about my publishing experience thus far, and she encouraged me to talk to her editor at St. Martin's Press, because traditional publishing is the way to go, in her opinion.
So, two votes self-pub, and two votes traditional pub, because Ms. Banks is VERY successful and clearly it's worked for her fantastically.
I don't know what got to me, people, but I must've been either too tired to let my shyness hinder me or the pain medication I took to get rid of the headache gave me some extra courage. I talked to the editor and gave her my card, and she was lovely with giving me advice and quick To-Do and Not-to-Do pointers for when I submit to editors and agents. Considering the fair was winding down, I was very appreciative of her taking the time out to talk to me!
Finally, I leave and meet up with a friend I hadn't seen since I went natural with my hair (so, over five years ago). He gives me the name of his agent, who SELLS books, and we talk about ways in which to get our names out there (he writes, too, mainly commercial fiction/thrillers). I hope I helped him with my limited expertise, but his connections into the publishing industry are really out of control, so I don't see him having such an issue with getting his work into the right hands, and he has a style and a product that lends itself well to crossover/mainstream publication.
So I make it back from my weekend in NYC (complete with an, essentially, two-hour detour to Philly because I got on the wrong bus! yes . . . 50-hour weeks are clearly no good), and then from then until about last Friday not an original thought crossed my head because I had no space. Couldn't really even be excited that my first contracted story The Coach's Counselor was going to be released at the end of the month because I was THAT out of it. I even thought the stuff I'd already written was utter garbage, which made Aliyah want to reach through her monitor and slap me for speaking, in her opinion, utter nonsense.
Well, I'm better now! I'm writing again, on Trolling Nights especially, which those who have read drafts are loving, especially Tim . . . which I really can't blame them because he is a whole lot of hotness (Maybe I'll be nice and post up a few more chapters here, yeah?). The Beauty Within is formatted and ready to go barring me seeing just ridiculous errors in this (hopefully) final proof. Other authors are doing the dang thing and releasing books so I'm never bored when my own characters are trippin'. And I'm an Author Spotlight on Rae's blog! Check it out!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Newly Released: THE COACH'S COUNSELOR
THE COACH'S COUNSELOR
Azod & Blue Presents Labor of Love Anthology
Savannah J. Frierson
Mainstream Romance: Contemporary, MC/IR, Autumn Rose - 40+
ISBN: 978-1-60435-189-7
Cover Artist: Celia Kyle
Editor: Jennifer Puckett
Word Count: 15,040
Release Date: July 31, 2008
Can opposites in life find happiness, or will the dos and don'ts win out?
Forty-something divorcée Doctor Eunice Saunders has already done the "married-with-children" thing, and thirty-something Assistant Coach Bernard "Bernie" Jenkins doesn't do the "women-with-children" thing. But, a chance meeting in a University of Mississippi parking lot has them rethinking their individual "dos and don'ts."
Purchase
~~~
This is my first contracted story to be released. This is also my first romance to feature two African-American leads. And finally, I really like this story. It's sweet and sensual and Bernie is very, very hot. I probably shouldn't admit I have a crush on a fictional character of my creation no less, but I REALLY like Bernie. And I want to be Eunice when I grow up. These two surprised me when I started writing Vietnam Story, but when I wrote their story here, I realize it made so much sense. They balance each other out very well, I think, and they're just good people. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Sav
Thursday, July 10, 2008
The Prototype (or a Little Bit of Why I Write How I Write)
His name was MK. He was older, seventeen to my thirteen, but I thought he was so amazing. He was of color; although the U.S. census would consider him white, society would consider him Middle Eastern . . . South Asian . . . not white. I never really asked what he was, and I asked him if he were Jewish, although in hindsight it probably would’ve been better if I’d asked him if he were Hindu or Muslim . . . Christian. But considering the only Christians I knew were either white or black, and his last name didn’t sound like a Christian last name, I had only my ignorance and 13 years of experience upon which to fall back.
I deserve a little break, right?
This was the second time I’d been to this camp; it only lasted two weeks. The year before I’d befriended two football players who played for the university. I don’t know how that friendship happened; I think I was tossing a ball with some people and they came and joined us. They were hilarious; I was their kid sis and it didn’t matter they were white and I wasn’t. So when I met MK, I thought it would be the same kid sister/older brother type relationship.
Except, it so wasn’t, at least not on my part.
MK wasn’t gorgeous in the way a boy could be that made pre-pubescent and pubescent girls lose their ever-lovin’ minds and tag his last name to her first. But he did get increasingly more adorable to me every time I saw him, which was inversely proportional (or is it related?) to how shy I’d get around him.
Anyway.
He was incredibly smart (or at least what smart to my 13-year-old mind meant). He told me about how he’d take the SAT once he got back home (he’s from the North, I’m from the South) and that he wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer . . . I can’t remember exactly which, but regardless, you have to be smart to do either. He was speaking a language I’d only started to learn, that of post–high school life; I hadn’t even entered high school and he was already talking about leaving it. But the fact he was talking about it to me, surely that meant something, right? That he thought I was mature enough to follow conversations like that with me . . .
I’m sure I told him about my mother. Sometimes I think the happiest and most reflective times for me were when I attended this camp. For two weeks I could genuinely be myself, flaws and all, and I was with other people who were getting in touch with that part they hide away because their friends/family wouldn’t understand. Maybe that’s why I felt so connected with MK, because he got an unfiltered 13-year-old me . . . and he didn’t run away or make fun of me or think I was a dork. And even though I couldn’t recall a single conversation with specificity, I can still remember how he made me feel.
Like a girl.
He was the first boy to ever make me feel like a girl. Feminine. Beautiful. He never said it to me, but sometimes he would gaze at me, or he’d smile, showing off his braces, which was okay because I wore braces too. Whenever we were with a group of friends, walking in the shopping district or around campus or in a crowd, he’d always make sure I was keeping up, sometimes even holding my hand so I wouldn’t get lost. If I were cold, he would give me his jacket if he had one, or put an arm around my shoulders. Once, a group of us were chatting outside—a baseball game, and it’d gotten nippy. We were in the canteen area and we were joking and talking about the game. Suddenly, he drifted into silence, smiled softly at me, and then touched my cheek with cool fingers. I gasped and my hands flew to my face. The others teased me and made obnoxious sounds, but I didn’t care. I just stared at him and he smiled and ducked his head slightly.
I think he took a little bit of my heart then, and I don’t think either one of us knew it. I certainly didn’t, or didn’t admit it until . . . maybe a few months ago. I’d never received affection from a male not my relative. He was the first . . . and in many ways, the only.
In my entire life.
I lost touch with him after camp. E-mail and IM hadn’t really caught on yet, and the only time I ever called him his mother had answered the phone and had said he was studying for the SAT. I think that hit it home that he was much too old . . . far too out of my league, and to pack it up. So I moved on, got through middle school and high school with nary a crush. I thought something was wrong with me because all my friends would talk about cute guy x or y, and I . . . would rarely be impressed. In fact, the guy who got my first kiss—random! First off, totally thought he wasn’t going to do it even though he said he would. On my 18th birthday, he said he’d give me a kiss; he presented it like a dare/promise. Thought he was full of hot air. 1.) He was white and this is the South, and I’d never seen him date a black girl 2.) we didn’t even like each other like that. But after class on the last day of school, he pulled me aside and he kissed me. And the notable thing, other than it felt very weird, was that a touch on the cheek five years earlier made me feel more than this kiss ever did.
And my simple self, unused to lust and damn curious, went back for more kisses (and some touches . . .) to see if maybe I did it wrong the first time, or if I could get those fleeting moments of “right” to last longer. Then I went to his house with a mutual friend. He took the friend to his room and left me out in his living area watching television.
Well, then.
Since then, the crushes have been on men of every color and racial makeup imaginable, but they never treated me like MK did, or made me feel the way he did. Oh, there’ve been glimpses, but the biggest difference between MK and my subsequent crushes was how I felt . . . all the time. When alone we’re cool; we talk, we connect. When we’re with friends . . . I’m “one of the guys”; I’m not a blip on the opposite-sex radar; the potential-girlfriend radar. I’m not “crush-worthy”. I’ve been flat-out told I wasn’t on “the list”, but a mutual friend of ours would be. Rarely did I feel beautiful. Rarely did I feel like a girl. And the thing was, I looked REAL awkward at 13, yet I managed to get someone to be genuinely interested in me. I was never slim; my hair was never “good hair”; I had acne; I wore braces! Hell, my first crush in college never even NOTICED I’D GOTTEN THEM TAKEN OFF AND I’D BEEN WEARING THEM FOR THE FULL YEAR HE’D KNOWN ME! Talk about a blow to the ego! Talk about not being seen!
I’ve been passed over more times than I care to admit, unseen that I’ve made a niche for myself in forgettable obscurity. I’ve been doing my own thing. I’ve been smart, independent, confident in my abilities, all the while thinking none of that really matters. I’m supposed to be those things, after all; that’s nothing “special.” I went to school with women who were like that, and better-looking. I’m the daughter of one of the epitomes of smart, independent, confident in her abilities, and gorgeous. But for some reason . . . MK saw me anyway, and liked me. He wasn’t ashamed of me. He allowed me my awkwardness, my vulnerability, and didn’t blast me for it. I had no idea how much I needed that . . . he has no idea how much I appreciate him for it.
He’s the prototype, MK. He’s the foundation for the heroes I write, because Lord knows I put a lot of me in the heroines I write. That essence, that allowing for vulnerability, for being dependable for an independent woman; for seeing the beauty that many don’t see, or if they do, don’t mention it . . . that the heroine can’t or doesn’t see because it’s never been pointed out to her. For allowing the heroine to come just as she is and to be respected and thought worthy at the starting place, but helping her grow to be the best she can be. And for a black woman especially, that’s incredibly rare. The rhetoric we hear (and I’ve been told to my face) black women are too this; black women are too that (and none of it construed positively); me being told I can’t rely on anyone but myself. Me seeing this fact in the majority of the relationships around me; me reading and studying statistics. Me wondering why “regular” looking black women on television, in movies; in romance novels don’t ever get the hero. I know it’s possible. For two weeks when I was thirteen, I had it. But when it reaches the point where I am now wondering if it would be “realistic” for a “regular” black woman to draw the attention, and keep it, of a hero . . . and he be proud of her and humbled by her . . . because it’s not happened to me (again). But it can happen in my stories; it has happened to the new friends and mentors I’ve talked to since I started this journey. And how that journey of being an author is really parallel for my journey to being a woman and finding love. Why I write romance; maybe why I write primarily interracial romances, but I read all subgenres of it. Maybe because someone who wasn’t on MY radar had me on his, and how would I deal with that now, twelve years later . . . and would he like the woman I’d become. Would I have the courage to depend on someone else; the same courage many of my heroines have to find; will I have the courage to believe it when he says, “you’re beautiful”, something I and many black women rarely hear but so want to; will I have the courage to own the good points I possess, but shove in the back because the bad points are constantly heaped upon me and I carry them like the scars my ancestors did, because I feel guilty I don't have to sacrifice like the generations before me did.
I’m blocked (an annual occurrence lol), and it’s because I had to get all that out . . . and maybe relax, before I can get started. I work too hard, some of my friends say. Even my boss says I’m too stressed. Heh. Well, hopefully this will free up some space and to allow my characters possibilities, and maybe that’ll transfer to me.
I wonder if MK even remembers me. Nevertheless, I thank him, and I thank God for allowing him to enter my life, even if for such a short period of time.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White
Read it. Read it if you want to read a fairly no-holds-barred novel that deals with race, religion, class, gender, faith, humanity. Read it if you want to be challenged. Read it if you want to be affirmed. Read it if you're Christian. Read it if you're not. It's not a preachy Christian novel; the characters struggles might not be your own, but struggles are universal, and I appreciated it. I appreciated how HONEST this novel was, and there's a scene in the last third of the book . . . when the main character Zora goes home with Billie, a woman she meets in the novel. Easily the most poignant and really most heart-grabbing scene for me. I appreciated this book, and thanks to Joyce for introducing the book to Jayha and for Jayha insisting it was a fantastic book and for Ms. Burney for writing it. This is the kind of book I want to write one day--not necessarily Christian IR . . . but something that can resonate that deeply. Yeah.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
The Second Half of 2008
The first half wasn't half bad. Heck, I'd go so far as to say it was fantastic. It started off with a partial request from a major publishing house and it flowed into finishing TWO manuscripts (now three with the completions of Vietnam Story; and yes, that is now down from the Google Group) and meeting a whole bunch of truly amazing people--both writers and readers and just . . . people. Yes, some personal things I had to deal with, but right now, this very second, I don't think I've ever been as content. And the good news isn't really directly related to me. Two of my good friends . . . friends who knew me before I was ever a writer, have amazing things going on in their lives, and that just makes me so happy for them.
Then, come to find out that I'm in the Harvard University Library System--once for my thesis, and once for Being Plumville. Um. Holla. I'm going to start calling Being Plumville "the little self-published book that could", because it's certainly gone above and beyond any expectation I could've possibly had for it Sales-wise, it's doing pretty much as expected--but the reception I've gotten for it . . . just wow, and just thank you. And now I get to go back to my high school to tell the chirens to start reading and keep reading; to start writing and keep writing. What? Lord, didn't I just LEAVE that place? The liaison at the school keeps telling me everyone speaks so highly of me there. Um, okay? Not that that's a bad thing, but many of the teachers I had when I was there don't work there anymore . . . but my friends have to remind me that as a young, black woman who went to Harvard and is now a published author . . . that's a big deal. Sometimes you need that outside perspective, because things that aren't humdrum can seem to be when it's happening to you; that just because things are expected doesn't mean they aren't exceptional. Nevertheless, I hope I can live up to the hype!
I should have the release of my short story The Coach's Counselor at some point probably during the summer, maybe around August.
I hope the second half of '08 is more glorious than the first for everyone!
Then, come to find out that I'm in the Harvard University Library System--once for my thesis, and once for Being Plumville. Um. Holla. I'm going to start calling Being Plumville "the little self-published book that could", because it's certainly gone above and beyond any expectation I could've possibly had for it Sales-wise, it's doing pretty much as expected--but the reception I've gotten for it . . . just wow, and just thank you. And now I get to go back to my high school to tell the chirens to start reading and keep reading; to start writing and keep writing. What? Lord, didn't I just LEAVE that place? The liaison at the school keeps telling me everyone speaks so highly of me there. Um, okay? Not that that's a bad thing, but many of the teachers I had when I was there don't work there anymore . . . but my friends have to remind me that as a young, black woman who went to Harvard and is now a published author . . . that's a big deal. Sometimes you need that outside perspective, because things that aren't humdrum can seem to be when it's happening to you; that just because things are expected doesn't mean they aren't exceptional. Nevertheless, I hope I can live up to the hype!
I should have the release of my short story The Coach's Counselor at some point probably during the summer, maybe around August.
I hope the second half of '08 is more glorious than the first for everyone!
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Vietnam Story
Hi everyone,
Just wanted to let you know the last chapter of Vietnam Story is now up on the google group. It will remain up in its entirety until the 30th. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy!
Sav
Just wanted to let you know the last chapter of Vietnam Story is now up on the google group. It will remain up in its entirety until the 30th. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy!
Sav
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Today! June 14, 2008: Harlem Book Fair Roxbury at BPL--Dudley in Boston
Hi everyone,
If you are in the Boston area today and are feeling in a literary mood, I will be at the Harlem Book Fair Roxbury from 12-6PM at Boston Public Library--Dudley Branch (corner of Warren Street and Dudley Street). I will have copies of Being Plumville and a few of AJ's Serendipity. I hope to see you there!
Have a great weekend!
If you are in the Boston area today and are feeling in a literary mood, I will be at the Harlem Book Fair Roxbury from 12-6PM at Boston Public Library--Dudley Branch (corner of Warren Street and Dudley Street). I will have copies of Being Plumville and a few of AJ's Serendipity. I hope to see you there!
Have a great weekend!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A Theme in My Writing
Using duty to hide from dreams and desire. And not necessarily romantic or carnal desire, although that is very valid. Just the desire to do what you want to do--maybe what you were even born to do. Using your (perceived) duty to your family and community instead of fulfilling your own aspirations. And, getting all "academic" with this, these could be construed as very "middle-class" concepts, because those who have little to no leisure time can't afford to worry about dreams or desires. There's food to be put on the table; clothes to be put on backs; bodies to remain living in safe (or as safe as possible) dwellings. Yet, it doesn't matter what class, what race, what gender--people have dreams and desires, and I think everyone should have the opportunity to reach them.
I could stretch it further and say the above is also a "white middle-class" concept, and especially "white male middle-class" concept. In this society, women of color have had the least opportunity to fulfill either in any real way. And because I am a black woman, that is my basis and frame of experience. That is what I write, that is also with what I struggle in my own daily life. Responsibility, duty, has always been at the fore--and often to the point of allowing someone else the opportunity to achieve those dreams and desires. Family is big; community is big; not being "selfish" is something taught time and time again.
Selfish. That's a tricky word, a loaded word. Oftentimes, an unfair word. Many of my characters struggled with perceived selfish behavior versus doing something or being with someone who makes them happy. I struggle with that word, with that perception, as I do this writing thing. I'm the type of person where it's so hard for me to say no to a request, that duty or what I "should do" for others almost always can trump what I need/want/should do for myself.
Black women are rarely told it's okay to "do you". Do for others yes, always, definitely, but do you? Do for you? No . . . So many of my heroines are struggling with this, and I try to surround them with people who will give them the courage to "do them"--not just their hero--but their best friends; their sisters; their brothers. LJ in Being Plumville is definitely and example of that person, and I hadn't planned on him being that, but I'm glad he was. Samara struggles with that regarding whether she would take a chance with AJ in AJ's Serendipity; and in her case, AJ was the one to help her make her ultimate decision.
I've used the phrase "hiding behind 'x'" in many of my manuscripts, not even realizing it until just now (as I'm working on yet another story lol), but instead of removing it, I'm keeping it, because it's real. To get to that point where you can "do you", and not to the detriment of others, is truly liberating, I think. You can't give your all if part of you is tethered to the ground. We have to allow ourselves to soar.
And once we do, don't apologize for doing it. I'm still working on that, but to see my characters get to that point, or at least get closer to that point, definitely helps.
I could stretch it further and say the above is also a "white middle-class" concept, and especially "white male middle-class" concept. In this society, women of color have had the least opportunity to fulfill either in any real way. And because I am a black woman, that is my basis and frame of experience. That is what I write, that is also with what I struggle in my own daily life. Responsibility, duty, has always been at the fore--and often to the point of allowing someone else the opportunity to achieve those dreams and desires. Family is big; community is big; not being "selfish" is something taught time and time again.
Selfish. That's a tricky word, a loaded word. Oftentimes, an unfair word. Many of my characters struggled with perceived selfish behavior versus doing something or being with someone who makes them happy. I struggle with that word, with that perception, as I do this writing thing. I'm the type of person where it's so hard for me to say no to a request, that duty or what I "should do" for others almost always can trump what I need/want/should do for myself.
Black women are rarely told it's okay to "do you". Do for others yes, always, definitely, but do you? Do for you? No . . . So many of my heroines are struggling with this, and I try to surround them with people who will give them the courage to "do them"--not just their hero--but their best friends; their sisters; their brothers. LJ in Being Plumville is definitely and example of that person, and I hadn't planned on him being that, but I'm glad he was. Samara struggles with that regarding whether she would take a chance with AJ in AJ's Serendipity; and in her case, AJ was the one to help her make her ultimate decision.
I've used the phrase "hiding behind 'x'" in many of my manuscripts, not even realizing it until just now (as I'm working on yet another story lol), but instead of removing it, I'm keeping it, because it's real. To get to that point where you can "do you", and not to the detriment of others, is truly liberating, I think. You can't give your all if part of you is tethered to the ground. We have to allow ourselves to soar.
And once we do, don't apologize for doing it. I'm still working on that, but to see my characters get to that point, or at least get closer to that point, definitely helps.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
This Weekend and on the Radio Again
First, tomorrow I will be featured on Black Authors Network Radio on June 9, 2008 at 8 PM EST. I hope you can tune in! I'm sure there will be a link to listen to it if you can't make it, so I'll put it up when it becomes available.
On Saturday, I spoke at the Roxbury Action Program's Luncheon for the Harlem Book Fair. It was me and two other writers--poets-Alicia Jefferson and Vasco Pires. It was wonderful to listen to their poetry. Very much along the vein of poetry I write (or used to . . . haven't written poetry in a hot minute). Afro-centric, empowering, talking about things we don't like to talk about. Alicia spoke about how it took her 35 years (her age) to accept and receive one particular poem she wrote, and it was a heavy one talking about all the psychic traumas young black children carry with them, and how those traumas manifest into destructive behavior. Vasco Pires spoke about Eurocentric standard of beauty and how that affects, particularly, the black woman's perception of beauty, and he celebrated Black beauty and talked about how much stronger black people are than we give ourselves credit for, because we often see ourselves in the stereotypes corporate media perpetrates. Deep. I loved it.
I was the second person to speak, and for the first time ever I actually read from my Being Plumville for an audience. I could've chosen so many scenes with Coralee and Benjamin, as they are the main characters. I chose the scene with LJ and Coralee, when he's talking about his experience in Vietnam. I'm glad I chose that scene, and apparently so did the audience because I got a great reception. Not that I didn't expect to be well received, but the audience really wanted to hear what I had to say, what my thought process was, how I wrote this novel. Similar experience to the one I had at RSJ, actually, and while I was more confident here than I was at RSJ, I still was a bit nervous about speaking and sharing my thoughts, especially when I thought with this audience, even less had heard about me than at RSJ. But it was wonderful. One man seemed very excited (I was too, because he's from Oxford, MS, and of course Vietnam Story is set there, so I will have a chance to pick his brain a little). I also met another author who writes fro Kensington. She said she was impressed with me, and I said, I want to be where she is! The mutual respect for each other is wonderful.
The actual Harlem Book Fair Roxbury is the 14th from 12-6 Warren Street (starting at Dudley & Warren) in Boston. Lots of amazing talent will be there!
On Saturday, I spoke at the Roxbury Action Program's Luncheon for the Harlem Book Fair. It was me and two other writers--poets-Alicia Jefferson and Vasco Pires. It was wonderful to listen to their poetry. Very much along the vein of poetry I write (or used to . . . haven't written poetry in a hot minute). Afro-centric, empowering, talking about things we don't like to talk about. Alicia spoke about how it took her 35 years (her age) to accept and receive one particular poem she wrote, and it was a heavy one talking about all the psychic traumas young black children carry with them, and how those traumas manifest into destructive behavior. Vasco Pires spoke about Eurocentric standard of beauty and how that affects, particularly, the black woman's perception of beauty, and he celebrated Black beauty and talked about how much stronger black people are than we give ourselves credit for, because we often see ourselves in the stereotypes corporate media perpetrates. Deep. I loved it.
I was the second person to speak, and for the first time ever I actually read from my Being Plumville for an audience. I could've chosen so many scenes with Coralee and Benjamin, as they are the main characters. I chose the scene with LJ and Coralee, when he's talking about his experience in Vietnam. I'm glad I chose that scene, and apparently so did the audience because I got a great reception. Not that I didn't expect to be well received, but the audience really wanted to hear what I had to say, what my thought process was, how I wrote this novel. Similar experience to the one I had at RSJ, actually, and while I was more confident here than I was at RSJ, I still was a bit nervous about speaking and sharing my thoughts, especially when I thought with this audience, even less had heard about me than at RSJ. But it was wonderful. One man seemed very excited (I was too, because he's from Oxford, MS, and of course Vietnam Story is set there, so I will have a chance to pick his brain a little). I also met another author who writes fro Kensington. She said she was impressed with me, and I said, I want to be where she is! The mutual respect for each other is wonderful.
The actual Harlem Book Fair Roxbury is the 14th from 12-6 Warren Street (starting at Dudley & Warren) in Boston. Lots of amazing talent will be there!
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Romance in Color Rising Star
I have been deemed a Rising Star at Romance in Color for the month of June. Holla! Check out my interview here and the review of Being Plumville here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)