Coming Home Tour - Reflections

The Bad

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

The Good

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

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

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

The Epic

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

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

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

• Friendships being affirmed.

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

Question Set #3 - Coming Home Tour Countdown

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

~~~

1.) In what class does Coralee tutor Benjamin?

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

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

Coming Home Tour Countdown - The ATL

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

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

That plan never did pan out.

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

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

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

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

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

~ bana

Question Set #2 - Coming Home Tour Countdown

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

~~~

1.) What kind of firm is McKensie Lowman?

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

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

Coming Home Tour Countdown - BP Deleted Scene

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

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"Song Lyric Prompt for NaNo '04"

(c) 2011, 2004 by Savannah J. Frierson


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

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

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

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

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

Yes, this clash was long overdue.

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

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

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

The boy who promised to protect her always.

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

It was the embrace of the way things could become.

Question Set #1 - Coming Home Tour Countdown

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

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

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

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

Good luck!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CSD: All grown up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BD: *pouts* You’re not funny, Ceelee.

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

BD: Freda’s still a bad influence—

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

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

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

CDS: Deshae flirts with everyone all the time.

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

Everyone groans except Jada, who giggles into my shoulder.

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

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

AM: Hello, love.

SJF: You shouldn’t call me that.

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

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

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

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

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

JCM: Let’s not discuss student loans.

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

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

BD: Excuse me?

CSD: Amen!

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

CSD: You’re sitting right here right now.

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

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

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

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

Jada glares at her husband.

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

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

AM: Double your pleasure, double your fun!

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

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

I squeeze Coralee’s hand.

SJF: That’s all I saw; I’m sorry.

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

CSD: Also known as your godson.

AM: Like that makes a difference!

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

AM: Operative word is boy!

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

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

CSD: Amen!

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

BD: It should!

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

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

BD: We’re different!

JCM: *snorts* Unicorns?

AM: Leprechauns!

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

AM: I don’t know the Italian equivalent.

JCM: How about an ass?

AM: *smirks* You like my ass.

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

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

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

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

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

JCM: Karma is such a beautiful thing!

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

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

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

JCM: Twenty-three years?

AM: That’s it?

They laugh as they kiss and Coralee winks at me.

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

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

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

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

JCM: I wanna be y’all when I grow up.

AM: I thought you wanted to be my parents.

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

SJF: *squeezes her shoulder* Sorry about that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BD: Interlopers.

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

BD: Ours is better—

JCM: Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry—

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

BD: Everyone says so!

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

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

Jada and Coralee hug me and Aaron stands, stretching.

AM: I’m hungry. Are you hungry?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JCM: Nothing like it at all!

So It Begins...COMING HOME Countdown!

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

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

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

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

Good luck and thank you all for your support!

Coming Home to Atlanta!

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

The Seeds That Were Planted

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

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

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

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

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

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

*pats bb!Sav*

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

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

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

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

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

Romance Slam Jam 2011 - The Middle

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

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

I’m getting there, I promise…

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

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

2010 RSJ Cruise Recap

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

Wednesday through Friday

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday

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

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

I blame the liquor.

Sunday

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

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

Monday

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

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

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

Tuesday

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

We did no reading.

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

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

Wednesday

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

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

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

Speaking Truth to Power

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

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

Healing means telling everyone I’ve been lying.

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

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

Such is life.

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

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

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