Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts

Friday, May 29, 2009

Where I'll Be This Weekend--Atlanta, GA

Yes, I'm one of the authors. :)


May 30th, 2009 promises to be a full-day literary experience, starting with Book Marketing Mastermind Session Breakfast Buffet from 9:30-11:30 a.m. at Wyndham Garden Hotel, 175 Piedmont Ave. NE, Atlanta 30306.

http://www.panomedia.net/clients/wyndham/tours/ATLWY/vr1.html
Admission: $25 Breakfast Only/$40 for Full Day Pass

Breakfast includes a marketing and promotion brainstorming session.

*Readers: Please note FREE book inc. with Full Day Pass AND Uptown Admission tickets ONLY.

Next, we'll take the hotel shuttle ($5.00 R/T) to the Peachtree Branch Library, 1315 Peachtree St. NE, Atlanta 30309 from 12:30-2 p.m. for readings by authors (including, but not limited to):

  • Gail McFarland (Summer Wind, The Best for Last, When Love Calls, Lady Killer, All for Love, Dream Runner and If Ever)
  • Diane DorcĂ© (Loving Penny, Devil in the Mist, Bloggers' Delight and 54 Broad Street)
  • Ja Adams (Chameleon, Purple Haze and Unfinished Business)
  • Brooklyn Darkchild (This Ain't No Hearts and Flowers Love Story, Part 1 and 2)
  • Jean Holloway (Ace of Hearts and Black Jack)
  • John R. Williams (The Reunion, C.E.L.L., Daddy and Me, What Could Have Been; the Saint, the Sinner, and the Attempt)
  • Danyelle Scroggins (Not Until You're Ready)
  • TL James (Mpire: In Search of the Lost and Mpire: Death Cometh)
  • Sharon Oliver (Keep Your Enemies Closer, Deliver Me From My Enemies)
  • DeiIra Collard-Smith (Love, Lust & a Whole Lotta Distrust and Secrets, Sins and Shameful Lies)

Final stop: The 'Quadruple A' (African American Authors in Atlanta) Literary Event from 3-7 p.m. at The Uptown Restaurant & Lounge, 201 Courtland St., Atlanta 30303.

http://www.uptownrestaurantandlounge.com

Authors & readers will get to meet and mingle (and buy or sell, of course.) I will have more details on the author lineup as they come in. There will be light hors'dourves and a cash bar.

All three venues are within a 5 mile radius! Please come enjoy the day with us.
The Uptown Restaurant & Lounge - General Admission: $25

Readers: Admission includes one (1) personally autographed book from the attending author of your choice. Authors are donating book giveaway, but if one runs out, please have a second choice.


Thinking of coming from out of town? Please let me know ASAP. I've worked a deal ($89/night, King or double Queen) with the Wyndham Garden Hotel which is walking distance to The Uptown Restaurant & Lounge. You will also be able to use the hotel shuttle ($5.00 R/T) to and from the club.

Tell everyone you think would be interested. The venues are sharp! I'm excited!
Questions? Please contact me via email with 'Quad A' as the subject.
Peace,
Jean Holloway
jeanholloway@deckofcardz.com
www.deckofcardz.com

Monday, March 09, 2009

Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry (and anyone else you deigns to listen)

Well, I've moved. I'm now in sunny, warm, South Carolina in my new apartment doing laundry. And blogging on something I've been wanting to blog on since Friday, but the site was throwing a tantrum but I couldn't.

Oh, well.

Anyway, I'm here, and I'm going to stalk about Mildred D. Taylor's Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry and why this novel is THE novel that started my love for reading and in many ways has influenced my writing. And even a decade and a half later, it is still at the top of my favorite books of all time. I love this book, it's as poignant now as as it was when I first read it. I think this will be a book, and this will be a series, I'll continue to read well into my eighties (Lord willing!).

In the beginning of the novel, Ms. Taylor says her father was a master storyteller, a trait he clearly passed on to his daughter. The choice to use Cassie as the narrator was brilliant because female voices were rarely heard during that time or even in the 70s when Ms. Taylor wrote the book--especially black female voices. Coupled with that, I don't think a male narrator would be able to highlight the gender differences and nuances the way a woman could; just like a white character couldn't discern the racial differences and nuances the way a nonwhite character could. More importantly, through Cassie, the reader is allowed to see the entire breadth of black family life in the 1930s South in a way an adult narrator would probably take for granted. There is the innocence and fun along with the terror and stress of what it meant to be black during that time.

And folks, I can honestly say I don't think I would've been able to make it.

Cassie is about three years younger than my grandmother, which means my grandmother is Stacey's age. Reading this book, especially towards the end and how the night riders really had the right to do whatever they wanted to black people and could get away with it...that David Logan had to burn a quarter of his crop so he could save the life of a black boy not even of his blood...wow. Black people during this time never had post-traumatic stress because there was never a "post", it was just traumatic stress every day. Can't get a good night sleep because you have no idea if you said or did something to piss off a white person. Tiptoeing in your own backyard because the laws weren't meant to protect you, were meant to be used against you, having to have those "hard" conversations with your children that white parents would never even fathom to have with theirs.

And those conversations still happening today, even if the language of it is a bit different.

I remember reading that book and believing in my heart of hearts I was Cassie Logan even though I'd never picked cotton a day in my life; or had to walk barefoot for an hour just to go to class; or had my dignity shat upon because "that was the way of things"; or having to see my parents capitulate to white people even though everyone in the situation knew those very white people were wrong. And yet...I was still told all of this growing up, warned, cautioned. I remember my uncle (may he rest in peace, as last week was the fifth anniversary of his passing) tell me to never show how smart I am to other people. I took that lesson to heart because he'd never steer me wrong and I loved him. And now that I'm older, I realize why he told me that. Because showing how smart you were was the quickest way to land yourself into trouble, specially if it were proven you were smarter than someone white. In many ways I'm still unlearning that, especially when it comes to my writing and putting myself out there. Basically, I need to own up to the fact that I am as good as I think I am, which is really hard to do when you've been taught to be humble, almost to the point of making yourself invisible, and have been very good at it for the majority of your formative years.

Although I don't think your "formative" years stop until you die.

Roll of Thunder is one of the main reasons family is such an important theme in my writing, or why my supporting characters almost mean as much to me as my main characters. Every person in that novel meant something to Cassie, even if that character was mentioned on page 57 and was never spoken of again. And while it's not a romance, it's a love story because it shows the love Cassie's family has for each other, the love the family has for the land, the love Cassie has for herself despite an entire society telling her why she shouldn't.

In many ways, nine-year-old Cassie is who I aspire to be, who my heroines aspire to be. To have that much self-knowledge and efficacy despite everything...that girl was blessed. Yes, her parents shielded her from a lot, and she had to grow up real fast between the beginning and end of the novel, but the essence of her remained the same. That impetuous, unfiltered sense of justice and demanding it; knowing you're worth dignity and respect and becoming damn affronted when it's not given instead of "accepting it as things are"--Cassie is the real definition of heroine to me. I don't mean to be all lofty about it, but she is who I want to reclaim, who I think a lot of black women want to reclaim. I think as black women grow older, a lot of us give up our inner Cassie so we can "make our way and make do", but we miss her. We really do. I know I do.

I'm slowly getting her back, though. And when I write my heroines, I try to get them back to their "inner Cassie" also. Because until you have her, I don't think you can truly, truly fall in love. And maybe it's when you're falling you realize how much you've missed her, how much you need her back so you don't fall so far you forget about yourself completely.

*rubs chin in thought* I'll have to let that bit marinate some more...

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

BAN Interview 10/28/08 @ 9PM EST

Hello everyone,

I have an interview on BAN tonight at 9PM EST. I'll be discussing The Beauty Within and even reading from it.

I hope you can make it!

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Boston Book Bazaar--October 18th from 12 PM - 7 PM


Hi, Everyone,

If you are in the Boston area today, please stop by the Boston Book Bazaar. I will be signing The Beauty Within, AJ's Serendipity, and Being Plumville. And I may also do a reading.

Hope to see you there!

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The Beauty Within Viritual Release on Black Author Network!

EDC Creations
THE BEAUTY WITHIN
INTERNET BOOKSIGNING

Hello Readers,
Don't miss this exciting new book release party. Listen to BAN radio, as Ella Curry meets featured author Savannah Frierson.
Join us TONIGHT, Tuesday, October 14, 2008 at 9-10pm EST for a Live Interview as we discuss "THE BEAUTY WITHIN " a romance novel by Savannah Frierson. You are invited to join our interactive chat with the author and other readers. There will be autographed copies of the book given away to the 10th and 20th registered BlogTalkRadio chatters.

This fantastic virtual book signing is brought to you by Ella Curry of EDC Creations found at www.edc-creations.com. EDC Creations would like to thank all the readers for following along with our book showcases and offering their support for the authors and business owners. We look forward to getting to know the new readers and literary supporters we continue to meet along the way.

Thank you!

beauty

THE BEAUTY WITHIN
by Savannah Frierson | ISBN: 978-1-4357-5329-7

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, 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?

Join us on the BAN Radio show
www.blogtalkradio.com/Black-Author-Network
Time: 9pm-10pm EST -- TONIGHT!
Author and speakers dial-in number: (646) 200-0402

Chat live with the guests in our chat room during the show





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.

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.

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.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Finally Updated the Web Site

I spent the better part of the morning updating SJF Books. I'm tired. I'm going to continue reading Jewel by Beverly Jenkins now.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Proofreading and Novels

I'm not going to call out the current book I'm reading, nor am I going to call out the publishing house of said book, but suffice to say, whoever proofread/edited this book needs to be on probation. All of the mistakes keep knocking me out of the story, and maybe it's unfair because I proofread for a living, but if someone cannot catch that the surname of a character changes TWICE on THE SAME PAGE . . . there's an issue. And "too" =/= "to", and "generally" =/= "genuinely", etc. I mean, I know my own books might have some mistakes in them--hell, I've seen them--but everyone knows it's hard as hell to proofread/edit your own books because your brain automatically fills in the right word/spelling. But when you HIRE someone else to do it, you at least hope for semi-vigilant scouring of the text to make sure it is as crisp and clean as possible. And don't get me started on how I see more of this in IR/MC fiction than not, regardless if the publisher is e-pub, black pub, or "mainstream" pub (and that, everyone is a completely different post/rant for another time). If the leg up of traditional publishers to self-publishers is that you have more access to more resources, why can't one of these said resources include proofreaders? I've read WAY too many IR/MC books that are riddled with mistakes that you just don't see with the white romances (there, I said it). Now, I can't even begin to think of why, and I'm not even going to go militant with it, but if folks think people who read IR/MC don't want to see the cleanest prose possible, then they are sadly mistaken. We want quality, and I definitely demand it. I try my best to provide it when I write and proofread--proofread to the point I'm sick of my own damn story, but I can't afford another set of eyes to read. That's why I also think it's on the onus of the writer(s) to be as in command of grammar/vocabulary as possible, and don't just rely on F7, because F7 only does so much (remember, to/two/too are all spelled correctly; it doesn't mean they are being used correctly.) And even the "grammar check" only does so much. You HAVE to read over your work. I hated doing it when I had to write my papers in high school and college, and Lord knows if I'd cared enough back then to do it, I would've had higher grades! But this type of writing, the type of writing one day, God willing, will be my livelihood, I damn well do care, and I don't think it's too much for me to ask that publishers and authors care much more about the cleanliness of their product as well.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

If Beale Street Could Talk

Read this book. Please, please, please read this book. It is beautiful in its grit, rawness, and despair because despite all the foolishness the central characters have to deal with, they love each other. This is a black man (James Baldwin) writing about a black woman (Tish) who is so very loved by a black man, (Fonny) and vice versa (because apparently we can't do that anymore). They are not beautiful people. He isn't tall with rippling muscles and a six-pack. She doesn't have curves that rival a mountain road and she wouldn't be gracing any Cosmos anytime soon. They are simply two young-adult black people in the '70s who love each other. He has nothing to offer her but his love, but I swear to all that is holy, I'd rather have a man like Fonny Hunt than the world's wealthiest and most handsome CEO. And the fact Fonny is in some serious trouble and Tish loves him. Tish's family rallies around him, so does Fonny's father. These people aren't wealthy. They all have rough edges. They cuss. They drink. They steal. But they love, and they love HARD and they love genuinely and they love true.

He stopped and looked at me, very quiet, very hard: there was a hardness in him I had barely sensed before. Within this hardness moved his love, moved as a torrent or as a fire moves, above reason, beyond argument, not to be modified in any degree by anything life might do. I was his, and he was mine--I suddenly realized that I would be very unlucky and perhaps a dead girl should I ever attempt to challenge this decree. (p. 76-77, Vintage)


Can I write like that when I grow up? Lawd, just . . . read this book. You won't regret it. It's not a romance, it's a love story, the kind that just makes you really thankful that there is such a thing as love despite all the other foolishness life can throw at you.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Happy Fourth!

I hope everyone is enjoying the day off, and if you don't have the day off . . . sorry? I hope at least it's overtime you're earning today!

Well, update on my writing . . . got another rejection for RJC from an agent. I didn't get passed the query stage with this one. It's a little disconcerting, but meh. I know it happens in the lit game. I just got shoved back a few steps, but I'm keeping on trucking.

On Monday I met with David Updike, he's a coworker of my godmother's sister, and his son actually works where I work, and he went to Harvard and he's John Updike's son. It was good to talk to him, to talk about self-publishing and the themes about it and how agents do and publishers do and how much it's about politics and business as much as talent--probably more so. I'm glad we got to talk. I'm reading his book Ivy's Turn and I like it so far. He has a good voice for teenagers, since that is the age of the two main characters.

And I'm writing, sort of. I'll leave it at that :).

Again, have a great day!

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Harper Lee: Dropping the Mic--A Tutorial

I just finished reading To Kill a Mockingbird today. Harper Lee is the most GANGSTA white woman evar in life. Okay, one of the most gangsta. I loved the book. Absolutely loved it. I'm in love with Atticus Finch. Do I care the man is fictional and old enough to be my great-granddaddy? Hells naw. His sense of humor was fantastic, but more than that, his sense of decency and respect. I just . . . you don't see people like that NOW, let alone back in the day, and him being a white person at that. The way he taught his lessons to Scout and Jem . . . the way he led by example, with quiet humility . . . they don't make me like him like that anymore, or if they do, they're invisible. Got to be.

But back to Goddess Lee . . . sheer brilliance to use a young white girl to narrate the story, someone who has yet to be prejudiced in the ways of the older generation, whose lessons are tempered with a man who is far ahead of his (and, let's face it) our time, whose older brother is a sponge to his father's lessons, to Dill, whose little heart is broken by the things he saw take place in the courthouse. Even Dolphus Raymond and Miss Maudie Atkinson and Mr. Heck Tate and Link Dees . . . Mr. Walter Cunningham who all teach Scout something about the politics and nuances of living in the South, nay, the country, and in turn, the reader. "Good" people do bad things, allow things to happen, place the onus on one so the entire community can go on like it does. That a town has no problem sending a man to his death because it's "inevitable", the speech Atticus makes, his closing argument . . . *fans self*. I wish there were more Atticuses in the country.

And THEN The fact she was one and done . . . I mean, does she need a follow up? She wrote what many writers aspire to write in one go. Do I care if Truman Capote helped her? Not one damn bit. HER name is on that book. Nothing wrong with assistance . . . Symbiotic relationships, if you will

Yeah, if you haven't read it, read it. This is a book I'm going to read again because I KNOW I missed some things the first time. Speaking of, I need to read Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry again. So overdue. That's a Comparative Lit paper if I ever read one!

Saturday, June 16, 2007

#1 NYT Bestseller

I just finished reading The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I figured if two different people recommend the book to me (and by two people, I mean these two people probably have no business knowing one other, being one was from SC and one was from Boston), then perhaps I should read it. I'm glad I did, and I understand why it was a bestseller, #1 at that. It was not a fun book to read, a nice fluffy book to read. It was a sad, melancholy book--written in the first person no less. There is rape, murder, suicide, betrayal, despair, hopelessness . . . and yet so simplistically human that one cannot help but to appreciate it. There were no fluffy words, overly-complex sentences that take away from the narrative. This was Mr. Hosseini's debut novel, and it was a fantastic one. It's not a romance, and I'll be honest and say I don't generally read non-romance books, but at the heart of it there is the desire for love, compassion, forgiveness. The reader takes a look in a place few people will ever visit, nor will they have the desire to visit, especially American readers. He humanized that demonized country of Afghanistan, and yet Mr. Hosseini's story of redemption isn't new. In fact, it is one of the oldest stories any human can tell. The ending wasn't neatly wrapped up with a bright bow on the top, but it was open-ended, allowing the reader to see the horizon of hope just as the protagonist does. The simple storytelling, and by simple I mean unobtrusive, is what I appreciated the most as a writer. No need to revolutionize the English language to write a compelling book after all. Straightforward writing, love it.

Anyway, I encourage folks to read it (because bestseller or not, one can never have too many readers of a book apparently :) ) and I'll check out Hosseini's latest book A Thousand Splendid Suns.