SJF Books Universe

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

Writing While Sleeping

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

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

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

(c) 2010 by Savannah J. Frierson

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

#deepthought

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

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

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

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

GO WITH YOUR HEART Available Now from Beautiful Trouble Publishing!

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

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

Go with Your Heart

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

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

Ask me anything

What was the biggest disappointment in your life thus far?

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

Ask me anything

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

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

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I will see you again," Nashoba said.

"In another four years?"

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

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

(c) 2010 by Savannah J. Frierson

New Release--"Trolling Nights: Interludes"

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

Best,

bana

~~~~

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

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

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

"TROLLING NIGHTS: INTERLUDES"

Brainstorming

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

Making Moves

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lillie Belle Jordan Glover: 1921 - 2010

&hearts

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.

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Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

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

Ask me anything

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

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

Ask me anything

Savannah Book Festival Recap

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

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

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

Never know who will relate to you sometimes.

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

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

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

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

It's February?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Been Quiet, I Know...

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

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

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