Tag: pbs

Guest Feature – “Alla my stuff”

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somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff
not my poems or a dance I give up in the street
but somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff
like a kleptomaniac workin hard & forgettin while stealin
this is mine / this ain’t yr stuff /
now why don’t you put me back & let me hang out in my own self
somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff
& didn’t care enuf to send a note home sayin
I waz late for my solo conversation
or two sizes too small for my own tacky skirts
what can I do wit something of no value on
a open market / did you getta dime for my things
hey man / where are you goin wid alla my stuff
I see ya hidin my laugh
I want my stuff back
my rhythms & my voice
this is some delicate leg & whimsical kiss / I gotta have to give to my choice
now you can’t have me less I give me away

– Ntozake Shange, For Colored Girls

Writing Desire

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As the hours turn into days and days into weeks and weeks into months and months into years, what keeps a writer writing? This is a question posed by writers, bloggers, poets, victims of writer’s block, etc. It is a question begged to be answered by the blank stare of white paper, literally or digitized into Word Documents and notepads. But the answer is simple: what keeps a writer writing is his desire to write. His need to pluck at random thoughts and stitch them into language. Sometimes it is a line or two, sometimes a whole paragraph, sometimes an entire manuscript, sometimes a poem, anything to keep writing; a transcribed confession of the heart that must be communicated on paper. Anything you want to do can only be done if you want to do it. It is a lesson that applies to positive and negative, good and bad, right and wrong. To right my wrong I have to want to do it. To strengthen my right I have to want to do it. To write I have to want to write.

imagesWriters are often told that doing more of it sharpens the skill, this is true. You’ll become more familiar with your individual writing style and your individual writing voice by doing it more. But the key to getting this far is to actually want to do it. What are you willing to sacrifice to ensure that you keep writing? Perhaps you’d like to set aside 15 minutes a day. This alone can make a big difference in shaping your writing habits and inspiring you to want to write more. Whatever it is, there must be an unquenchable desire to write in order to continue to do so. This desire may be influenced by a lot of things, but nothing should be able to kill that influence itself. It is untainted by the greatness or failures of those before or behind you. They are just grand instruments striking a cord at your beloved longing. Striking against the wanting in your chest and fueling a fire that just makes you want to write even more. The desire to write, it is the undying flame, and the living water. Even if you are your own audience, your ambition to create and invent and revolutionize through words is something you always hold on to.

NEW BOOK – Stella: Between Slavery and Freedom

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This February (exact date coming soon) I will be releasing a new project entitled Stella, a short story about the lives of two women living in two different time periods, their experiences colliding in an explosion of emotional revelations:

Cynthia insists she’s not a racist, and while many of her points about the state of Black America are valid, she still doesn’t believe Blacks should have the same rights as whites. She believes America has come a long way, but that integration has kept it from going further. One day, Cynthia and her boyfriend Alex decide to visit Cynthia’s Grandmother, and happen upon information that will change their lives forever.

Raised under the protection of her mother and the field hands, Stella is unaware that she is a slave. Not being accustomed to hard labor things change when Mama dies and she falls into the cruel hands of “Mars Saddler”. Years later, when The Louisiana Constitutional Convention of 1864 abolishes slavery in the parish, Stella learns of Saddlers plan to keep her on the plantation. She then agrees to accompany Saddlers daughter Miss Carla and her husband John to The Windy City.

Together, Cynthia and Stella learn the hard way the difference between slavery and freedom.

Stella will be available in the following formats as well as in print:

Apple iBookstore, Barnes & Noble NOOK, Amazon Kindle, Kobo, and everything else. Visit http://www.theliterarykorner.com for additional details.

Dreaming

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They tell you to keep dreaming, but I am on a mission to stop the flow of dreams. To stumbling block my way through imagination, and the influence of certain memory. You see, there’s a secret to all these dreams. A hushed lullaby of awareness kept sacred within the chambers of understanding. A secret left deserted amidst the open square of objectives and goals and missions, and all this talk of entrepreneurship. It is easy to get lost here. To be an off scale balance of myth and reality. A sleep walking fantasy of coming and going wrapped up in fragmented steps and plans. Dreamers strive to illustrate the future with their talents, and to breathe life into the stillness of pictures that once belonged in books. Their striving is admirable to say the least since I too have goals I wish to accomplish. Yet while accomplishing them I’d hope to do so while awake; in the depth and breadth of consciousness. To never be put into a situation where I lose track of myself for the sake of adding humanity to fairy tales. The greatest achievement means nothing to the person who has lost track of themselves, and have opted to be boxed in, and to be mentally limited. It’s OK to have goals, but be not the sacrificial lamb to your greatest dreams. Do not do away with goal and objective, but be careful under the concept of dreaming, since to dream, you have to first be asleep.

Hide and Seek with Spring

One minute its warm and then the temperature takes a bow. He’s too clever to crouch, for then I will notice him. So yes, a bow will do. Just enough to add to the confusion of the weather. But today. Oh no today I’m on to him. It’s so very nice outside. Plus, I have seen splashes of yellows and trees budding reds. I have felt the gentle brush of warm air crawl upon my skin. I have watched the sun hopscotch with children and then hide behind the clouds again. I have seen the shelves of stores dressed in organic soil and flower pots. I awake to the kiss of sunlight nibbling at my face, though by the time I make it to the window you vanish before I could let you in. I approach the patio to get a taste of a calming breeze, then shutter at the sight of goosebumps on my skin. My short sleeves and dresses lay intermingled with my sweaters and jeans, poor things. They are confused in this maze of a world, this puzzle of a decision. My blinds are open again, trying to catch up with you. I’m sure the twinkle of the stars is really laughter. I think I even saw them slap high fives with the moon, for I am the peeping tom of the sky. Over here playing hide and seek with spring.