I am thankful for my struggles because one thing they have taught me (the one trait I strive to maintain as part of my character) is humility. I understand that I am flawed, that there were a series of awakenings that ultimately led me to the truth, and that freedom didn’t find me whole, but in pieces. I don’t worry what others think of me because YAH is my only judge and I am allowed to be a work-in-progress. For this, I strive to have as much compassion on others as I can because I don’t have it all together and I will never pretend to. I didn’t wake up automatically understanding who I was. There were stepping stones to this. When dealing with people who may not know what I know, I remember that my resurrection happened in stages.
Check out this most excellent post from Shayla on writing a memoir. Number One is a most important point. I always wanted to write a memoir but I stopped writing the drafts and deleted the sneak peeks I’d shared with my email list (so embarrassing lol) and decided to start over. I’ve learned so much since then with one of the major things being the difference between a memoir and autobiography.
1. Learn the differences between a memoir and an autobiography.
A common mistake is to pour your heart and soul into a book and market it as the wrong genre. An autobiography is a chronological telling of your life, but a memoir hones in on a specific timeline or event. It doesn’t mean you can’t have flashbacks or backstory; you can. But you must understand the big and subtle differences between the two before you write, publish, and market your story.
Ask yourself:
Does my story reflect on my entire life (autobiography), or a key aspect, theme, or event (memoir)?
Does my story start at the beginning of my life and progress to the end (autobiography), or does it start anywhere and move around in time and place (memoir)?
Does my story require hours of fact-checking (autobiography), or is it more personal, requiring less fact-checking (memoir)?
“A memoir is how one remembers one’s own life, while an autobiography is history, requiring research, dates, facts double-checked.”
—Gore Vidal, Palimpsest
Read more of Shayla’s Guest Post by clicking through to the original post here.
Join me on The Story Reading Ape Blog with Chris! Tonight, I am talking the power of being prepared using my bookstore journey as an example. Come on over!
If you’ve been following The PBS Blog you know that I have been on a bookstore journey where I am visiting bookstores to see if I can better understand the process. The update is that I’ve been stocked in one store, two are currently reviewing two of my books, and I am hosting a double book signing event this month. Today, I would like to share a few things I’ve learned about the power of being prepared and how it has allowed me to cut through a lot of red tape.
But first, why bookstores? Aren’t brick and mortars over and done with? Not quite. Large stores like Barnes and Noble may be on the decline but Independent Bookstores are making a comeback which can have major positive benefits for Self-Publishers.
PBS is short for Pearls Before Swine and is a term that comes from Matthew 7:6 of the bible:
Mat 7:6 “Do not give what is set-apart to the dogs, nor throw your pearls before the pigs, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you in pieces.
In this context, pearls are symbolic of the word, truth. It’s precious, delicate, and priceless. A pig, on the other hand, is a filthy and unclean animal. Anything you put in front of a pig he will either eat it or step over it. When you give a pair of pearls to someone who wants it they will accept it, protect it, and value it.
But, if you give a pair of pearls to a pig he will tear it apart. Some people are pigs and will not accept what you have to offer. When you give people the truth not everyone will value it or take care of it. Some people will take their disagreements and turn their anger on you. When this happens, it’s important to step back and not allow yourself to be put in a situation in which a pig will trample your pearls.
If people don’t want the truth, don’t force it on them because the truth is precious and should be protected. Thus, “don’t cast your pearls before swine.”
My views are controversial to some so it gets a bit heated on this blog! I don’t follow trends or jump on bandwagons. I am my own person. If the majority says the sky is blue, I will probably say the sky is really black. Maybe the sky is only blue because of the sun’s light reflecting off the water and when the sun sets, maybe that’s when we see the sky for what it really is, black.
I don’t do a lot of talking but what I am passionate about I will speak upon. I don’t shy away from the truth or bite my tongue when the spirit compels me to speak just because it makes people uncomfortable. As Malcolm would say, “I don’t scratch my head unless it itches and I don’t dance unless I hear music.” I believe a person can be both humble and firm in their beliefs at the same time without forcing those beliefs on others.
The truth should never be forced. There’s no reason for it. The truth defends itself by just being.
“You can’t help it. An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned, is to reflect the times.”
– Nina Simone
Because of the controversial nature of some of my topics, I need to remember not to “cast my pearls before swine.” Not to force-feed or argue back and forth with people who have already rejected what I offer. You can’t make people believe anything so I am not here to force anyone to agree with me or to see my point of view. I am not here for praise or applause. I am here to tell the truth, and to build with those who are in agreement with that truth.
I am not for everyone and everyone is not for me.
PBS is a reminder of that, of why I am here and what I must do and that’s why I stuck by the name.
The Tagline
“Because Truth is Stranger Than Fiction”
When I first started this blog someone reached out to me. They said that I had made a mistake. They thought I had meant to say that truth is stronger than fiction. No. I did not mean stronger. I meant stranger.
“Truth is Stranger Than Fiction” isn’t just a fancy tagline put together by a writer of fiction; not something I dug up between the inspirations of Mark Twain. What it seeks to communicate is the notion that nothing we can create can be as unusual as what we find in actual life, and speaks metaphorically of the unsettling realness of truth. The “strangeness” of reality. You think something is weird until you find out just how deep the rabbit hole goes. You think my blog name is weird until you understand what it means.
Mission, Purpose Goal
My mission for this blog is to spread truth through the written and spoken word. Whether we are talking biblical truths, historical truths, writer/authorly truths, or my personal truths. To paint poetic justice against the backdrop of heavy keystrokes is my motto.
To paint poetic justice means to use my writing as an underground railroad to freedom. If people can’t be liberated in their own lives, I hope that my writing can provide a road-map. Of course, this isn’t easy to do considering the heavy misinformation, deception, and religious ideologies that have enslaved us for so long. These are the heavy keystrokes.
Here you will find:
Poetry
Articles (various topics)
Creative Writing
Indie Author / Self-Publishing Tips
Blog Tips
Inspirational Quotes
Biblical Analysis
Black History
Music / Throwback Jams
So there you have it. Doesn’t sound so weird now does it? Tell the truth 😁.
They say it’s the ones with the dirtiest hands pointing the finger. That the world is fake on social media, where we hold our masks together long enough to log off. People pointing fingers and laughing at their neighbors while they pretend to be someone else…until no one’s looking. We forget that integrity is less about what you post and more about your heart. Is it in sync? What of our actions behind each others backs? Studying is not for taking pictures of scripture but for showing yourself approved. Bibles are not meant to be in pictures and blamelessness is not a selfie. To be upright for the sake of a post is not integrity. So unless your presence here is a reflection of your true self, that armor you’re carrying is not armor. It is weight. The unnecessary burden of trying to fit in when you were meant to stand out.
I don’t know how to feel half-heartedly
how to passion
sparsely
how to love raindrops at a time.
I don’t know how to half
shine.
So I apologize.
I am sorry if my sun
burned your skin.
If I came in too hot
or if I am sometimes too cold
a forest of ice
and long blades of frozen grass
bowing under the weight
of bitter winds.
A breath of vapor
purple lips
and chattering teeth.
I promise you that this heart of stone
is really just flesh
learning to beat one pulse at a time
just don’t ask me to half
shine.
I don’t know how to feel half-heartedly
I cannot promise not to love you
dangerously
for I am all
or nothing.
“Alright, girl, here’s another one. This here from Caroline down the road”, said Pearl.
Molly rolled her eyes, “Alright, put it on the table.”
“Whew, child. You mind if I oblige myself to this here sofa? All this running around, can’t be healthy.” Pearl heaved in and out as she sat down, lighting a cigarette. She closed her eyes, savoring the nicotine in her throat before releasing it into the air.
Molly chuckled, “Did you just say running can’t be healthy?”
Pearl cut her eyes at Molly, smiled, and answered by taking another long pull from the cigarette. Pearl was a big girl, and proud of it. She had a plump backside, wide hips, thick legs, and big breasts. So is the make-up of all the Tate’s.
“Girl, you know I can’t be losing no weight. Charles will have a fit. Have me walking around here looking all sick like y’all skinny heifers,” said Pearl as Molly laughed.
“I’m serious. Shoot, the bigger the berry, the sweeter the juice.”
“No you didn’t!” laughed Molly. Pearl joined in. She cracked herself up.
Molly glanced over the table, almost completely covered with German Chocolate cake, sweet potato pies, greens, macaroni and cheese, yams, baked beans; you name it, it was here.
“She’s not dead, you know,” Molly spoke from nowhere.
“What?”
“All of this support. It’s like everyone’s acting like this is some kinda repass. Like my daughter is dead or something.”
Pearl let the cigarette die out in the ashtray. Whatever kinda buzz she had, Molly just blew it.
“They just tryna be supportive is all. You know how country folk are. Your child is their child. The men folk are out looking and the women folk are at home cooking. That’s how it is.”
“They will find her.”
Pearl shrugged, “Humph, I know they will. Got the dogs, NAACP and everything else. They better find her.”
“I mean alive. They’re going to find her alive. I can feel her, Pearl.” Molly thought about the last time she saw her very own mother that night on the porch, cold and tired. She wondered for a moment if that’s how Nora felt right now: alone, cold, and tired. Molly wanted to feed her. To give her all this food that was made for her.
Pearl sat back on the sofa, Here we go again. She wasn’t entirely honest with Molly, but everyone wore the same consensus on their hearts. There was a strong possibility they were not going to find Nora alive. No one wanted to give her credit because she talked too much. Miss Irene talked entirely too much and spoke with an unfiltered tongue, but what she said was true. Children in 1922 Mississippi didn’t just run away.
First, no one would let them. Besides their parents, there were just too many eyes watching, which is what makes it hard to believe no one saw anything. This was the South and you had not one parent or two, you had forty, fifty, and sixty. The whole colored community. People looked out for each other and someone, somewhere was always watching.
Still, she didn’t know how to break the news to her friend that she should prepare her heart for the unthinkable. Besides, she had her Marie to think about and she didn’t know what she’d do if something happened to her. If there was one thing her parents taught her, it was putting yourself in other people’s shoes. “That the onliest way to sympathize wit ‘em,” her father would say. “You gotta be able to feel where they been, where they walked, and then you can help ‘em ‘cause you knows. You knows in your heart what they been through and where they is.”
“She gone be alright, Molly. She gone be alright.”
Pearl lit her cigarette again, leaned back on the sofa, looked at the table, and prayed her words were true
Grab your copy of Renaissance today. Part two is on its way!
Yecheilyah and Nora at The Nubian Bookstore in Morrow, GA. Copyright©2017 Yecheilyah Ysrayl.
The PBS Blog 