Black Love; my truth

It's February and there are two things in the air: love and blackness. And to combine the two is like whoa!

Black love is so complex. I hear the sighs and see the head-shakes...the whispers challenging that ALL love is complex, and that may be true. But that isn't my truth.

I only know of Black love.

Love as in memories of being seated between my mommy's thighs while she greased my scalp, of being held by my father after a whipping and being told, "I'm doing this because I love you. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you."

I'm speaking of a love that makes my man grab my hand, intertwining our fingers, while being followed in the store...Black love.

The kind of love that knows struggle to the point it makes us emotionally bound even though we are strangers...Black love.

A love that makes our hips ride bass lines because we have jungle in our blood...Black love.

Through our kinks, relaxers, press and curls, we gather together gossiping about this Black love and that Black love; getting gorgeous for the Black love at home.

Waiting for bald fades, line-ups, ceasers, and goatee trims, Black love floats through the air in the form of jokes, jives, and high fives.

As we waltz through February, I look forward to being more aware of the complexity of Black love. How about you?

Stay peace

Monday Night FreeStyle

To Be Continued

It isn't the way I move my hips
slightly out of tune
as if my momma wasn't black
that makes my rhythm unique

It isn't the way my hair kinks and curls
with no destination
as if my roots have a mind of their own
that makes my style 'ethnic'

It isn't the way I love my man
through hills and valleys
as if our chemistry is magnetic
that makes me a greater woman

And

It isn't the way I hold my children
through night terrors and soiled diapers and teen angst
as if they are appendages of my soul
that makes me mother of the year

It's the way that I smile
It's the heartiness of my laughter
It's the birthmark in the white of my eye
the smirk defining my sarcastic nature
the way I love my double D's
the power of my voice
the reason in the depth of my decisions
the empathy I carry on my sleeve
the tears I refuse to shed
the violence I do not partake in
the adoration of my melanin
the thirst for knowledge I have
the hunger for equality burning righteously within me
the way I purse my lips before I bless someone
the tumbles and turns of life that I refuse to let hold me back

that defines me
all that I am

and in this moment
I realize I am all that
and more

So no, it isn't my penchant for vintage clothing that makes me a throwback girl
And it isn't my disdain for designer labels that makes me frugal
It's my reality of me
And it could be that I'm just cheap
haven't dug that deep
I am to be continued

Stay peace

genesis

I'll NEVER Accept It

I've seen a lot of things. But there are somethings that I refuse to accept, no matter how often I see them...

A few weeks ago I went to court with a co-worker and my stomach literally knotted when I saw a boy, no older than 16, in a prison jumpsuit and shackles. And I can't deny that I probably would have cried... in the car... had I driven myself. It's one thing to see it on television and something totally different when it's all up in your face. He was a baby... is a baby.

And I can't tell you that I wasn't seeing through a mother's eyes. I'm a mother no matter what my occupation is and it isn't a role you can just switch off and on. When I saw this child, something struck a nerve. I even put the entire situation in perspective... he wasn't there because he was 'child of the year'... broke the law in some way. Maybe he killed someone, maybe he cursed out the wrong cop, maybe he's a victim of racial profiling, maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe he beat up his mom... or sold drugs, was a pimp, was a runner, or just the cool guy who didn't flee....

I made up all these 'stories' about him, 'cause I didn't know him. But still... seeing a young person, in prison-issued garments... shackled wrists to hips, ankle to ankle... will never be something I can accept. Ever. 'Cause it isn't supposed to be that way...

Where are we failing? And what's working? When we begin to look at the things that are keeping kids out of juvenile detention centers, we'll be in a better position for really executing change.


Stay peace

5+2=7 But that doesn't make any sense....

My son came to me wide-eyed and jittery. As he held up two wiggly fingers on one hand and five on the other, he said, "Mommy, two plus five equals seven. And four plus three equals seven. But that doesn't make any sense." I couldn't tell if he was excited or confused, but I'm guessing it was a bit of both. "Baby, there are many ways to add things up to equal seven. And there are many ways you can subtract things from each other that equal seven. There is more than one way to get all numbers."

Even though he said, "Ok," I know this was not enough for him. But he scampered away holding up seven fingers and shaking his head. His innocent, six year-old thoughts gave me pause. How old was I when I realized there was more to reality than my perspective? When will he realize this?

He's at a stage in life where, though he recognizes black and white, grey doesn't exist. Either you're good or bad...right or wrong.

His perception made me think about a question my husband asked me before Obama became our President-elect; How can we tell our son Obama didn't win?

With such immature rationale, how would I have been able to tell him that without answering why questions in a way he'd understand? How would I have been able to show him that collectively, we can do ALL things under Christ? What would my proof have been? I can't put up fingers and 'show' him why Obama lost.

Not only will I not have to answer these questions (though I'm sure there are many tough questions to be answered), I will not have to prematurely cloud my six year old's mind with other perceptions he won't understand...yet.

But what he did understand was Obama was the only way to go. One day, he'll understand that since we've had our 'Obama' moment, there has to be many more ways that will equal (and surpass) the perception of our people and our nation. But it's up to us, it's up to our sons and daughters, and their sons and daughters... we make up this nation and it's only fair that we are represented.

So be mindful of where your children are mentally. Listen to what they know so you can build upon it; make it better. But don't wait. Today is the day. The older they get, the easier it will be for television, radio, internet, and their just-as-naive friends to infiltrate their thoughts and distort reality and for whose greater good?

Happy Sunday!


Obama - Luther King by *BenHeine on deviantART

That's what you get for thinking...

Learning that people aren't what they appear to be, situations are much deeper than what's on the surface, and visions are flawed is a phenomena that most of us encounter daily. And when faced with the opposite of what we thought was going on most times seem surprising, it really only informs us of our biases, preconceived notions, and the stereotypical nature that festers in all of us.

After I all but confessed my ignorance of some things, I can remember my father saying many times, "That's what you get for thinking." Though he never told me exactly what that meant. I get it now. Thanks daddy!

The Write Way #3 I Hear Voices

Yes, I hear voices and they aren't from dead people. But I'm not the only person who hears them. Every author in blank-pagedom hears them. They wake us from the most comfortable slumber. They speak to us when other people are speaking to us. Yes, they are rude little voices. And irritating, at times.

Our characters have a way of birthing themselves. And these aren't normal births where the newborn starts out at 8 lbs., 2 ounces and 19 inches long or even start as embryos in our wombs. Most time, we're birthing adults, the elderly, and even some speaking from the grave. Damn, I know I said the voices weren't from dead people. Guess I lied. They're coming into existences as bratty-ass teens, snot nosed toddlers...hell, they're even drug addicts and prostitutes.

The only thing we can do to stop these voices from overtaking us is to write them, the way they want to be written. But here's the trick....you have to also incorporate your own voice in what you write. Since these voices aren't about you, have nothing to do with you, and only want to use you, you better learn how to speak up for yourself and say, "This is how I will write about you." You have to come to terms that you'll have some dick-head in your story that you may not like. Or some whiny-ass woman who grates at your jugular. But you also have to find a happy medium between their voices and yours. A lot of writers make this mistake. Let's see if I can explain it.

When your characters speak (read: dialogue). It's their time to shine. But every other place in the work-in-progress is all about the writer's voice. Sure, you'll have to paint pictures of what your character is doing and how they're feeling, but this is where your voice comes in. This is where you make your mark. The voices you constantly hear know nothing about using too many adjectives and adverbs. They don't know when modifiers dangle... It's how you handle the in-between what they do know...

I'm still finding my voice so the only thing I can say to help you along is continuing writing how you write to find your own. What I know is you can't let your characters write your whole book for you. Don't depend on them for everything.

So what do you have to say about character's voices vs. writer's voices ?

Stay tuned for The Write Way #4 Tell me what you want, Gina, dayum!

Avoid the lines. VOTE early!!

Thursday Thirteen #6-The Name Game

The Name Game ( I borrowed it from Bizarre JC)

1.Your rock star name (first pet, current car): Dog Contour

2.Your gangsta name (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Mint Chocolate Chip Sneakers (uggg...that's just trife and soooo not gangsta!)

3.Your Native American name (favorite color, favorite animal): Brown cat

4.Your soap opera name (middle name, city where you were born): Jacque' (and no, it isn't pronounced Jackie or Jackay) Cleveland

5.Your Star Wars name (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 of your first name): Fradar

6.Superhero name (2nd favorite color, favorite drink): Blue coffee (I guess you wouldn't want me to help you with that type of name)

7.NASCAR name (the first names of your grandfathers): Leon George

8.Dancer name (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy): Chloe Narcisse Sweet Tart

9.TV weather anchor name (your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter): Deadwyler Detroit

10.Spy name (your favorite season/holiday, flower): Fall Sunflower

11.Cartoon name:(favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now): Banana Nightgown

12.Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree): Apple dumpling Bonsai

13.Movie star name (first pet's name, first street where you lived): Snowball Quimby

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