I WISH I could sit around with my feet up – but a sista is hard at work masterminding the publication of her very first novel. My editor is about to hit “send” on the final draft and I’m over here wondering if all my hard work, late nights, early mornings and constant wondering WWMCD (What Would My Characters Do) finally come to a happy culmination??
And better, yet – am I ready to do it all over again for the 2nd book in the series?
…ah, yeah, I am!
I’ve been busy working on some diversity and inclusion policies and protocols both at work and within my children’s school system…so I haven’t spent much time on my writing – instead, I’ve been trying to change my immediate community. I’d just like to say for the record, affecting change is HARD and takes a special kind of endurance.
Just the other day Civil Rights Legend & Georgia Representative , The Honorable John Lewis passed away. His lifelong fight for justice and equality is a testament to the continuing journey and we can all learn from the lessons he’s shared by his living his beliefs.
I spoke at my school board meeting on Thursday (virtually), and since I haven’t done so much fictional writing – I thought I’d share my speech instead. Here you go:
“I’m speaking today to call for the removal of the name, image, logo and reference to “Indian” as the sanctioned John Burroughs High School mascot. As I understand it, mascots fall under the purview of the Associated Student Body (or ASB) and if that is the case, I am asking this school board to provide an overall mandate that we cannot have racist and racially insensitive symbols representing our school community; and under this protocol, schools should adjust their mascots accordingly with a non-offensive symbol of their choice.
As the ruling body of the school district, I believe this is an authority this school board has, especially in light of the fact that the school board has fostered a district-wide diversity, inclusion and equity committee to help ensure Burbank schools are environments where employees, staff and students can feel safe and respected as they go about the business of education. On the district website today there are links to anti-racists resources. There are currently policies being worked on around anti-racism. And in no way can we appear to be consciously trying to expel racism from our schools if we continue to have a human being on the walls of John Burroughs gymnasium as a ‘good luck’ charm and to allow an environment where racist and stereotypical war cries and tomahawk chops are used to celebrate a three-point shot.
We know from the news that the rebranding of mascots is happening from high schools to professional football teams. I am from Washington, D.C. and I remember when Dan Snyder said he would never change the name. Today, he has received unprecedented pressure to become humanely correct, especially in this current climate of civil rights activism and the recent landmark decision by the Supreme Court affirming the Mohegan tribe’s claim to much of Oklahoma as part of a long ignored treaty and the shut down of the Dakota Access Pipeline as it, too, was on tribal land.
It is easy to say, that this mascot is a good-natured tradition. But there’s nothing good-natured about the use of this particular symbol. In 2005, the American Psychological Association levied a resolution recommending the retirement of American Indian mascots. They said:
‘The use of American Indian mascots as symbols in schools and university athletic programs is particularly troubling because schools are places of learning. These mascots are teaching stereotypical, misleading and too often, insulting images of American Indians. These negative lessons are not just affecting American Indian students; they are sending the wrong message to all students.’ – Former APA President Ronald F. Levant, EdD
You can go to apa.org and find the resolution for more information on their stance, which is an important one for this body, especially, since the whole mission of the board and the superintendents office is to provide sound education for children.
Just as significant, is what the overall indigenous community has to say about this. The National Congress of American Indians, the oldest, largest and most representative civil rights/advocacy organization for Native American and Alaskan Natives, has waged a campaign since the 1960s against the use of first peoples as mascots:
‘The intolerance and harm promoted by these “Indian” sports mascots, logos, or symbols, have very real consequences for Native people. Specifically, rather than honoring Native peoples, these caricatures and stereotypes are harmful, perpetuate negative stereotypes of America’s first peoples, and contribute to a disregard for the personhood of Native peoples.’
Since the time the Europeans first stepped foot on this land, Native Americans have suffered gross injustices and down right near extermination. They were in California long before Dr. David Burbank bought land from the Spanish, yet our curriculum pertaining to American history only starts when Columbus bumped into the Bahamas. We know that’s not the case.
We need to do better with representation of all people in our schools, especially our communities of color, and we can start with the very public and succinct action of mandating that we will not have racist imagery as part of our school district brand and remove harmful representative symbols from our schools.
Thank you.”
…no, really, he said this: “If you make a mistake and do not correct it, this is called a mistake.”
I’ve been reading The Essential Confucius while trying to hit the last edits on my book. To cheer myself up – or maybe just to feel less miserable?? – I’ve pulled together a few quotes to use as touchstones to get me to the finish line.
I’m in a sharing mood, so here you go:
“When you write a story, you are telling yourself the story. When you rewrite, your main job is taking out all of the things that are NOT the story.” – Stephen King
“I don’t like to write. I like to have written.” – William Zinsser
“So the writer who breeds more words than he needs is making a chore for the reader who reads.” – Dr. Seuss
“Writing without revising is the literary equivalent of waltzing gaily out of the house in your underwear.” Patricia Fuller
“While writing is like a joyful release, editing is a prison where the bars are my former intentions and the abusive warden my own neuroticism.” – Tiffany Madison
Mishelle Carter woke up from a semi-drugged state, instantly. That ability was a hard-earned blessing from nights partying and day-afters filled with every perceived danger known to man and womankind.
She took stock. Hot and sweaty, check. Not unusual. She was in Panama.
Her arm being bowlined to an unfamiliar bedpost was pretty strange, though.
She shook it just for good measure.
Yeah, that hurt.
Opening up her senses a little, she realized she couldn’t have been out long. Her bursting bladder was a sure sign it’d been about half an hour at the most. Cheap beer from backyard bars were known for a quick buzz and a long pee. Whatever her bladder indicated, it’d been long enough for someone to deposit her on this lumpy mattress. And from the sounds of things, to take her to the extreme outskirts of what the locals called a town.
She lifted her foot, pushing aside the mosquito net around the bed and looked out of the open veranda door on the other side of the room. The ocean crept up on the black sand not too far away.
Shellie had been in bad spots before, but this was really bad.
The door creaked open and she immediately went slack.
A half a second later a familiar deep voice broke the silence.
“I know you’re awake.”
Giving up the element of the obvious, she opened her eyes.
“Ah, Mr. Pick-Up Man,” she said immediately recognizing the guy who’d sat next to her at the bar earlier. “If you’re trying to harvest my organs, you should’ve come after them before I found out about mezcal.”
The man sat on the side of the bed. Shellie tensed her stomach muscles to stop from rolling right onto his lap.
“I’m Aaron. I need your help.”
“And I needed to be on my flight back home. Looks like we’re both outta luck.”
“Just a few hours of your time this afternoon and I’ll give you back your passport and get you on the first plane out of here.”
“You stole my passport?” She lunged at him, but he remained rigidly still and didn’t even so much as blink. She leaned back in angry resignation. “You don’t look like the type to mistake me for a hooker, so what’s all this about?”
A shadow crossed over his handsome features. And he was handsome, Shellie realized, reluctantly. Large, deep-set dark brown eyes regarded her steadily and lips that looked like they were made for kissing pressed into a firm line.
Well, she wouldn’t be kissing those bad boys, she chided herself, as his words reached her ears.
“Roberto Varela is having a party and -”
“Nope.” She said. “Not going anywhere near that dude.”
“I’m not sure you have much of a choice.” He tried to sound threatening, but to her, he seemed more Terminator 3 than Terminator 1.
“I’ve been in this town exactly 22 days and that guy was the only one we had to bribe to use this little speck of beach as a filming location.”
“Get me into the party. That’s all.”
“Famous last words,” she muttered. “Listen, he’s a bad dude. No go.”
Aaron leaned his big body down and looked her straight in the eye. He was so close, she almost felt the sweep of his long, thick eyelashes brushing against her soul.
“I will keep you safe.”
Now those quiet words did more than brush her soul. They touched her in a place that was still very raw.
“Promises.” She tried to scoff, but the word came out broken.
“Truth.”
That ring of honesty woke her up like she’d been dropped in the Anacostia River during a Nor’easter.
“Listen you drugger, kidnapper, extortionist, you let me the fuck up out this house and I promise not to shoot you when the time comes.”
So what if shooting people wasn’t really her thing. She doubted he knew that.
“Aaron,”’ a tall man barked from the doorway.
Her captor pulled his eyes away from Shellie and looked over his shoulder.
“It’s time.”
Without another word, Aaron squatted down and reached under the bed before standing up like the good soldier he undoubtedly used to be. Shellie kept her eyes trained on him and his efficient, yet fluid movements, mentally preparing for whatever was about to happen.
He dumped the contents of a knapsack on the bed. Her passport. A stack of bills that would not only get her back home, but living in the lap of luxury for a while. And a gun.
He raised his coco eyes to hers in silent question.
Really, what needed to be said at this point?
“I’m going to need to pee first.”
Twenty minutes later, Shellie slammed closed the door of an open-air Jeep and tapped out the entire beat to Nas’s Hate Me Now while Aaron meandered over from his side of the car. She knew what he was doing. Scoping the place out all casual-like. But Shellie doubted he needed the subterfuge. He could’ve gaped at the hacienda like it was Barack Obama’s Martha’s Vineyard home and it wouldn’t have been unusual. The house was beautiful, the land around it was beautiful, even the jovial party goers that milled about, drinking wine and seco in intricately decorated glasses were beautiful. It was easy to stare.
Shellie didn’t need the beauty. She wanted out of the country and all of the mistakes she’d fallen into over the past two years. She wanted home. Whatever that was at this point.
Looking around, it wasn’t the beauty that made her stare. It was something else entirely.
“All these people look….”
“European?” Aaron offered, gruffly, gripping her waist with a strong, warm hand that said she wasn’t going anywhere. “His brother is in town.”
She jumped a little from the shock of being touched and being touched in such a familiar way by a complete stranger and blackmailer.
She stiffened and was about to step away when Roberto Carlos Varela stopped in front of them.
“Ah, if it’s not the beautiful Mishelle Carter.” He smiled at her with teeth and swarminess. “I was surprised when I got your text today. I didn’t think you’d want to party with me after the last time we spoke.”
“Oh, you mean the last time you-“
“Mr. Varela, I’m Aaron Moyers.” The toy soldier at her left spoke up and bowed solicitously before eagerly offering Rodrigo his hand. “Thank you for the opportunity to meet.”
Shellie almost barfed from Aaron’s newly affected fanboy tone.
“So you are the new D’Andre Dare?” Rodrigo looked intrigued. “Senorita Shellie here helped the last boyfriend become, how do they say? An intranet sensation. And she is doing the same for you, yes? And all in my little town. Very good.”
“Yes, I am looking forward to speaking with you some time this evening.”
Mr. Smooth Move nodded.
Yet another shock ran through Shellie. What the fuck? She looked over at Aaron while Rodrigo made a too polite exit to schmooze some other guests.
“What is happening right now?” Why didn’t she have a gun or a knife or reliable internet connection? She could really do some damage. “You told him you were my boyfriend? You told him –”
Aaron Moyers leaned down in the middle of her rant, cupped her face and put his not-to-be-kissed lips to her still moving ones. The outside world stopped. No more guests. No more music. No more anything. Inside, though, everything shook. His kiss rooted itself in her lower belly and spread fire through every cell and every atom of her existence.
He nibbled on her lips until she opened them fully and then slipped his tongue into her mouth in a way that it hadn’t been invaded in over a year. Just when she let out a sigh that she hadn’t known she’d been keeping and leaned into him, he pulled back. Rough, callous hands still on her face, he looked down at her with a calculating intensity that didn’t sync with the riot that was going on inside of her.
“Thank you for the introduction.” He said, his voice back to angry boy gravel. “Take the Jeep and go. Your passport and the money are in the glove compartment.”
-The End-
I’ve been on a reading JAG, recently.
I’m beginning to feel a little like a junky. Shh..don’t tell anyone. Personally, I blame ebooks. They’re just so accessible! Bored? Jump on Kindle. Scroll, scroll. Click, click and BAM you’re engrossed. What’s even stranger, is that I’m not even reading whole books! I’m obsessed with excerpts. Want me to “Look Inside?” Oh, yeah, I’m your girl. I’m going to look inside on my laptop, on my phone, even on that god awful android tablet AT&T gave me for ‘free’ when we opted for the family plan.
So…needless to say, I haven’t been writing. Writers are notorious for procrastinating – and reading is a tasty past time. And there lies my dilemma. Wonder how many writers are out there reading, when they should be writing themselves.
I know of at least one.
Ok, so I’ haven’t learned a lot. In fact, right now I’m in a hotel bar in the middle of the night (OK, it’s 11:30 pm) trying to get this blog post done….BUT! I do have some things to share.
Here we go:
#1 Drafting a blog post amid a bunch of singles (hopefully) looking to hookup with other singles (hopefully) is probably not the best place to focus on being a serious blogger…but hey! I’m not sure I’m a “serious blogger,” so I should be OK.
#2 I have spent the last two weeks reading, researching and editing – so I have some interesting things to say and I’m going to share a few gosh darnit!
#3 I read Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi It was gooood. #ReadIt if you’re into good storytelling!
#4 There are five BIG publishing houses – Hachette, Simon & Schuster, Harper Collins, MacMillan (published Children of Blood and Bone) and Penguin Random House. And I’m going to send my manuscript info out to all those looking for unsolicited work. YUP.
Some of your favorite books are published with these folks – take a look at their sites and get a sense about what kinds of projects each house gets behind.
Check back later!!
TeAnne
So, I’m not gonna lie. I’ve been procrastinating BIG TIME on writing a post for this blog. It’s not because I’m too busy or too tired or too lazy (maybe a little of that) – but it’s because I’m too lost.
If you’re worth your salt, you’ve Googled “blogging” and know that hands’ down it is THE most important self-promotional tool out there for authors aspiring to be published. So last year, I decided to get in the game and create this blog. Problem is, I violated the number 1 rule of blogging: have a plan. Yeah, without a plan my posts rang inauthentic and the supposed “great and inspirational” ideas I had dried up like a puddle in the desert.
Where does that leave me, now?
Working to figure it out and I’m journaling it all right here.
According to good ol’ Stephen Covey: “Keeping a personal journal – a daily in-depth analysis and evaluation of your experiences – is a high-leverage activity that increases self-awareness and enhances all the endowments and the synergy among them.”
The blog won’t be daily – Lord forbid! – but it’ll be bi-monthly, every other Thursday, and will be broken down into segments as I work to get my book published. And since it’s about my book, it will definitely be personal.
Over the course of the next few weeks, I’ll bring you guys along as I review my social media presence, explore sound examples from author’s who’re doing it right and share the updates I make as a result of my research.
Additionally, I’ll fill you in on how my book is going…right now, it’s out to a beta reader, and I’m taking this time to do (more) research on agents, contests and self-publishing. I’ll keep you posted on all that, too! Lucky you!
Well, that’s all for now.
Check you out in a couple of weeks.
#AmReTooling
This past month has gone by super quick AND incredibly slow at the same time. Busy with work, family and house (yes, first-time homeowner over here!!) not only my blog – but my overall writing has suffered simply from lack of time.
When I was younger, I used to write everything – fiction and non-fiction – on a yellow, legal pad and then did my editing as I typed my flowing thoughts into Word. Those days are long gone! I don’t have that luxury of time anymore, and I think my hand would start cramping if I tried it now.
So this weekend, when I was the Parent-on-Duty for my 15 year old’s birthday party extravaganza at The Hard Rock Cafe, I opened up my handy dandy Google Doc app on my cell phone and typed out some of a story that had been rolling around in my head all day. And let me tell you – it was amazing to be able to create right there in the middle of an overcrowded entertainment destination.
So, as this weeks’ blog post – I’m sharing with you a few passages from Untitled Novella #1. It’s a little rough, but I think you’ll get the idea.
Hope you enjoy:
Na’chelle Walker was left in a tropical shit hole by a superstar shithead.
With one semester left of college, she had up and followed her then boyfriend – James – as he went to fulfill his dream of being a adrenaline junky adventurer. From a small bang ‘em up corner of Maryland right outside of Washington, D.C., Shellie had gotten into college by the skin of her teeth, academically, and by the sweat of her brow, literally, on a track scholarship. She had nothing to go home to – just a sister who flaked in and out of her life – and nothing to look forward to after graduation. So when Jimmy had asked her to go with him, she’d shrugged and packed a bag.
Deep down, Shellie knew he’d asked her because he needed someone to watch his back and coordinate the details of the trips for him. She just chose to think that it was true love that pushed him to ask her to trudge through the jungle with him. But during those three years that she had spent making arrangements for malaria shots and helicopter pickups, he had turned miraculously turned himself into an internet sensation. Slowly, she began fielding more and more calls from the media, replying to more and more tweets, taking more and more pictures and posting them when they hit a hotzone.
Now, here she was, in a shitty bar watching the megawatt smile of her ex plastered on commercials for his upcoming survival show “The College of the Jungle.”
He had dumped her exactly three days ago after being wined and dined by some too rich producer with too much time on his hands. Shellie hadn’t been part of the production deal, just part of the equipment that had been left behind. Jimmy had graciously let her stay in their 4-star hotel suite – on the producers dime – and given her $1500 and a plane ticket before giving her a jaunty wave as he’d boarded the private jet to god knew where.
Asshole.
She had spent the past few days vacillating between absolute anger and unexpected tears from a sadness she hadn’t known she was capable of. At least she had wine and a masseuse nearby.
Nonetheless, if she had known it would end like this, she would’ve turned her gun on him instead of those douche bags who had tried to steal their MREs outside of Guatemala a few weeks back.
“Friend of yours?”
She was more surprised by the American accent than the deepness of the voice.
Slowly she turned to look at the man next to her, stiffening her spine along the way.
“Only in an alternate universe,” she responded.
Shellie wasn’t in the mood to get picked up in this bar and she wasn’t interested in getting her ear talked off by some lonely ex-pat. They were in a tiny, nearly open-air airport in the middle of nowhere and it didn’t take a genius to figure out it wasn’t the best place for a female to be all by herself even if there were a dozen or so people around.
Her finger inched towards the spot where her Bowie knife was usually strapped to her thigh, but she stopped when she remembered it was wrapped up nice and safe in her checked duffel bag.
Super.
She eyed the man next to her. He was black like her, but that’s where the similarities ended.
He wasn’t as clean cut, All-American looking as Jimmy, but he was built, his muscles corded under the tight cuff of his white shirt and his broad shoulders were rock solid under his open collar. Shellie was built, too, but as people used to tell her after she hit puberty, she looked more like a music video star than a track star. That’s what had made her so good. No one had expected her to be so fast.
There was a hint of a smile on this guy’s lips, but instead of saying anything else he tipped his beer bottle and took a swallow.
Shellie relaxed. He wasn’t interested in her.
Maybe he was lonely, and was just being friendly. The thought instantly put her on alert. In her whole life, she could count on one hand the number of people who were ‘just friendly.’
She stood and put money down on the counter.
As she walked past Mr. Talkative, he swung on his stool, stopping her in her tracks with his sudden movement.
“Got a name?”
She went with hard ass “Fuck you.”
He didn’t even blink. “Got another one?”
She rolled her eyes, “Bye.”
It was in the hallway by the ladies room that she wished she had her gun.
Shellie had known how to use a weapon long before she started traveling with Jimmy, who’d always been a target because of all the hi-tech equipment they carried with them. The days in her youth spent hanging on street corners, looking out for other thugs, cops and whoever-fell-between had trained her well. She might not have ever technically shot anyone, but she’d come damn close a few times and could draw a gun in a flash. It wouldn’t have helped her here, though. Even if she’d been able to get her weapon past airport security, she would not have been a match for Mr. Chatty Pants.
He had his gun to her head before she could form one good curse.
“You better not be trying to rape me.”
“Name.”
Rolling her eyes, she dropped her hand to her hips.
“Na’Chelle Walker.”
He released his stance and disappeared his gun somewhere on his fit body.
Shellie eyed him warily.
“Aaron Moyers.”
“Not a pleasure, I’m sure.” She said.
His face didn’t move.
“Ok, now that’s settled.” She turned to move, but saw a couple of equally fit forms at her back.
“I’ll fight you,” she warned him.
He stepped close enough to her that she had to tilt her head up to get a good look at his face.
“I’m sure you would.”
The end of his sentence was punctuated by a pin prick on the bare skin of Shellie’s arm.
****
About That Book 