63 posts tagged “writing”
It's a struggle to get these thoughts out. I convinced myself I needed to write to get me going again. Since Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, I've been feeling as if I've been in a daze. As if my body and mind has reached it's highest level of excitement and activity that it can't do anymore...at least not at this time. Still I have four more papers to complete before the close the of the semester, plus some editing and writing duties for the publication that is officially launching.. err ummm this week!!! (EEK!)
I didn't realize how busy and how truly drained I have been since August. From writing two to three papers just about every week, to writing creatively for Medina's class and even throwing in some journalism duties PLUS coming home to take care of whatever issues there, I should be half out my mind. Still I'm in tact. A long time ago this would have drowned me. I would have given in to defeat and sat on the sidelines, again prolonging my "college career." But a force stronger than me has kept me afloat. I've just lived up to my end as far as the work goes.
This year I didn't formulate any real thoughts on Thanksgiving. I was just thankful for the second year in a row that the "Ides of November" wasn't looming - death, depression, sickness, over blown drama - and I was able to spend Thanksgiving with the ones I love. The day after met me with an incredible body crash. I managed to get up early with the Snickerdoodle and give her breakfast and watch her favorite shows with her. However, for the most part I stayed on the couch with one eye on the Snickerdoodle as she played and another trying to talk me into a full fledge sleep. Stayed away from my computer and for the most part my Blackberry; though I did send and received a couple of text messages. I did get a couple of cat naps in, but once the Snickerdoodle was in bed for the night, I wasn't far behind.
I slept a deep, dreamless sleep. The best.
Saturday met me with such energy. I knew I still had work to complete, but the computer just didn't appeal to me. I didn't fret over it at all. I spent the day helping my father dig out Christmas decorations and few other items from the storage shed. I did find a few goodies that once belonged to me as a kid that I'm now giving to the Snickerdoodle.
So this red chair was wrapped up and towards the back of the storage shed. Apparently my grandfather gave this to me when I was about 2 or 3 years old. Of course I looked it and said the Snickerdoodle had to have this. She saw it and couldn't wait to sit in it.
Then there was my "Dressy Bessy" doll; the doll that helps you understand how to zip, button, snap and tie. I think this was my favorite find for the Snickerdoodle. After I gave Bessy a good spin around the washing machine, to brighten her up, the Snickerdoodle hasn't been able to put her down. She loves this, which is a bit of shock to me. Usually the Snickerdoodle doesn't play with dolls at her. She's more for toys with actions and that makes noise. Then again, with Bessy there is action as you zip, snap, tie and button.
By the end of the day I was tired. My whole body ached. Energy was gone. I took a bubble bath and headed straight for the bed. I was nearing my deep sleep when the Snickerdoodle awoke in the middle of the night. For whatever reason she wasn't trying to go back to sleep. She wasn't ill, but I knew she too was tired having a long day playing outside. Still she fought sleep and made space in my bed for her, her blankie, and Bessy. I made several attempts for her to go back to sleep, but none was working.
Soooooo.
We had an impromptu slumber party as we watched a couple of movies on OnDemand Shrek and Sesame Street's Follow That Bird (a classic from my generation when I was like... 5) The Snickerdoodle stayed up and watched both movies and still fought to go back to sleep. Nevertheless by 4:30 am she was too tired to fight and my body felt like it wanted to slap the crap out of me for not sleeping. Once I knew for sure the Snickerdoodle was sleep (in her own bed), I collapsed back into my bed, falling into a deep repose until the house phone rang around 8 am. Then my cell phone rang no later than that.
I hit ignore for both calls and went back to sleep.
My body and mind had grown just that tired. Even now.. as it's only inching towards 3:30 in the afternoon, my bed seems to be calling. Just one more day of sleep and I'll be ready to finish out the last week of classes and the next week of a final exam, plus the last two papers that are due.
Within the past few weeks, Medina has been pressing the class to go deeper with our writing. The first couple assignments were reactions pieces or poems/prose we were to construct based on artwork by an African-American artist we individually choose. There was an "I Am From..." assignment where we have to look within and create a piece illustrating where we are from and then there was the one due today; the soundtrack of your life.
When the "soundtrack" assignment was given, immediately I thought back to the tag line I created for my blog years ago.
"A Melody In Search of a Lyric."
How convenient this would come to mind? At the first opportunity I got I wrote down: I'm a melody. Everyone that enters my life one way or another is a lyric...creating a neverending bittersweet symphony.
The whole weekend I pondered over it more. Eventually last evening I sat down and began listening to music. Somehow Alicia Keys' latest single "Doesn't Mean Anything," struck a cord that caused my thoughts to flow. I began writing. What I ended up with I presented in class.
In Search Of….
By: Mahoganie Jade Browne
A melody in search of a lyric.
Deaf to the harmony already rumbling in the background.
Blind to the words facing her.
A Bittersweet Symphony she was escaping.
“We got your sex and your violence. Melody and Silence.”
Being a Soulful Moaner, she wailed.
Most times out of a lustful fit that soothe the pain.
Other times out of the need to be.
Always looking to others to write her song; from Donnie crooning on about A Song For… “Her” to taking on the Shapeshifter’s Theme to Lola and rewriting it Blackveleteen’s Theme knocking off Lenny.
It’s just as Springsteen and Manfred Mann’s Band said, she was Blinded By The Light.
A melody in search of a lyric.
Stumbling onto a blank score.
Unknowingly setting the time signature to a never ending composition.
From six-eight to four-four.
From the blue note to the highest praise pitch.
Perhaps rococo
Never a strophic.
Vivid rhythms conjuring faces.
Attracted to the distinct flow.
Co-writing the symphony of her life.
The room fell silent for a minute and then heads nodded in agreement. I could tell everything was thinking, but didn't know what to say. Medina cut the silence by asking me to read it backwards.....
Co-writing the symphony of her life.
Attracted to the distinct flow.
Vivid rhythms conjuring faces.
Never a strophic.
Perhaps rococo
From the blue note to the highest praise pitch.
From six-eight to four-four.
Unknowingly setting the time signature to a never ending composition.
Stumbling onto a blank score.
A melody in search of a lyric.
It’s just as Springsteen and Manfred Mann’s Band said, she was Blinded By The Light.
Always looking to others to write her song; from Donnie crooning on about A Song For… “Her” to taking on the Shapeshifter’s Theme to Lola and rewriting it Blackveleteen’s Theme knocking off Lenny.
Other times out of the need to be.
Most times out of a lustful fit that soothe the pain.
Being a Soulful Moaner, she wailed.
“We got your sex and your violence. Melody and Silence.”
A Bittersweet Symphony she was escaping.
Blind to the words facing her.
Deaf to the harmony already rumbling in the background.
A melody in search of a lyric.
Almost in unison the class let out whispers of excitement and approval. Even I couldn't hide the fact that the words were more like me... a bit abstract, yet a bit transparent. A living metaphor.
It took everything within me not to cry in their presence. My life.. plain as day...
Last week my school held their annual job fair for those in the communications field. In years before, there has always been a good turn out of both internship/job seekers and recruiters/companies from all sectors of the communications realm. In those years I was always excited to go, especially once I reached the junior and (quasi) senior level, because really that is who the fair is intended for. However freshman and sophomores can attend to browse the exhibit booths and sit-in on the various information sessions lead by a panel.
This year, the closer the date came for the fair, the more disenchanted I had become. Originally I chalked it up to be the so-called "mother hen" on campus, having "been there and done that," here I am a near 30 year old scrambling with 19, 20, 21 year-olds for internship and job possibilities. My energy level for the whole scene seemed...well...low. It couldn't have gotten any lower when I received an email confirming a pre-scheduled interview with a prestigious newspaper that is based in another city and state, but has a DC bureau. Actually I perked up a bit only because I saw a little light of actually doing some work with this paper at their DC bureau, but I was still discouraged that I wasn't pre-scheduled with nearly as many interviews I use to bag from previous fairs.
I honestly felt something was wrong with me and perhaps my resume. Though I've revamped my resume countless times over the past year, my work in the journalism/communications field is so broad. My heaviest concentration is in print/news editorial, but I've had a touch of public relations, technical writing and even creative writing - bios, synopsis writing. Nevertheless, the week caught me in a hectic state as I had four papers to work on and turn in, plus doing preps for the interview. I even worked on changing my attitude about it all and figured that I never know what may come out of this meeting.
The day of the fair was nasty with rain, but people from my school and other HBCUs from near and far came ready in their suits and armed with portfolios. I was in the mix, running back and forth between classes I had mid-term exams in and the fair. When I finally settled in at the fair I noticed how there wasn't really a good number a companies this year. There were big time companies that had uber long lines of folks waiting to be interviewed and other companies with small to non-existent lines. MY prestigious newspaper had no line, but every now and then a person was in the chair being interviewed. When my turn came I sat down and before I could really get into the meat or the crux of what I'm all about, the elderly white man looked at me, my resume and told me that if I were to intern with them I would need more experience with a daily newspaper. Outside of the work I did in 2001 with a local newspaper, anything else has been on a freelance basis and obviously not really daily, though deadlines were tighter.
Surprisingly I didn't feel shot down by his words. I understood, just as I understood later (via our discussion) that any work I would do for them (internship or employment) would be done in their home base office, especially since they are "shaving" their DC bureau staff considerably. Honestly, I don't think it's the right time for me to pick up and move with the kiddo to another state, especially for just an internship. We shared a few little laughs in between, he handed me his business card and that was that. However, what took place after was a little uplifting.
I walked around that ballroom for a fourth time, looking through the program book at the profiles of the various companies. I check marked the ones I thought would be of interest. However, after further inspection I learned that though booths were open, a majority were ONLY open to the ones with pre-scheduled interviews. So that knocked off the main booth I wanted to visit.... DC's local NBC affiliate/NBC Universal. Though I had it check marked, I almost walked by the local ABC affiliate. since I saw someone having an interview. However, there were two people manning the table. My body stopped dead in its tracks before I could even have a conversation with my brain on if I should or shouldn't stop.
I read through some of their material and picked up their sheet announcing openings. In that instant the lady behind the table sparked a conversation with me. Turns out she is part of the HR department. I asked her were their any openings for a person like me who has more print experience than broadcast. I would be interested in working in the newsroom writing up the stories. Her exact response,
"Baby we got any kind of position you are looking for."
We talked a little more, I handed her my resume and few other items as we discussed a friend of hers that is head of a non-profit and in need of a writer. I even did the ultimate; name dropped my godsister who works for them in their newsroom; anything for a little edge. She lit up. She knew her. She pulled out a post-it, placed it on my resume and began taking notes. I breathed a little sigh of relief.
By the end of the day as I did a little reflection, I pondered over what exactly has the so-called recession done to the print journalism industry. Newspapers are shutting down or consolidating their staff/resources as there is this shift towards "new media;" really.. all electronic news. Once, my good friend Erin, who is a photojournalist, and I were having a discussion about such. I will never forget her comment.
"[the industry] is only dying if people in the industry aren't willing to change with it."
I thought about her statement in relation to what I had just experienced at the fair. I wondered how open is the industry towards people like me, with such broad experiences. Shouldn't the industry as a whole move to adapt to the change in the climate? One of the most enlightening experiences I had was back in April, when I visited the web operations of the Washington Post. There is a team of people, with a grouping of web design, technical invention, writing and overall creative talent that the publication allowed this team to morph and work together creating a new job (and maybe a new division) of the web version of the paper. I met the team and fell so completely in love with their work. I craved to be on such a team.
A las, going back to the fair, I was shut out with the out of state prestigious newspaper before I could even open my mouth about what I can offer. I figured, their loss and again, not my time to make a sudden move to another state right now anyways. I also wondered was the whole thing about the job fair set up for those of us in the print journalism world to fail. The bulk of the companies present were of marketing and public relations...selling. Maybe it's the present day enrollment of communication schools; maybe there are a higher number of students interested in the marketing, public relations medium. However, where does that leave us who are straight up journalist (broadcast and print)? I actually overheard a young fellow journalism major describe his pre-scheduled interview as just "okay." He too was a little dismayed that the fair seemed to be bit more aimed at the marketing and public relations students. However, like me, he figured he would participate anyways because he didn't know where the opportunities of the day would lead.
As I'm getting older and facing the last days of my undergraduate studies, I can't help but to figure out how to step up my game. Competition is uber fierce. I've been proven this time and time again; even as recent as loosing a freelance bid with a local publication. Graduate school is still on my mind. Yet, I have so much to decipher being a single mother (of one). What is practical? What is economical? What is meant to be?
Lately I've been feeling fatigued, but trying to stay motivated. That's MY hardest challenge; not giving into the slightest fatigue. However, I don't want to become burnt out. It's my fear. I've been there and done that. Not a pretty place to be. Again, for me it's all about balance. Yet in my world, my balance can be easily thrown off with matters outside of school.
A classmate of mine, who is an older lady that is also a former student returning, that hardly knows me, listened to me tell my thoughts on the job fair. Without blinking or missing a beat she said,
"I have complete and utter faith you will be fine. God has something out here for you. "
I usually feel weird when a stranger or a person who doesn't know me fully tells me something like this. It comes off as common rhetoric that has no value. But when that lady spoke those words I didn't feel as such. I found myself agreeing and believing. I guess that's step one of stepping up my game; actually believing.
Step 2?
Work.
I'm in an artistic mood but not sure where to start. Ok... maybe I have an idea. I'm working on a creative writing project for my class with Medina. It's our Mid-term. The project is to take about 20 shots (pictures) and create a narrative from the pictures taken. I had so many ideas for this project, but each one foiled. Mainly I wanted to shoot pictures of my grandmother's move. Her life has been my muse lately. Unfortunately, the house she is moving to isn't quite ready yet. The move is postponed.
I pulled out my old (late 80's) Nikon 35mm. Not an automatic, but the professional kind. Back in the day I use to take shots, mainly in black and white, and developed the prints myself. I dabbled in and out of it as I attended different workshops and even on my own. I even went back into it in high school as I spent one school year taking pictures for the yearbook. I looooove that Nikon better than any digital. For that I'm truly an "Analog Girl In a Digital World."
When my original idea foiled I pondered the idea of another upcoming event. My cousin "T's" fashion line debut. She held a private fashion show and party at the Studio Gallery in Dupont Circle, with invited family, guests and few press folks. It was a hit!! I have never been so proud of my cousin as I was Saturday. Literally, I was moved to tears (which I choked back - I couldn't let my eye makeup give me away).
I managed to take much needed black and white shots and had them developed the next day. I'm shocked how interesting and nice they turned out; considering I'm still an amature at this and hadn't touched the Nikon in light years. I'm not even gonna get into how it took me a moment or two to figure out how to load the camera. Once I finished a roll I had to remember where the release button was located to allow me to roll the film back in the film canister before opening the back. After one wasted roll of film, a few out of focus pictures and a few pictures with off balance lighting, I forgot how the whole process gives me a rush! I went out and bought more black and white film for more pictures to take - for my own leisure, projects.
Aside from the picture taking A LOT has been placed on my plate and I'm still trying to find a balance in all of the madness. On one hand I love it, because I'm immersing myself in work that I love doing, but the flip side is.. trying my damn hardest not to succomb to my distractions and not neglecting those in my life who are very important and dear to me. Of course the biggest one of all...my daughter.
I probably shouldn't worry too much about my Snickerdoodle, since she is in good hands while I'm drowning in reading material for classes, writing papers, writing and editing articles and whatever else I have going on. I get a sense that at two years old, my Snickerdoodle has some of my streak of independence. On one hand she's attached to me -she'll crawl in my bed in the middle of the night. However, she is quick to tell me "Buh Bye" - such as Sunday in church when I dropped her off in the in the children's Sunday school and she told me "bye" before I could rush back upstairs to the sanctuary.
So again.. I need not worry too much about the Snickerdoodle.
But getting back to this artistic aura that has been around me lately.... It's funny. I had been crying about lack of inspiration and motivation and in the last month or so an abundance of what I've been lacking and crying out for has hit me.
A couple of weeks ago Medina asked us to write a Creed, based on why do we write. I took some time to think about why do I write and tried to form it into a creed. Here's what I came up with.
"There's the gift, there's the spirit & there's the work. All three have to come together. If one of those things are off, it can stop you from becoming who you were meant to be" - Jay-Z Oct. 2009 issue of O Magazine
The Gift:
For it was bestowed upon me to carry a tradition. It’s by divine touch to have such a legacy flow through the blood line; from grandparents to grandchildren. This inheritance is rich with vivid imagery, a plush vocabulary and a background harmony singing lullabies helping to see and feel. For the mission is bigger than me and beyond my understanding. For the words entertain, heal, soothe, inspire, liberate, anger, teach, help and captivate. The art of writing is one of power. I shall not take this lightly journalistically or creatively.
The Spirit:
The spirits of pure and evil are there. Yet it’s the pure that I seek and long to keep. For evil uses my voice, the gift, as a weapon sharper than any known to man. For I pray and pledge not to be led astray, to find friend or foe slain or arrested by my hidden weapon. May nothing but positive influence and true conviction bleed ink.
The Work:
It is understood that nothing is handed to me freely and without consequence. For I have received this gift and must make use of idle hands and idle time. For it takes more than just having the gift and letting the passion fester. Passion must be allowed to be the driver. For once it is allowed to drive falling in love with the craft and the tools are comprehensive. The work will deliver unto itself when passion is allowed to live aloud and able to drive.
It can be so easy to write a journal entry when things are sour. It's when I feel most compelled to pour everything out of my soul. My emotions are raw, but it's all out. Released. The end result is (sometimes) a better understanding of the situation or just a feeling of euphoria as feelings and thoughts are inked on record and out of my system. Yet, it's so rare that I actually take time to write about some of the fascinating or brighter spots. Even during the times that I do, I find myself tongue tied and my vox doesn't come out as raw or emotional as I like.
Noneoftheless, after weeks of neglecting my blog I'm finally finding some time to sit down, share and reflect on the latest happenings. What I'm glad to report is, I've been busy and bit happier than "normal." Even though the math class I've been made to repeat after not having algebra in my face for over 10 years has been challenging, but I'm trying to deal; tutor from the math lab and tutorial DVD that came with the text book.
As for what has been going on I'll guess I'll start with....
Home....
Things are fine and calm at home. My schedule at school isn't a bad one, but the time and energy spent on my work is completely draining. Thank God for my mom, for taking care of the Snickerdoodle while I tend to school and other matters. Sometimes I feel guilty for not being able to give the Snickerdoodle my immediate attention, but I do realize it's not the end of the world. I try to squeeze in every ounce of mother/daughter time that I can when I come home, but a lot of times it's not that simple as I have an assignment that needs to be done immediately. I figure my daughter is only 2. She'll forgive me.
Trust me when I say, I do cherish dinner time, bath time and (sometimes) bedtime. Bedtime is the hardest, because she is soooo like me; a night owl. She hates it when she has to retire for the evening. She'll cry and maybe ridiculously scream. I get frustrated as I try to work and she is fighting sleep. Somehow I manage to calm down before it gets too crazy and realize this is just motherhood. EVERY mother has gone through this. So I deal. Reading a bedtime story or maybe lingering in her bed for a moment or two until she is calm enough to drift to sleep.
My grandmother....
Since the passing of her husband in July, her life seems to be looking up. Her (pre) dementia hasn't been acting up as much. Though she still has glitches with her memory, she tries so hard to remember. She hasn't been depressed (as much). The only time she gets in a blue mood is when she allows unnecessary worries flood her thoughts. They are mainly concerns about the legalities of her late husband's estate. Some of the worry seems valid as his family wasn't the best of one. The attacks and betrayals against my grandmother were hurting to her, especially when she showed them nothing but love from the very beginning.
Nevertheless, my grandmother has been preparing to move from the late husband's house. While the estate is being worked on it's clear that his family is still trying to dig a hole for her, but in turn the hole will be for them. My grandmother is looking forward to the move and even got more excited the other day when she received a call that the house is just about ready and she can have a walk through next week.
I'm actually looking forward to helping on her moving day. This fresh start is something he truly needs. Maybe it will trickle down a bit into other parts of the family as well.
Freelance Project....
The launch of the magazine is less than a month. There is still much to be done including recruiting more writers. I get the feelings everything will fall into place, but I don't want this to fail. This is essentially a team effort and I don't want to fail in any way on my part. So what's left for me to do? Contact and respond to a few more interested writers, make an announcement on journalism sites, coordinate with other editor to have a budget (journalism term for story ideas/headlines/topics that will make in the publication) meeting and once stories are submitted, edit. It seems simple, but everything will go so fast and hectic, especially the closer it is to launch time.
Yet I love it!
Papi...
Things between us are going soooo well. In the midst of our busy lives, we always find time to go out and have fun. Our latest venture was something on my part. I had two invites for this past Wednesday Congressional Black Caucus reception given by the city council at The Park on 14th. I invited Papi and course he had no idea what I had gotten him into. It was nice to get all dressed up to mix and mingle for a while. Actually we arrived a bit late, so we missed the small presentation, but he still he got to meet some of my political connects except for the biggest one of all....YA. The place was crowded... utter madness. We stayed for like an hour and some change, before we decided to go eat.
We finally made our way to Eatonville and I'm still raving about the shrimp and crawfish ettoufe. LOOOOOOVES IT!
Church, School and Spirituality....
My pastor and I finally did get to talk about the newsletter he wants me to revive. He understood fully that my plate is basically full until December. We concluded we would follow up in December and prepare for a January (re) launch of the church's newsletter.
For the first time in a long while, I've been attending church on the regular. Actually, some of the spiritual lessons from church that I've been receiving I've been incorporating into thought from discussions I have in my creative writing class. I'm so glad I was able to get in another class taught by Tony Medina. Though, I'm the oldest one amongst my classmates, the discussions does make me pause for a moment and ponder amongst the banter between the 19, 20 and 21 year olds that are in the class.
Last week, a simple topic turned really heavy as we discussed an Albert Einstein quote - "Imagination is more valuable than knowledge."
We argued the points imagination verses knowledge and somehow ended up on Christianity. Actually I know how we ended up there, but that's a different journal entry altogether. Yet it perplexed me that within that same week I had a dream that stuck with me until I looked up the symbols that stood out the most.
The dream found me in Egypt where I was with a group lead by another professor of mine (in reality that particular professor takes a group of students to Egypt every year and last week he did mention next years trip in class). Somehow, I and two women who were roughly ten years older than me were drifting away from the group in a raft. The group noticed we were drifting and tried everything in vain to save us, but we were drifting away fast. What perplexed me was how we were surrounded by nothing but water, but I didn't have any fears. I knew we were going to be alright. The dream flipped to where we are being pulled to land, but we don't actually walk on land. We are in water, like in a pool. The water is very light blue and clear enough for me to see tiles at bottom and on the side of the pool. The tiles are white trimmed with gold.
People are talking/interviewing us, asking were we scared about being along at sea. I let the other two women talk about the incident, but someone asked me was I scared and I said no. The dream seems to flip again as folks, especially the people from whatever group I was with, were rushing back to their "hotel" rooms to change for a ceremony. I don't rush back, but what I find is, everyone is staying in this dormitory. Everyone has changed and rushes to this great hall that looks more like a cathedral sanctuary. I arrive to the ceremony and spot a couple of folks I knew from high school. I'm guessing I'm in the balcony section because I'm looking down and the ceremony has started and it's this formal protocol service for a king of some African nation.
I looked up the symbols and began to put the puzzle together.
Egypt: Roots or core of your own emotion/spirituality. May also suggest a simpler time.
Raft drifting/floating: Unsure where you're headed to. Confused on purpose & direction in life.
White (the tiles): Purity, perfection, peace, innocence, dignity, cleanliness, awareness, new beginning. Also may indicate mourning/death.
Gold (the tiles): Wealth, riches, natural healing, illumination and/or spirituality.
Dorm: Value placed on knowledge and education. Believe that you are always learning, and not just in a classroom.
Ceremony: Sacrifice and devotion necessary for success. Maybe going through a crucial moment in life that requires commitment. It's a time for introspection, self discovery and inner changes.
Last night as I caught the rerun of Oprah's interview with rapper Jay-Z, one thing that stood out was how Oprah made the comment that neither of their paths of "fame and fortune" were something they foresaw. There was no clear vision for it all. Of course Jay agreed and pretty much said that it was all about the passion and hard work he was willing to put in to making music - which of course opened doors for his business to spread into the fashion, restaurant/club and sports industries.
Not to sound redundant or like plenty of others who have said this, but I absolutely believe I was not meant to be the so-called average or ordinary person - as I see it. However, the reality of finally being done with my undergraduate studies is drawing near and it's a bit scary, because again I feel as if I'm faced with I don't know where I'm going to land; which could explain the drifting away from the group on a raft. Yet, the interesting thing is I'm not as scared as I was when I left the federal government five years ago. I do feel some ease but what has me on edge are the journalism tasks I have before me.
Last semester was the ultimate boot camp I needed to refresh my skills. However, this current project, launching a NATIONAL publication, IS my ceremony. I feel this is the moment that will truly make or break me. Even still, as I'm finding myself falling in love with journalism all over again I've been giving some serious thought about attending graduate school for it. Before my attitude has been that you really don't need a masters in journalism, since it has always been believed that everything about the field you learn, you learn by being hands on with it. However, the industry has changed sooooooooo much! A lot of old journalism standards are being chucked away to make room for "new media."
So with that.. it wouldn't hurt to have a masters... would it? I'm guessing this is why the dorm was in my dream and actually before the ceremony. Ah! Maybe it's my big hint that I should go to graduate school!
Though I'm into the journalism world, I also consider myself an artist as I do write creatively and have shared my work and been published. Yet, in some of what I write I see a constant struggle to write with a connection to my spirituality verses writing for the sake of writing. When I write for the sake of it I loose focus, find myself imbalanced and uninterested.. which leads to droughts. I hate it in every sense because I feel lost. There have been times when I've been so connected that when after I had written something, reread it and have others look at it.. every immediate reaction has been a speechless or one word of utter shock.
It's a "Where did THAT come from moment?"
I haven't had that moment in a really long time and I yearn for it, because those are the moments when I feel so connected to God. I think in a lot of ways this creative writing class is helping me to get to the core of it all. After all, the assignment due for Tuesday is to write a writer's creed based on why I write. This, perhaps, is my Egypt; this time and space. This is helping me get to the core of my emotion and spirituality.
Yesterday while on my way to campus I played my Madonna "Ray of Light" cd. I forgot how much I loved that album, especially the song "Swim." Since having those dreams nearly a year ago about swimming, I've been comparing this part of my journey to swimming, immersing myself in all the untouched emotions I either brushed away or totally blocked to avoid some kind of hurt and just dealing with them and washing myself clean from them. For the most part I have, which why I can only believe there is a strong meaning behind the Egypt dream with me ending up in a clear bluish pool of water looking at the tiles on the bottom and the side.
In a way I do feel as if I represent both meaning of the white tiles. There is this sense of new awareness, but there is also this sense of mourning as a couple of folks I thought would be in this part of my life aren't. But it's okay. It's all about growth. The meaning behind the gold tiles is interesting. How deep will this richness go?
All I ask is that the Lord doesn't stop blessing me and sticking with me. May I stay focused and able see my work through
I created this “scene” in response to a piece read during my creative writing class with poet Tony Medina. The poem was called Mermaid Song by Kim Addionizio
www.poemhunter.com/poem/mermaid-song/
Our assignment was to create the scene via snapping a photo or drawing one - based on the poem.
Though my own child likes to pose for a photo, I wanted to do something a lil bit more than to have try and recreat the picture presented in the poem.
I thought the shot was rather cute, so did a few of my classmates, one of which had to create a poem from my photo.
My spiritual journey has been one of highs and lows. Perhaps the reason it hasn't been a constant plane is out of my own stubborn and controlling ways to which I haven't given up my full trust and completely rely on my faith. There have been moments when I have just released myself, but more likely only after hitting rock bottom or out of my own hard headedness God has brought forth huge road blocks or signs to get my attention.
In regards to my writing, it has become evident and I'll admit, I haven't been using it to my full potential. Some time ago I realized I didn't want to be writing just for the sake of it; creative or journalism wise. I always wanted to use this gift for the benefit of the greater good. I believe it's time to "put the money where my mouth is" sorta speak. Since returning to school, I challenged myself to be a bit more disciplined in my journalism studies, regular studies and even in my creative writing. Last semester, through the rigorous finale of my journalism courses I stuck it out and saw the fruits of my labor. Not monetary wise, but in the satisfied looks and comments from my sources that I interviewed, my professor(s), my peers and myself.
Last semester knocked the wind out of me and I spent much of the summer on cruise control. While I did produced a few more [freelance] articles, I felt spent and needed to breathe for a moment. Maybe a moment too long, because by the start this semester I found myself hitting the ground running in finishing up these last courses for my minor - African American Studies - before being declared a graduate. However, not before the end of the summer one of my journalism professors [an editor of a major magazine] tapped me to join in on a [paid] project; launching a national publication that will be operated by and through the school. Of course I jumped on board, but only to feel a little lost over the summer in my duties, since we're starting from the ground up.
As school started two weeks ago, I met with the professor and another young lady on board for the project. We hashed out our ideas, discussed the foundation that started forming before the end of last semester and the next phase of moving things through. After the meeting I felt so energized and excited, but even still I have slacked [not intentionally] in getting my part done at the moment. My semester is chock-full of writing and reading. Not to mention, coming home to a two-year-old that loves your attention after haven't seen you all day long on two days of the week and half a day on the rest of the days. So I'm struggling a bit in finding a balance. Right now my brain feels a bit helter skelter.
Even in the midst of this, another call has been extended to me. God via my pastor is calling. Many moons ago - well maybe not that long ago - I worked on the "newsletter ministry" at my church. My pastor caught wind that I was in school for journalism and thought it would be a good idea for me to serve as editor of the newsletter. At the time I was only 20 and worked with a team of folks that were much older than me. In the end, some folks had issues with my decisions about certain things and though I tried to work with them it got nasty. Like - I'm sending you an email and CCing the pastor nasty. So I quit the ministry and the newsletter was defunct for a while. It was revived again sometime later but didn't last long.
Since the time I quit my mother has been on me about reviving the newsletter for the church. So nearly three weeks ago when she told me the pastor wanted me to call him about the newsletter, I thought it was another ploy my mother was pulling to make her thoughts known. Just in case, I did call the pastor, but not immediately though; try three days later. I know.. bad.
Nevertheless, I was faced with his voicemail inbox, so I left a message. A couple of days later my mother asked had I called. I told her I did and left a message. Her voice was laced with an urgent tone as she scrolled through her blackberry to pull up the pastor's cell number.
"He REALLY wants you on this. Call his cell. Don't call the church."
Without protest my mother's Blackberry was pressed up against my ear as my pastor's phone rang once and went to yet another voicemail greeting. I left another message. As that week's Sunday came upon me, I went to church. I went up for alter call and the pastor spotted me, leaned into me and pretty much affirmed that he did need to speak with me when I had a moment. The end of church was hectic with people all around and my daughter getting a bit fussy because it was near lunchtime. So I left before having the needed conversation with my pastor.
Today after church I went up to speak with pastor. Ironically today's sermon was about discipleship and going forth to spread/teach the word and message of God via however you are lead to do so, or moreso using the gifts/resources/talents/calling that God has bestowed upon you. I had already made up my mind that reviving the newsletter would have to wait until January, when I'm done with school for good. I mentioned this to my pastor today. He had a slight disappointed look, but then told me he was hoping to see something around November, but if he had to wait until January he would, because he didn't want to interrupt my school-work. I told him I would see what I could do. Just before I bid him a good rest of the day, he turned to me and told me that he really wanted me to work on this for the church.
So many times I hear talk about being obedient to the word... being obedient to God period. Part of me believes this isn't some random coincidence that projects are coming my way and even something pertaining to my church home. I do believe it's all about helping me further grow in this realm of writing and even as a person. However, when it came to my church I've been wrestling for the longest about feeling out of place. My church is the same church I grew up in. My parents were married there, I was dedicated and baptized there. I sang in the choir, been on many retreats, fellowshipped in many ways with my extended family - my church family. Still, at some point of my adult life I felt out of sorts or out of place and lost as times were changing inside the church and even with me.
My current spiritual journey has been one of baby steps, prayer and me trying to be disciplined with a lot of things. Which is why the other part of me is still the fearful me; me fearing failure - the insecure me that still creeps up. Now that I know in the past I wasn't [fully] ready with some of my journalistic/creative endeavors, I'm nervous. Unsure if this time I'm ready. Deep down I feel that I'm ready, but on the surface I still feel like such a novice.
A couple months ago I posted a status on Facebook mentioning how I felt like such a novice. It generated a few comments, one in particular came from Brandon.
"You're not a novice, but at the same time, you're always learning. When you get to a point where you think you know everything, that's when you don't flourish."
I feel it's time to flourish. So I guess it's time to be obedient. Learn through trial and error. After all, that's the only way to grow. Now if I can only completely kick these insecurities and fears of succeeding out of my life. *umph*
Today my heart cringed as the ultimate verbal assassination took place in front of me.
It was day two of the [final] semester. One class in particular, I've been thirsting for. You see, once upon a time, I took a poetry class taught by the infamous poet Tony Medina. It was during the spring 2005 semester, before I took my personal sabbatical from school. At the time I didn't know how much of a big deal Medina is until students who weren't even registered for the class broke their necks to sit in on a session to watch and listen. I loved every moment of that hour and 20 minute class. It was my time and space to sink into my Aquarius Abyss and pull out from depths unknown hidden words. I loved the books he had us read; a poetry book by Audre Lourde and another by Nikki Finney. He even shared some of his own published work, including the then newly anthology he co-edited "Def Jam Presents: Bumrush The Page."
I still recall the day an arrogant I'm-so-full-swag-I-can-spit-a-poem-in-two-seconds-and-serve-you dude dared to challenge Medina. Little did he know who he was dealing with and ended up being [respectfully] told off. It was also here where he talked about how old school poets like him and Nikki Giovanni will go to an open mic and will show respect by staying until the last poet has spoken.
As we "urban" folks say.. he dropped jewels.
Today he dropped more jewels as nearly eight of us wanted to know our fate for the Creative Writing Workshop class. It seems that since Medina's first days on Howard's campus, he's become very selective in who he allows to register for his classes. During registration, his classes are always listed as open, but are blocked, unless he authorizes. This is part of his process to see who is serious and who is just plan ol' bullshitting.
To start the process he went around the room asking us a few not-so-random things, but mainly what are some things we like to read. I watched his expression become a little perplexed and intrigued at the same time as two classmates expressed their not-so-fondness towards reading. Both mentioned they do read but one, however, claimed it would depend on whatever the literature is and if forced to read, she would, but other wise she wasn't enthused. The other said the ultimate as he expressed how reading is still pretty much "illegal" in his eyes because society still doesn't think it's cool to read. When Medina asked him to name a poet, his only response was Lauryn Hill. Granted "L-Boogie" can flow and drop knowledge on a whole slew of so-called rappers/hip-hop artists out here, but as Medina pointed how there is a sure fire guarantee that she's read something, she's studied someone. Medina asked the young fella has he heard of Sonia Sanchez.
Answer: no.
Shots fired!
Ears Ringing!
I heard a confused sigh released from another classmate. My own heart stopped and my guts, teeth..entire body cringed. Without warning, I didn't realize I was ready to rip into this 21 year old, until Medina beat me to it and I felt my body relax. Again Medina dropped jewels as he explained to the entire group, but mainly to the two non-enthused readers, that in order to become a good writer you have to read, study the art form, READ other writers & poets. He pretty much reiterated something he shared with the poetry class I took that '05 semester; when your thoughts are dry, go to the well. It's a lesson I NEVER forgot and ALWAYS carry with me.
The "Forced Reader" took offense and became somewhat defensive. Medina softened his tone a bit in order for her to see his point - it's pretty much a painter telling someone he paints but can't explain his craft. We spent the whole class time talking about the importance of reading, especially as it pertains to a writer or someone who aspires to write. At some point Medina felt compelled to share his experience when he fell in love with reading, which helped him realize he wanted to be a writer. He made the point that his home life growing up wasn't filled with books. It took a teacher from the 9th grade to almost fail him for not doing a book report for him to pick up a book - Flowers for Algernon - and read.
As the discussion rolled on, I couldn't help but wonder what is with some of the folks in my generation who are younger than me and teeter on the borderline of being in someone else's generation. You would think, being on anyone's college campus that one would want to seek and even have a thirst for as much knowledge as possible that reading shouldn't even be a question nor a chore. Yet, in the past year since I've returned to campus I've notice something that kind of bothers me, that goes beyond taking a college education for granted. Intellectual laziness.
I noticed this last semester as I finished up my journalism courses and was pretty much in an intense, almost journalism boot camp world. It was only just a few years earlier, that our instructors expected and demand so much from us journalism students that we frequently gave 110 percent PLUS. Yet, during a time when I had to serve as an editor of one of the school run publications, I noticed how a lot of "reporters" were turning in regurgitated stories from other news sources (ugh!!) or opinionated pieces and not going deeper; like finding a new angle to a story while staying objective.
Granted the population of Howard is large (not sure of exact number), so I know not ALL of us are suffering from this sleepiness, but I have to ask of those that are feeling it, where is your quest for a challenge? Where has education "failed" you?
Then a general question: Why have we, descendants of slaves and civil rights children have taken EDUCATION, especially READING so lightly or for granted? As Medina pointed out, this sleepiness or laziness to read is generally across the board, but when it comes to US, the children of Linda Brent, Ella Baker, Frederick Douglass, W.E. B. Dubois.. and even from Sarah Bartmann you would think we would have a greater appreciation for it....
There are some of us who get it and some of us who don't.
Today, my heart actually bled for those that don't.
Shots Fired.....
Sometimes I get a little uncomfortable when people assume because I'm a writer I'm REALLY REALLY good to the point where words come easy. True, words do come easy, but NOT ALL THE TIME. I suppose it's contradiction, but it's just me.. my mind.. my emotions... trying to process what I see, experience and so forth.
For three weeks my world has been reeling. Part of me has been dying to get to my nearest computer and log onto my journal(s) to type away and document it all. The other part of me has been tangled up with words that I pretty much silenced myself to see the situation play itself out.. to see if there is a new perspective or a lesson to learn from it all. I must say what has transpired has brought me to laughter and tears.
Two weekends ago I never felt so found in all my life as I traveled with my parents, my daughter, my aunts, my cousins and more cousins to Cincinnati for our family reunion. A cloud hovered near my immediate family right before the trip, but it didn't deter our planned mission. It tried to. Mr D, my grandmother's husband, passed away in his sleep two nights before the trip. Ironically I had been at there house for much of the evening and hadn't even seen Mr. D moving about the house like he normally did when I was there. Even during that day, my grandmother and aunt were prepping for the trip to Cincinnati. With Mr. D's and my grandmother's clothes packed, they were ready to go. Of course on the night of his passing my grandmother was upset. We worried this would be a set back for her depression and (pre) dementia. She even refused to go on the trip. Yet, her reluctance kicked in after talking to a couple of her first cousins that encouraged her to go.
In the end, she was glad she went.
We partied from the time we loaded the bus at five o'clock that Friday morning (seriously we were dancing in the aisle of the bus by 7 am), to the time we met up with our family in Cincinnati, to the time we left Ohio and came back to DC. I met family I knew little to nothing about. I learned a little more about our family history and I just felt warm to the openness and hospitality shown to us from that side of our family. I cried at the picnic when folks were giving little speeches about who they were and shared testimonies about their life, I laughed at silly antics my cousins and I did throughout the weekend and I bubbled over with warmth and pride as I watched my daughter get into playing around with her younger and older cousins.
By the end of the trip I thought it was ridiculous of me to feel alone as I had been feeling lately. The lonliness that I was no longer a part of any core or inner circle of a "friendship" group because all the friendships (with the exception of a couple) I have pretty much known.. I had outgrown. My family is my core, my inner circle. I thought back to how generations of cousins have been each others best friends because the family is that big and back then everyone hung out with each other every week. By the time I came on the scene, there were such gatherings, but as the elders or those 11 siblings of our family's patriach and matriach grew older... different sects of the family just drifted a part.
Now my family is working on mending this. Actually just yesterday my parents and I had an impromptu dinner where we invited cousins and extended family over. Part of it was a carry over of the funeral we just had for Mr. D. Natrually we had a repast (which, I found since Michael Jackson's funeral is a foreign concept to A LOT of folks), but folks still wanted to be of comfort to my grandmother. So they came to her house after the repast and ate some more. Seriously it was really a lot of food available. What is it about funerals and people wanting to cook or bring over food? Old school tradition for sure.
Even in the midst of Friday's funeral, I had to make an unexpected trip to BWI airport to pick up my sister. She came into town from Charlotte to look after our oldest brother who is battling Lupus. Nevertheless, I brought my sister back to my grandmother's house so she could eat and take home some food to our brother. We had our sister chit chat and even when I dropped her off at my brother's I stayed awhile to catch up with him.
As my family has been helping me "find" or rediscover myself, I did something I haven't done since I dated Brandon back in the late 90's. Although Papi has already met my parents, he stopped by yesterday and met the family that had gathered here at the house. During the course of last week, after two years and a few months, Papi and I have finally admitted to ourselves and others that we are indeed a couple..... we are in a relationship. Since we finally put a label on it, we both don't think anything will change much. We'll still move at our own pace. There are no talks of marriage from both ends, but from our conversations it's pretty safe to say that we're open to it, just can't see it now and if to each other.
I feel like I'm leaving out a lot of details and my extra deep thoughts. Maybe when I'm feeling really deep thought-ful-ish I'll revisit this.
In short I just wanted to express how close I've been feeling to my family, cousins and all, and how they helped me rediscover me. It's a good feeling to know that the blood that flows through you is of good stock....meaning the lineage from it is a strong legacy worth more than gold.
My well has become dry and I'm in need of a monsoon. Figertively and not literally. However, it has been raining off and on, non-stop literally as if DC has become the new Seattle. However, what I'm really talking about is my writing. I have these urgest to write, mostly in my blog, and few other times just creatively, but what can I say?
I have become a slave to my distractions.
Actually, what I eventually want to say on these virtual pages comes and goes. I'll start, but don't finish, or it's basically a fleeting thought. Though I love my Vox blog, I've grown uncomfortable within its space. Been this way for a long while.
I've been spending time trying to work on my "dot.com blog/site," but me doing a lot of the technical stuff the "self taught" way is a challenge and a bit frustrating, especially when you realize that the server you are trying to connect to can't communicate cause your system is delivering a non-workable IP Address.
I did manage to do some creative stuff. I recently submitted a short story for another anthology inclusion. To be exact, it was two shoter stories I wrote a few years ago. I basically morphed it into one story by deleting some things, editing a few lines and adding a bit more substance to link the two stories.
Journalistically I'm working on two things. One is an article on a underrated soul singer for an online music publication. The other for the news wire service with the topic of AIDS. Luckily there is no real deadline with this, as it has been a challenge to follow up with my sources. Still, I want to have this done as soon as possible, in a timely manner.
I was once told that it is a sad day when I decide to put down the pen. Well.. it's not that I put the pen down. My heart is in it, but my head.......
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