Sunday, 4:55pm.
Raheem DeVaughn’s ‘Bedroom’ serenaded loudly through Trish’s pink headphones that were attached to her laptop. She sat in a secluded area in the Business and Technology department of the main Allen County Library. Her slender fingers furiously attacked the keys as she finished her paper on African Psychology that was due the following day. Her apple bottom had long ago gone numb from sitting on the hard floor and her neck screamed for her to at least stretch it out. However she was determined to keep her 4.0 grade point average.
On the intercom a librarian announced that the library was now closing and all patriots had to leave. Unfortunately that announcement did not reach Trish’s ears. Fifteen minutes til six, Trish had finally typed in the last reference to her essay. She saved it and stretched her thick limbs before packing up her things still oblivious to the library being closed. Trish emerged out from between the rolls of bookcases, red Louboutin heels clicking with each step.
Something made Trish look up from scrolling through her Blackberry. The lights in the Business and Technology department had been dimmed. No occupants resided on the computers, no familiar frantic click, clicking of keys being typed or music blaring out of someone’s headphones. Also no nerdy librarian stood at the department’s desk with their noses stuck in some book. She headed out of the department and looked down at the first floor below her. Normally a screaming baby or inappropriately dressed teenagers would be wondering back and forth but not a soul was present down there either. Her heart sunk to the bottom of her stomach. Trish flew down onto the first floor as swiftly as she could in stilettos. Every door she tried would not open. She ran down to the opposite end and got the same result.
“This is not hap…” Her complaining was interrupted by a clanking sound. She could not tell where it came from or if she actually heard something at all. Standing by the main entrance’s doors like a mannequin Trish stretched her ears to hear another sound. “Gurl, you are trippin’ right now.” She scrolled through her phone to see who she could call to get the hell up out of there.
Crash!
Trish’s head snapped up. The sound was louder; this time she was not tripping. Her legs started walking toward the dark hallway. She felt like those nosy white girls in the scary flicks that always had to go investigate every eerie sound. However this was no horror movie, no one to say CUT when her ass became someone’s victim.
At the opposite end of the narrow hallway was bright light seeping out of an open doorway. Shadows bounced off of the floor. She never prayed so hard in her life walking toward that open door, she hoped it was a janitor. Her heart beat overpowered the tiny clicking of her heels.
Once she was outside the door, her head slowly poked around the threshold of the door. Paint bottles were on the floor. Some were toppled over with the tops open letting vibrant colors of paint to intermingle with each other. Paintbrushes were along side of the paint bottles. She averted her eyes deeper into the room but jumped back as soon as she saw Timbaland boots in the middle of all of the colorful mess. When she collected her breath and was sure that she had not been noticed, she peaked back around. Her green eyes started at the black and gold Timbaland boots with navy blue khaki pants spilling over the tops of the boots haphazardly. She slowly worked her eyes upward stopping at a tight butt that no amount of baggy pants could hide. Trish watched its muscular form move in the khaki’s. Farther up a white wife-beater hugged a wide back. Taunt muscles flexed and released as his upper body flowed smoothly, like a perfect orchestra being conducted. Sweat started to form as she admired his long, black dreads swinging halfway down his back. She could not see his face, but what she did see was exquisite. Her body responded. It had been months since she has had any kind of loving, not counting with herself. Now the man that she created in her imagination in the comfort of her own bed was standing mere feet away.
Yeah I know, but the rest will come tomorrow. Now go take a cold shower!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Freaky Ish
Ok so I came to realize that when people ask me what do I do and I tell them I write, 30 seconds later they come at me askin' if there are a lot of sex scenes, do I write erotica, etc. etc. You know what? There are some freaky people in the Fort! Ain't nothin' wrong with it! Hell long as my people pick up a book and read cause you know some of yall just graduated from Hooked On Phonics and thangs. LOL. But seriously though, I got you my freaky friends. Watch out for something special tomorrow.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
something to say on writing
I ran into a friend I went to high school yesterday and he was talking about how he enjoyed doing his journalism class and how he likes that fact that with journalism it forces him to step out of his box of opinions and write about something maybe he would not have written about before or how it makes him get into that mentality of writing everyday. I agree on that particular part. I'm not sure I would be ok with writing about what someone else tells me to write about because I don't think I would have the same passion I would have if it's my own work, you know? I'm a pretty open minded person so I don't know. But I will say this, I push myself to write every single day. When I made that commitment I was able to take my writing seriously and plus I just enjoy writing period. I could write for free and be content. Oh wait I do! LOL. Anyway I will continue to pull out lovely novels as long as my biggest fan (Mercedes) still enjoys bragging to her teachers and class mates that her mama is going to be a writer.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Seriously, where are all of the african american literary agents????!!!!!!
Thought I should post this little article. I'm glad someone feels the same way. I'm going to have to change this:
by Elaine Watkins
Urban Book Source
January 2006
With major publishers finally turning their heads toward Urban fiction, African American authors are slowly being recognized for their creativity. Every time you flip through Publisher’s Weekly a new author is being signed to St. Martin’s Press or Simon and Schuster among many publishers. But who are the agents behind these major deals? One may assume that because many of the stories are considered “urban” or “street” it would have to be a Black Agent shopping them around, right? Wrong!
The sad truth is that there aren’t many African American literary agents out there. You may wonder why this is so, but I ask you to step back and look at the situation at hand. Most literary agents are between the ages of 40 and 60. If you calculate the time it takes to finish college, land a good editing gig, make a name for yourself in the publishing industry (creating a reliable network to shop future works) and build up the capital it takes to venture out and start your own business as a literary agent; you will see why the average age of literary agents is 50.
Now let’s take a further step back. A person who is 50 years of age would have had to been born in the fifties—right before the civil rights movement—when education for Blacks was still a struggle many were trying to overcome. In the early fifties many schools were still being integrated as a result of Brown vs. the Board of Education, when the Supreme Court ruled that “separate educational facilities are inherently unequal,” which means that any minority born at that time were still enduring the growing pains of the integration of the American school system. Unfortunately this means their formidable years of education were undoubtedly disproportionate to their White counterparts. By the time anyone born in the fifties would be old enough to go to college we would be in the early seventies, which at that time it was still very much a financial, and social feat for a Black person to not only go to college but graduate and land a successful job in the industry of their choice (It still is today!).
Over the past three decades the number of African American students enrolled in a higher education institution has steadily risen in part due to affirmative action (which oddly enough can be attributed to shutting some Blacks out…but that’s another article,) and the overall realization that the only way to maneuver your way out of poverty is with more education. In 1980 there were 935,140 1 students awarded a bachelor degree; Blacks and Hispanics accounted for only 8% of that total. Fast forward a couple of decades. In 2002 there were 1,291,900 2 bachelor degree candidates of whom 15% were Black or Hispanic. Although our numbers have increased, we still have a ways to go before the corporate playground is leveled.
There are many factors that play a role in the low enrollment of minorities in colleges and universities. The majority of minority college students face struggles their White peers usually don’t have. Most minorities have to work more than part-time to finance their education, or take care of other responsibilities. A lot of Blacks and Hispanics are still first generation college students, meaning that they have grown up in a home with parents who don’t have the same financial freedom as the parents of white college students, who are more likely than not to have been college graduates themselves. In this instance the old saying of it takes money to make money is undeniably true; higher levels of education results in more income, which increases the access to higher education. With Black students often working close to full time to pay their way through college, their studies are often times neglected and in many cases they are forced to attend half-time or completely delay their education until it is financially possible. But the financial breakthrough that many are waiting for will never come without a higher degree.
With this said it is no wonder why there aren’t many black literary agents. I can only hope the authors and editors of today will step up to the plate and grab this publishing game by the horns and take control. But I ask you to help your brothers and sisters up when you reach the top, if we don’t help each other we will never see a change.
by Elaine Watkins
Urban Book Source
January 2006
With major publishers finally turning their heads toward Urban fiction, African American authors are slowly being recognized for their creativity. Every time you flip through Publisher’s Weekly a new author is being signed to St. Martin’s Press or Simon and Schuster among many publishers. But who are the agents behind these major deals? One may assume that because many of the stories are considered “urban” or “street” it would have to be a Black Agent shopping them around, right? Wrong!
The sad truth is that there aren’t many African American literary agents out there. You may wonder why this is so, but I ask you to step back and look at the situation at hand. Most literary agents are between the ages of 40 and 60. If you calculate the time it takes to finish college, land a good editing gig, make a name for yourself in the publishing industry (creating a reliable network to shop future works) and build up the capital it takes to venture out and start your own business as a literary agent; you will see why the average age of literary agents is 50.
Now let’s take a further step back. A person who is 50 years of age would have had to been born in the fifties—right before the civil rights movement—when education for Blacks was still a struggle many were trying to overcome. In the early fifties many schools were still being integrated as a result of Brown vs. the Board of Education, when the Supreme Court ruled that “separate educational facilities are inherently unequal,” which means that any minority born at that time were still enduring the growing pains of the integration of the American school system. Unfortunately this means their formidable years of education were undoubtedly disproportionate to their White counterparts. By the time anyone born in the fifties would be old enough to go to college we would be in the early seventies, which at that time it was still very much a financial, and social feat for a Black person to not only go to college but graduate and land a successful job in the industry of their choice (It still is today!).
Over the past three decades the number of African American students enrolled in a higher education institution has steadily risen in part due to affirmative action (which oddly enough can be attributed to shutting some Blacks out…but that’s another article,) and the overall realization that the only way to maneuver your way out of poverty is with more education. In 1980 there were 935,140 1 students awarded a bachelor degree; Blacks and Hispanics accounted for only 8% of that total. Fast forward a couple of decades. In 2002 there were 1,291,900 2 bachelor degree candidates of whom 15% were Black or Hispanic. Although our numbers have increased, we still have a ways to go before the corporate playground is leveled.
There are many factors that play a role in the low enrollment of minorities in colleges and universities. The majority of minority college students face struggles their White peers usually don’t have. Most minorities have to work more than part-time to finance their education, or take care of other responsibilities. A lot of Blacks and Hispanics are still first generation college students, meaning that they have grown up in a home with parents who don’t have the same financial freedom as the parents of white college students, who are more likely than not to have been college graduates themselves. In this instance the old saying of it takes money to make money is undeniably true; higher levels of education results in more income, which increases the access to higher education. With Black students often working close to full time to pay their way through college, their studies are often times neglected and in many cases they are forced to attend half-time or completely delay their education until it is financially possible. But the financial breakthrough that many are waiting for will never come without a higher degree.
With this said it is no wonder why there aren’t many black literary agents. I can only hope the authors and editors of today will step up to the plate and grab this publishing game by the horns and take control. But I ask you to help your brothers and sisters up when you reach the top, if we don’t help each other we will never see a change.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Hustlin' hard on his website!
I just want to give a quick shoutout to dreamandhustle.com. He seriously has some advice for us black folks and how to get it! please check the brotha's website out! Hope where ever you're at is as beautiful as where I'm at!
College Papers are no joke!
Let me tell you, writings papers are not joke! I just turned in one paper to my class and thankfully I got a 100% on my first paper last week! Yeeeeeaaaaaaa! Hopefully I get another one. I also have to go home and start on another one that is for the learning team that I'm apart of. Need to stay focused! A bish is doin' big thangs!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
new home possibly?
As I'm looking for ideas to create this ezine that I am trying to start I came across another site specifically for someone like me that has a blog but do not have a a big audience. I might switch blogsites just so I have more variety in the setup. Don't get me wrong I love this one, but since I am a Gemini, we don't tend to stay in one spot long. Anyway, I'm a hustla and anything to step up my game is a plus. But this is just an idea. I will let you know the new URL if I do decide.
Anywho, for anyone who is interested in starting their own blog site below are some websites that are geared for us blogheads. You know I had to give out some info, that's what I do:
eVIPList.com
ReachFolk.com
MoreToBlack.com
BlackBlogWatch.com
TheUrbanBlogger.com
Anywho, for anyone who is interested in starting their own blog site below are some websites that are geared for us blogheads. You know I had to give out some info, that's what I do:
eVIPList.com
ReachFolk.com
MoreToBlack.com
BlackBlogWatch.com
TheUrbanBlogger.com
Monday, March 15, 2010
hustlin'
Tonight I will get back to my novel. This last week I've had to readjust myself since I'm back in school. So I have to split my time with kids, school, writing, creating this magazine. I will get it together by the end of the week. Promise.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Got sumthin' 4 u!
Only a lil' bit cause I don't wanna give away too much! Enjoy!
A loud screeching scream woke Nia up. Her eyelids flickered open bringing her mama into view. Her ashen face was contorted in a horrific expression. Nia’s throat felt too much like sandpaper to ask what was wrong. It did not take her long to follow where her mama was staring. Spread across the olive green blanket was blood, a lot of it.
The door to her room popped open and in rushed two nurses. “Oh my god!” the first one gasped.
“What happened?” the second asked.
“I don’t know, I came in with her like this!”
A cold breeze flew over Nia as the nurse pulled back the blankets. Blood had soaked through the flimsy hospital gown. It covered Nia’s whole bottom half.
The first nurse lifted up the gown. Bloody lines decorated her stomach.
“Oh my god Nia, who did this?”
Nia could only shrug her shoulders.
“Who did this?” her mama kept asking.
“Nia dear, who did this to you?” the first nurse asked. Her sour milk breath covered Nia’s face. She spoke as though Nia was a toddler or a foreigner. How the hell was she suppose to know? The nurse continued questioning her, shaking her slightly as if attempting to wake the answer out of her. “Nia? Can you understand me?”
“I’m not deaf or retarded!” Nia managed to call out. A coughing spell followed. Her mama reached for the water bottle on the side table but once again gasped. Everyone including Nia looked over at the bloody knife lying on the table.
“Susan, call the police, now!” Susan flew out of the room while the first nurse proceeded to clean Nia up.
“Can you help me lift her?”
Mama Johnson stepped up immediately going into mama mode. Both worked together and got Nia cleaned up along with her bed sheets before anyone came back. Susan was followed by Officer Marcus Blaze. Nia rolled her eyes. Not him again. Didn’t her husband warn him enough?
A loud screeching scream woke Nia up. Her eyelids flickered open bringing her mama into view. Her ashen face was contorted in a horrific expression. Nia’s throat felt too much like sandpaper to ask what was wrong. It did not take her long to follow where her mama was staring. Spread across the olive green blanket was blood, a lot of it.
The door to her room popped open and in rushed two nurses. “Oh my god!” the first one gasped.
“What happened?” the second asked.
“I don’t know, I came in with her like this!”
A cold breeze flew over Nia as the nurse pulled back the blankets. Blood had soaked through the flimsy hospital gown. It covered Nia’s whole bottom half.
The first nurse lifted up the gown. Bloody lines decorated her stomach.
“Oh my god Nia, who did this?”
Nia could only shrug her shoulders.
“Who did this?” her mama kept asking.
“Nia dear, who did this to you?” the first nurse asked. Her sour milk breath covered Nia’s face. She spoke as though Nia was a toddler or a foreigner. How the hell was she suppose to know? The nurse continued questioning her, shaking her slightly as if attempting to wake the answer out of her. “Nia? Can you understand me?”
“I’m not deaf or retarded!” Nia managed to call out. A coughing spell followed. Her mama reached for the water bottle on the side table but once again gasped. Everyone including Nia looked over at the bloody knife lying on the table.
“Susan, call the police, now!” Susan flew out of the room while the first nurse proceeded to clean Nia up.
“Can you help me lift her?”
Mama Johnson stepped up immediately going into mama mode. Both worked together and got Nia cleaned up along with her bed sheets before anyone came back. Susan was followed by Officer Marcus Blaze. Nia rolled her eyes. Not him again. Didn’t her husband warn him enough?
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