The Journey

The problem is in the journey. That is my opinion anyway. You start out with the idea of being an author. For some reason you believe that it is glorified, glamorous. You will write a great story, with the cleverest catch or subplot. Everyone will love it and read it, right. Wrong. Most of your friends will nod politely, but they will never crack the covers. Then you believe you will easily land an agent and get that wonderful deal, with upfront cash that lets you right for a living. Ha. That is the few and far between. Instead, agents reject every version of the manuscript you can think of, and getting through the three rounds of committee makes publishing unforgivably impossible.

The journey. The honing your craft, while other writers that don't seem to even know the English language, journey. The submitting and publishing to every imaginable anthology but unable to land a major deal, journey. And one day, it clicks. Out of desperation you write a story on a whim that is not in your genre, not something you are even proud of, and guess what. It's a hit. Folks want more. And you have sold your soul for the game.

Well not quite that dramatic, but your lofty ideas about edifying the common good and glorifying literature at its best, take second place to finally tearing through the bureaucratic malaise and getting a book deal. Which is how I found myself writing erotica.

As Blair Underwood writes in Casanegra's Acknowledgements, "Often, the journey is not as politically correct as some would like and sometimes the journey is sordid, dark, and even erotic. Nonetheless, the odyssey must be embarked upon for one to discover and embrace the peace that lies within each of us."

The journey. The journey. The journey. I shake my head and sigh. I am miles away from the inspirational fantasy fiction I first drafted and rewrote and tried to shop, to no avail. I wrote it free- without thought of selling confines. It is unrestricted and unbound. Now I write with the publisher in mind, scripting fully aware that the product has to be sold and following the script for that sale to happen. In the beginning, I simply placed pen to pad and let the story unfold, without regard to publisher's desires or potential earnings.

The journey. I am coming full circle. I am remembering how to listen to my heart and write what I love. I am learning to love my works enough to carefully shop them. I have stopped giving away work for free in a desperate attempt for validation. I now know that my writing, all of my writing, has worth and value and I treat it as such. I have matured. I have transformed, through this twisted journey.

Loved Me Most of All

Loved Me Most Of All

My family is a talented one. Or was. Depending on how you look at it. September is a rough month for me - my birthday is shared with the most tragic event in US history. A day I really thought I was going to die - my job having been only two blocks from the White House as the plane missed it and plowed into the Pentagon instead. And the two most important people in my existence were born in Septemeber, my grandmother and grandfather, birthdays 9/9 and 9/4, respectively. And they are both passed on.

So the month of September finds me alone, remorseful, longing and missing. This Sunday it was magnified. As I drove home from church, the old gospel song "Tomorrow" filtered through radio waves. My Uncle Joe, the youngest of my grandparents 9 kids, and undoubtedly the favorite, used to sing that song like an angel. The culmination of a multitalented family, he attended college on a music scholarship. His pure falsetto could make a grown man cry like a baby, his rich alto made women act a fool. And he sang Tomorrow at my cousin Teddy's funeral. When Cousin Teddy was mysteriously killed in a car accident in his 30's. Another unthinkable devastation.

The song came on the radio, my mind flipped back to Uncle Joe, to the patient love and creative influence he had on my life. On how I adored him. He played the guitar, I listened, hummed along learned music. Later I picked up the piano. Wanting to compliment his instrumentation. I thought of his melodic voice. And my heart split in half, remembering, with a start, that he dropped dead two years ago, walking into church. Inexplicably. Something I often fool myself into forgetting.

Those who loved me most of all are all dead.

And I am left here to grapple with life, trying to cocoon myself in their memory, in their abounding love, to face each day, each moment, despite not having them. And sometimes, it really hurts.

{Posted at www.myspace.com/discoverkai}

Alicia Keys

Alicia Keys is making me proud and she is doing us good. It is sad that her movement is slightly overlooked. Movement? Yes, movement. A movement of Black female empowerment. Black female respect. A belief in black love.

You disagree? Think I am overstating? Figure she is a simply a singer and performer, nothing more?

Answer this: Ever notice that every video features black men and women of full Black beauty. Ever notice the subtle references and innuendo's to our culture, past and present. Ever notice how every brother, street or not, represents the belief of black men, of their innate beauty and power. She makes it a point to capture those images, to radiate them.

Consider this: Ever seen her naked? Ever seen her expose herself, despite the talent (ala every other artist in the industry)? Ever seen her background dancers or singers half ass naked. No, instead her characterizations are of that faithful girlfriend, loving woman, supportive and special, believing in him more than he believes in himself?

It's purposeful.

Alicia is taking the road less traveled. Now, I luv me some Beyonce, so please don't start the comparison. Beyonce brought Black women affirmation and "luvin being a lady" back in a way that no other artist has since, maybe, Pam Grier. But Alicia has tapped into more of an idea of community, a belief and displaying of black love and romance, a ground belief, in powerful black women and men. She radiates that message carefully, without preaching, with every single release and video.

Unbreakable. Fallin. Women's Worth. Teenage Love Affair (delightful play on Spike Lee's School Daze - and she must have used him to direct, because they do that annoying sitting still/walking camera trick that he insists on using in all his works) and, now, Superwoman.

Superwoman has a Chaka Khan/Whitney "I am Every Woman" vibe, over a much more mellow piano riff. But the video goes a little deeper. Alicia portrays different facets of Black woman - the welfare mom in college, the African sister trying to get an education, the working mother and an astronaut. She acts out the skits with segments of her playing the piano interspersed. But then an amazing thing happens. The faces of the actual women who Alicia is enacting merge over her image. Jada Pinkett Smith (who, looks surprisingly similar to Alicia) and Joan Higginbotham, are among the four.

Joan Higginbotham is a NASA astronaut, I see her picture 100 times a day at work. (i work for NASA). She has spoken on Center and participated in a number of goodwill projects. She is beautiful and intelligent and...well... an astronaut. And Alicia provided her an international forum of recognition. The video is seamless and flawless...and I am so very proud. Of both Alicia and the ladies she recognizes.

Pay careful attention to Alicia...she is a movement in her own right.

Casanegra - Perfected Fiction

I am finally reading Casanegra.

Sad, I know. But I originally bought it because it had Blair Underwood on the cover, front and back. And that was reason enough. Didn't matter what was between the covers, actually. If Blair is affiliated, I am supporting.

Let me back up. My Blair love runs deep. LA Law deep. Just like authors, actors can change reality, spin fiction into real life clarity. And Blair's character on LA Law made me believe I could litigate, could be the sole black attorney in a see of white. Didn't he make it look good. Between him and Claire Huxtable, I would not be denied.

And who can deny his acting prowess. Wasn't Just Cause stunning. Scary actually. I was so into the "poor impoverished black man" theme, I didn't see the sick twist coming. And who else could play the love interest of Miranda and not make me jealous or with the interracial angle. Only Blair. Why? Because what women could blame ANY women who got her hands on him?

So, I purchased Casanegra and shelved it. Didn't really want to crack its covers and be disappointed. As you know, i don't trust many reviews, so I was skeptical. Tonight, while I tried to capture the different story lines floating around my head, I retrieved it. Figured a good read would free my mind. And I must say, I am delighted.

Clever delivery and manifested suspense with the careful crafting of each line, Mr. Underwood, Ms. Tananarive Dur and Steven Barnes put together a wonderful piece of work. The writing is superb, the type that makes the writer in me aspire to create snazzier (word?) metaphors and simple but complicated undercurrents. The first 30 pages have been literary heaven for me. I am on roll this summer. First Octavia Butler's genius, now this. I'm thrilled, refreshed actually, and I haven't even gotten to the meat of the story.

So far, Casanegra is proof that there is a benefit gained by perfecting one's writing. How careful use of one adjective can change the entire intent of the sentence, of the character, of the flow. How character description extends beyond clothing to understanding how the characters think and interact. I believe I am, once again, falling in literary love. (I will update you when i complete the book.)