My Knotty Truths

If you're interested in learning more about my natural hair journey, do stop by Michele George's blog "The Knotty Truth." Recently, she asked me a series of hair related questions and posted my responses. So, if you'd like to know how I answered any of the following:

Where are you from and what is the natural scene like where you are from?

Did you transition to natural hair? If so, what were your experiences?

Did you have any support?

Has there been any differences in your life after going natural?

If you were stranded on a deserted island and had to choose three items for yourhair, what are three things you would have to have for your hair and why?

How do you maintain your hair?

What advice would you give someone who was thinking of going natural?

Has being natural inspired you to write?

Please visit Michele's blog

"The Knotty Truth"

for my responses.

A Hair Conversation . . . With Pearl, The Hair Deva

Well, they say the 3rd time is the charm (smile). Pearl, The Hair Deva & I have rescheduled our conversation a couple of different times over the past few weeks. But today, unless we run into an unanticipated hitch, we'll be chatting about the movie "Good Hair," my novel, A Natural Woman and possibly a few other hair-related issues on her blog radio show, A Kinky Konversation. You can join us today, if you'd like, at 3pm central / 4pm eastern.

To learn more about Pearl and her program, click on the LINK.

A Natural Woman . . . Reading Beyond The Words

Recently, a reviewer with APOOO gave my novel, A NATURAL WOMAN, 5 stars!!!!! It's always nice when someone expresses appreciation for your work. It's even better when someone demonstrates a real understanding of your work. I think on some level this reviewer recognized that A Natural Woman is more than just a story about a woman’s obsession with her hair or pursuit of a man.

In a A Natural Woman the real story exists just beyond the words on the page, if that makes any sense. Really, if you engage in a close read, you'll discover the story peeking at you from behind the little things, like

**Dante's fascination with Kafka's THE METAMORPHOSIS

**Aliesha’s office in the basement of building called Sojourner Hall

**The lover who tells Aliesha he wants to be her Teacake and wants her to be his Janie

**The blind, bald clairvoyant who can see what others can’t

** Aliesha’s discussion of the “beloved disciple”

**the presence and power of the dead

** Dante’s 40 day disappearance

** The spider Dante spies on the ceiling

Of course, the fact that I didn't think too many folks would "get" A NATURAL WOMAN didn't stop me from writing it. Sometimes you just have to be willing to go there . . .

Natural Women: Our Hair, Our Stories . . .

An Intro

"In its natural state, as far as most people are concerned, Black women's hair is unpresentable."

Asali Solomon (from her essay "Black Fuzzy Thing" which appears in Naked: Black Women Bare All About Their Skin, Hair, Hips, Lips and Other Parts)

Professor Aliesha Eaton, the protagonist in my novel, A Natural Woman, is a young Black woman whose natural hair is an integral part of the storyline. A number of different factors led me to write A Natural Woman, among them, the variety of responses my own hair has invoked during those period of my life when I've opted to wear it natural.

For the record, I'm not what some might consider a natural hair "purist" nor am I particularly interested in becoming a spokeswoman for the natural hair movement. Even though it's been over four years since I've had a chemical relaxer in my hair, on occasion, I still get it straightened--via flat-iron or an old fashioned hot comb.

Just as I whole-heartedly believe it's a woman prerogative to change her mind, I feel just as strongly about a woman's right to wear her hair any damn way she pleases. At this particular point in my life, what pleases me most days is to wear my hair in its natural state.

In the coming days, I plan to share a bit more of my own personal story, as it relates to hair and why I currently opt to wear mine natural. Joining me will be a number of other Black women who wear their hair natural and who have kindly volunteered to share their own stories.

If you are an African American woman who wears her hair natural (locs, twists, 'fro, braids, etc) and you are interested in becoming a part of this series, email me and I'll send you the list of questions. You can contact me at (after dot dance at hot mail dot com) or you can use the contact feature located on my website or the one on my blog's profile page (click on the profile link in the column to your right).

Why Do I Write? What's The Pay-Off?

Several weeks ago, someone asked me what I perceived as the "pay-off" for what I do and ever since then, I've been pondering the "why" of it all.

Sometimes I wonder. It's certainly not the modest amount of money or attention it's garnered me, thus far. To be honest though, I've never had a burning desire to be rich or a celebrity or even a member of the in-crowd. I'm sure for some, even thinking such is a shocking sacrilege. We do appear to live in a society where just about everybody and their mamas make a point of clamoring for an extended stay in the spotlight, if not the 15 minutes of fame to which they somehow and for some reason feel entitled.

Mainly, I write because I enjoy it. The sheer pleasure of it, when it's going well, mind you, ranks right up there with eating and sex. Over and beyond my own enjoyment, I think I write because I'm in awe of the pleasure it's capable of bringing to others. Nothing beats a letter from a reader who claims my novel, After The Dance made her laugh harder than she's laughed in years. Nor will I ever forget the comments of the woman who attended one of my library readings and said what she enjoyed most about reading my book was that she could actually read the love scenes without cringing or squinting her eyes.

Fan mail and positive feedback from folks who've read and enjoyed my work, make some of the less-than-pleasant crap one is forced to endure on the "author's journey" worthwhile. But please don't look for me to go into detail about any of that crap. I'd much rather stay focused on the pluses and the positives, rather than those things that truly make me wonder if picking up a pen and writing another damn word is worth it.

If you're a writer (or an artist) and you feel like sharing, I'd love to hear your reasons for doing what you do.

Thursday Thirteen #39 . . . 13 "I'm not" statements . . .

1) I'm not gay, but I think gays ought to be allowed to marry.

2) I'm not a fan of beauty pageants, but I think Miss California has a right to hold and express an opinion that differs from my own.

3) I'm not typically a blonde basher, but the more Miss California speaks, the dumber she sounds.

4) I'm not typically a basher of big-mouthed, celebrity bloggers, but the more Perz Hilton speaks, the dumber he sounds.

5) I'm not Catholic, but I see more positives than negatives, when it comes to allowing priests to marry.

6) I'm not a heathen or a hussy, but I think Father Alberto Cutie, the priest who recently got caught being "unpriest-like" on the beach, is a total hottie.

7) I'm not a goody-two-shoes, but I think Bristol Palin needs to try practicing abstinence before she starts preaching it.

8) I'm not opposed to the average Joe or Jane trying to claim his/her 15 minutes of fame, but I do wonder why anything Levi Johnston (Bristol Palin's baby's daddy) says or does is worthy of reporting as news.

9) I'm not a bleeding heart liberal, but if Palin, Steele and Limbaugh are the best Republican party has to offer, I can't help but wonder if they truly want to be taken seriously.

10) I'm not much of a cartoon buff, but I do see an uncanny resemblance between Palin, Steele and Limbaugh to the likes of Minnie Mouse, Daffy Duck and the Tasmanian Devil.

11) I'm not a big supporter of the war in Iraq, but rather than subject military service men and women to multiple tours, I'd much rather see the draft re-instated.

12) I'm not typically a gambling woman, but I'm willing to wager all of my meager assets that had the draft been activated, the war in Iraq would have ended months ago.

13) I'm not, by any means, a psychic, but I'm guessing I've said something in this post that will piss off more than a few people (smile). So with that, my work here is through . . .

If you'd like to visit other Thursday Thirteen Participants

Be My Guest!

My New Motto . . .

Last week, I caught a bit of a PBS program about the artist/quilter/writer Faith Ringgold. During the course of a discussion about the stereotyping of African American women, Ringold had the following to say . . .

"I don't want to argue about it, I just want to retell the story."

Hmm, I SO love the energy, spirit and simplicity of the statement, I think I'll adopt it as my own new motto (smile).

A No Show . . . For The Soloist . . .

After watching a news profile of the real characters, I was all set to go see the movie, The Soloist. But then, I read a couple of reviews. The reviewers praised the movie, but both made mention of a peculiar aspect, which unfortunately killed my desire to see the movie at the box office. Both reviewers stated that the schizophrenic street musician (played by Jamie Foxx) came to view the reporter (played by Robert Downey, Jr.) as his "personal God," something which, one perceptive reviewer readily pointed out, didn't appear at all in the book.

I'm not sure why filmmakers feel the need to keep breathing life into this archaic, Tarzan-flavored paradigm. It's either the ole "primitive in need of a Savior" scenario, magic Negroes or the Black wisecracking sidekick or best friend. Why can't we just be equals, sometimes? Why can't we just learn from one another on a playing field where there are no White Saviors or primitives of color in need of rescue from themselves . . .

I'd planned to take my music-loving son to see this movie. But something imbedded deep within my spirit and psyche, won't allow me to shell out good money to sit up in a movie theatre and passively subject him or myself to such debasing, unimaginative and unnecessary mythologies. I'd still very much like to see the movie. But I'll wait until it appears on cable or DVD.

Violence Against Women . . . A Few Righteous Responses . . .

Granted, my own first response to the alleged Chris Brown & Rihanna beat-down was a glib one and in full keeping with my "sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying" take on life.

But I do consider violence against women very much a serious matter. When it comes to the aformentioned incident, the apathetic, callous and "she must have done something to deserve it" type of responses I've heard from so many young women, young women of color in particular, truly saddens me.

Even Rihanna's own alleged response to the alleged attack defies what I was raised to view as common sense and sound logic. Okay . . . so you find hard-cold evidence that ole boy has been cheating on you and when you call him out on his low-down, ho-ish, trifling behavior, his response is to go outside your head--choking, biting, punching and all of that . . . But after filing a police report and suffereing through the pain and humilation of seeing both your story and your own bruised and swollen mug flashed across tabloids and TV screens across the nation within days you're laid back up with the fool?!

Umm, with all due respect, that's NOT love baby-girl, that's madness . . . on his part and yours. And to quote Biggie, if I might, "If you don't know, now you know."

Of course being a woman ( and a Black woman at that), I've lived long enough to know my opinion doesn't count for squat. Like a lot of intelligent women (Black, White or Other), I've had the experience (one too many times) of voicing an opinion in a group setting and seeing it nixed or ignored, only to have a man turn around and give voice to the exact same idea and have his opinion heralded as the truth, the way and the light . . . yeah, go figure. LOL

So, I'm thrilled that a few male media types like Kevin Powell and Ed Gordon have been vocal about domestic violence and the abuse of women and young girls. Not only has journalist Ed Gordon been brave enough to speak on the issue (see here), but he's also spear-headed an initiative called, Daddy's Promise, which encourages men to nurture their daughters and to be active participants in their lives. Big Ups to both Mr. Powell and Mr. Gordon for being willing to step up, speak out and do something about such an important issue.

There's A New Blog In Town . . . Diversity Ink . . .

I'd like to take a moment and tell you about a coalition I was recently invited to join. A group of multi-ethnic and multi-racial bloggers, led and founded by one of my blogging buds, Malcolm (of Pop Culture Dish, Presented By Malcolm fame) has joined forces to produce a blog called Diversity Ink. The blog will address a variety of issues pertaining to race and with the hope of creating a dialogue between folks of different racial and ethnic backgrounds.

In the first post, Malcolm shares a bit more detail about the groups' origins and purpose . . . "The Purpose of Diversity Ink."

Other recent posts include "White Privilege: Myth or Reality" by Pjazzypar and "Work To Be Done" by Marvalus.

If you get a free moment in the coming days, I hope you'll take a moment to check out the entire blog, participate in the conversation (if you are so moved) and help spread the word about the coalition.

It's a new day y'all. Let's make the best of it.

Parameters of Blackness (Part II: Electric Boogaloo)

Prior to the publication of After The Dance, I shared a portion of the manuscript with various friends and relatives. A comment from one of my cousins took me by surprise. According to her, the names of my primary protagonists--Carl & Faye, weren't "Black enough." My initial reaction was--"Huh? Say what! Come again."

Yeah, according to Cuz, I should have named my characters something along the lines of "Shauneequah" and "Jondavious." OKAY . . . Now, had the remark come from someone other than this particular cousin, perhaps I might have understood it.

To give you a bit of background, even though I'm a few years older than my cousin, we spent a fair amount of time together as kids. Our grandmothers are sisters and our families have always been close. Just like I did, my cousin grew up in a two-parent household. Her parents and mine left the hood a LONG time ago. Just like I do, my cousin lives in the suburbs and like me, is in a marriage that has lasted longer than 10 years, and like me is the mother of one child, a son.

No one in either of our immediate families has a name like Shauneequah or Jondavious. Not that there's anything wrong with either of these two names, I'm just saying--why would my cousin or anyone else feel justified in implying that I'm being something other than Black if I opt NOT to go the Shauneequah and Jondavious route? Are names like those somehow more authentically Black than names like Carl & Faye or Lori & Al or Wendy & Brian? (Yeah Cuz, what? You thought I wasn't gonna call you out?! LOL)

My cousin's son and my own are both African American youths who have excelled academically since Kindergarten. Does that fact somehow make them less authentically Black? As the Black mother of a Black son and as someone who writes stories about Black people, am I somehow obligated , for the sake of "keeping it real" to churn out portraits of African American boys who make failing grades and flunk out of school? Who only dream of being sports figures and hip-hop artists? Who only look up to pimps, drug dealers and gang bangers? If so, for whom am I keeping this real? And why?

I think, like a lot of people, be they Black, White or Other, my cousin has bought into the lucrative fiction of what Black is and what it ain't--a fiction that's currently being cut and repackaged before being sold back to us, like so many nickel and dime bags. A fiction created by the image and identity hustlers who've set up shop in the publishing world, the music industry, Hollywood and the like. They get paid well feeding us a steady diet of the same old, tired stereotypical images and even when we know better, some of us have allowed ourselves to get hooked. Yeah, we're buying it, ingesting it and eventually, like addicts, finding ourselves somewhere (whether it be at the bookstore, the movie theatre or in front of the television) straight sprung, fiending, frothing at the mouth and wanting to beat-down the first somebody who dares suggest, "You know, maybe all of that sh!t ain't good for you . . ."

In the December 2008 issue of The Writer, there is an article entitled, "On writing against ethnic stereotypes," which mainly focuses on the media's distorted and one-dimensional view of Italian Americans. The author of the piece, Paola Corso, states that stereotypes aren't necessairly bad when used purposefully and I tend to agree. I'd love to see more African American artists, musicians, writers, filmmakers, etc. attempting to flip the script by manipulating stereotypes via satire, parody and humor. I attempted to do some of that in my own debut novel. But these days, more often than not, the most serious offenders (pun fully intended) and eager perpetuators of some of the most vile, negative and derogatory things said about Black men and women are other Black men and women.

To be clear, I don't have an issue with names like Shauneequah and Jondavious. I have plenty of Shauns and Jons in my extended family and within my circle of friends, none of whom I consider more or less Black than my cousin or myself. My issue is with the mindset that suggests there is only one way of being authentically Black . . . an authenticity that is all too often narrowly defined and tied to a host of negative images and outright stereotypes.

You know, at some point I may write about a character named Shauneequah, but you'd best believe she won't live in the hood, have a crack habit, take licks upside the head from her gangbanging boyfriend, Jondavious, or work for a process-wearing pimp who dreams of being a rapper (smile). Nope, my Shauneequah will probably be an African American businesswoman who lives in Charleston, owns a seafood restaurant, a beachside home and a pilot's license. She'll probably be in a long-distance relationship with some well-to-do resort owner, a North African she met while vacationing in the south of France (I am so making this mess up off the top of my head, LOL). My Shauneequah will probably be in the process of legally adopting her deceased best friend's little girl, both of whom, the best friend and the little girl, just so happen to be White.

Yeah, I know, a story like that would never get published, at least, not by someone like me.

(If you're interested or you missed it--PARAMETERS OF BLACKNESS: PART I)

A Vote For Change In 2008 . . .

I early voted yesterday. I live in North Carolina, one of those all-important "swing states" and folks here have been early voting since last week. Given all of the local new reports about the record turnout and having witnessed for myself the overflowing parking lot at the library when I intended to cast my vote, I knew to arrive early. So, even though the polling place didn't open until 11:00 am, I arrived at 9:30. It was good thinking on my part, because, sure enough, there was aleady a line of 15 or more people in front of me.

Patience is not one of my virtures. Most of my friends and family members know if they keep me waiting for too long without a damn good reason, I either leave or start (whatever it is) without their slow behinds. The last time I can remember waiting in a line with that many folks in front of me was for concerts tickets to see the R& B artist, Maxwell back in 2001. The main thing the Maxwell ticket line had going for it was constant and steady movement. In contraxt, the early voting line I joined yesterday at 9:30 was one that didn't lurch forward until 11:00.

Still, I resisted the urge to say, "later for this." No, I stood there with the others and waited, comforted by the fact that at least I'd arrived early enough to stand inside of the building as apposed to outside in the elements. My decision to endure the 1 and 1/2 hour wait was further affirmed when by 10am the line behind me was already outside and consisted of probably three times the number of people standing in front of me.

I first registered to vote shortly after my 18th birthday. Even though I haven't necessarily voted in every election since then, I've always taken the right to vote seriously. For me, it goes beyond "civic duty" or even the often touted, "folks died for your right to vote," line of reasoning.

I don't have any memories of the speeches, rallies, protests, marches, sit-ins, beatings and murders that took place during the Civil Rights movement. Even though I was living in Memphis, TN at the time, I was a preschooler when Martin Luther King was assassinated. All I can remember and never will forget from that chaotic and emotional period in our nation's history is the sight of my mother weeping . . . (see here for the full story)

But what I do know and fully appreciate is my history--my own personal history . . . my family's history . . . United States history as well as the history of African Americans in these United States. And I know it hasn't all been pretty and triumphant or the crystal stair (smile) that some might have us believe. There has been, on the other hand, plenty of inexcusable, unwarranted and unacknowledged horror, pain, struggle, poverty, depravation and inequality, the kind of wich doesn't necessarily fill me with pride for my country or fellow citizens.

Just this past weekend, a suspicious event at one of the local polling sites, prompted my husband and I talk to talk to our school-age son about the historic suppression of the Black vote, the Voting Rights Act of 1964 and the election tampering and tomfoolery that's occured in recent years in places like Ohio and Florida.

So, if you're waiting for me to say, "It doesn't matter who you vote for, as long as you vote," it ain't gonna happened (smile). Sorry, just because something is the nice, polite, politcally correct thing to say, doesn't make it a truth I'm willing to buy into. Nope, for me, the truth is, it does matter, this year more than ever. Our nation seems to be at a crossroads and I, for one, am fearful of what lurks at the end of the narrow and treacherous path we've been plodding and stumbling along for the past eight years . . . if not, all of my life and then some.

That's one of the main reasons why, yesterday, I was so willing and eager to wait in an unmoving line for however long it took to cast my vote . . . my vote for change. And if you really want to know the truth, some of us have been standing in this line for generations. When the time finally came for me to press that lever, don't think I didn't feel the presence of all those who dreamed of such a moment, but never lived to see it, standing right there beside me.

And later that evening, when my son arrived home from school and the first thing out of his mouth when he burst through the door was, "Mom, did you get to early vote?!" not only did his interest and enthusiasm make me smile, it made me view my relatively small sacrifice within the larger context of generations to come.

The Parameters of Blackness: Too Black vs. Not Black Enough . . .

I bet I'm not the only one who has ever wondered what makes something or someone too Black as apposed to not Black enough. Come on, don't act like y'all don't know what I'm talking about? Okay, wait . . . does the use of a word like y'all mark me as Black? Southern? Ignorant and uneducated? Are any (or perhaps, all) of the aforementioned synonymous? In some people's book, apparently so.

Okay, so what if I make a practice of always speaking and writing in grammatically correct English. Will it have an impact on my DNA? The melanin in my skin? My cultural identity? Will it somehow make me less Black?

One of my best friends, a woman who has known me since my freshman year in college has this peculiar habit of laughing at something I've said and then telling me, "Girl, you so Black!" Hmm, so what exactly does that mean? And when compared to whom, I wonder?

Every few years, I have this habit of giving my hair a break from chemical relaxers and wearing my tresses au natural. In case you're wondering, yes, I am currently in the middle of one of those stages. But I've long been fascinated by what other Black folks read into both this practice as well as the appearance of my hair in its natural, unrelaxed and unstraightened state.

I remember being in a conversation with a co-worker once and her making a comment that I'm sure a number of Black & White folks alike would have deemed politically incorrect. After making the remark, my co-worker looked over at me (and my naturally nappy head) and said something along the lines of, "I guess that means my Black card is gonna have to be revoked, huh?" I grinned back at her and said, "What? Did you miss the memo? Naw girl, see, I'm not even in charge of that this year."

The truly funny thing is--just as soon as somebody labels me "too Black" for one reason or another, someone else is quick to step forward and suggest I'm somehow not quite Black enough.

I never will forget the time I was talking and laughing with one of my Black male co-workers when he up and said, "You must be married to a White guy." I was like, "What? Huh? Where in the heck did that come from?" By the same token, my spouse (who is indeed, very much an African American man) tells me his co-workers (the ones who've never met or seen me in person) are in the habit of assuming he's married to a White woman.

Okay, so obviously, I'm in a no win situation here (LOL). But you know what I've decided? Just as folks have a God-given right to think whatever the hell they please about me and mine, as long as I know who the hell I am, it's all good (smile).

Still, I'd very much like to know from all of those who have deemed themselves the arbitrators of such--what sorts of things define Blackness? I'm saying, is there like a list or something? If so, what sorts of things are on it?

--Whether or not one can get down with a plate of collard greens and neckbones?

--Whether or not one grew up in the ghetto, in the projects or in the hood drinking red Kool-Aid and eating fried bologna sandwiches?

--Being able to rap, dance, carry a tune, play Bid-Whist and sing Old Negro spirituals?

--Belonging to a church where folks shout and speak in tongues?

--Being sexually promiscuous? Being athletically gifted?

--Wearing locs? Braids? Sagging pants?

--Having any (or all) of the following in your immediate family--a crack head, a pimp, a gang-banger, a stripper, a two-bit ho . . .

--Being loud, ill-mannered, always ready to fight and or cuss somebody out?

--Being a high school drop-out? Having a criminal record? Being on welfare? Having five children by five different partners?

Do any (or all) of the aforementioned fit into your definition of Blackness? If so, why? If someone who wasn't Black described African Americans exclusively in those terms would you or would you not be offended? Is there a difference between embracing a positive stereotype and embracing a negative one? What qualifies one to decide who's too Black and who isn't quite Black enough?

To Be Continued . . .

But feel free to comment now, if you'd like (smile).

APPRECIATING TALENT . . . AND KNOWING GENIUS WHEN YOU SEE IT . . .

The American Masters documentary on Marvin Gaye, which aired on PBS the other night, reminded me of an article I'd read and saved from the Charlotte Observer, a couple of Sunday's ago (4-27-08). The article, written by Mark Price, wasn't about Marvin, per se, but about the man responsible for the stunning, "What's Going On" album cover, Curtis McNair.

Mr. McNair designed most of Motown's covers between 1968 and 1972. His work includes the cover for Stevie Wonder's "Signed, Sealed, Delivered," Smokey Robinson's, "Tears of A Clown," Diana Ross and the Supremes' "Love Child" and "Some Day We'll Be Together," and The Temptation's, "Puzzle People" (one of my personal favorites).

But when it comes to the album cover in which Mr. McNair takes the most pride, it is, of course, Gaye's "What's Going On." Released in 1971, the album is considered a musical masterpiece by many. The lyrics and music penned, produced and song by Gaye, dealt with drug abuse, poverty, the ecology, spirituality, racism and the war in Vietnam.

The photo on the album cover, which was taken in Gaye's backyard, only adds to the beauty and the impact of the work. It's a headshot of Marvin with the collar of his black, leather coat raised and flecks of water and sleet dotting his face and hair.

Interestingly enough, the executive in charge of McNair's department, expressed an intense dislike of the photo. The executive's reaction is even more interesting in light of Motown head, Berry Gordy's own initial refusal to release, "What's Going On" as a single, because he saw it as too political and uncommercial. From what I gathered from watching the American Masters documentary, Gordy wasn't keen on Marvin making a serious, political record period.

Isn't it fascinating how often in their quest to reel in those extra dollars or in their blind certainty about "what works and what doesn't" the gate-keepers in the business world sometimes totally miss both the beauty and the "bigger picture?" (LOL)

If you'd like to learn more about Curtis McNair, check out the April 27, 2008 Charlotte Observer article by Mark Price, "Designed, sealed, delivered."

TODAY'S CULTURE OF CELEBRITY . . . AND ALL THAT CRAP . . .

"I've always thought there are two kinds of celebrities. There are people who really want to be celebrities. There are other people who want to be good at their craft. The ones who want to be famous are the ones who you hear about all the time. The ones who are studying and honing their craft have to do that out of the spotlight. You can't learn anything when you're out (in the spotlight) all the time."

Johnny Mathis (The Charlotte Observer, April 25, 2008)

Outside of the Old School Mix, I really didn't tell a lot of people about my recent television appearance. Make no mistake, I told those who didn't already know about the book (After The Dance) and shared with them all of the details about the two signings I had scheduled while in Memphis. But the TV and radio stuff, I left to others, like my proud hubby who called up just about everybody and their mama's (LOL).

Those who know me well understand that I'm fully content being in the background. I have no real desire to be in front of the somebody's camera or even behind somebody's mike (my dream of being a DJ fizzled a long time ago). I'm more than willing to step aside and leave the place on the stage marked as "the center of attention" to the more spotlight hungry.

Ain't it funny how those things you enjoy the least, often seem hell-bent on chasing you down? When I worked at the public library in Memphis, seemed like somebody was always sticking a camera in my face: on one occasion, I had to do an impromptu TV promo for the library's Magazines/Newspapers department and on another, I had to do a televised spot for an African American film festival I'd helped coordinate.

Shortly after my son learned that I was going to be on television, he struck up a loud chant of, "Mama's gonna be famous! Mama's gonna be famous!" Every couple of hours, he'd break into another round and finally I asked him, "Are you still gonna love Ole Moms even if she isn't famous?" Of course, being a good son, who loves regular meals, clean clothes and on-call chauffering, his answer was a resounding, "Yes!" (LOL)

I suppose, among other things, the point I'm trying to make is, I love writing and certainly, I love it all the more when folks find what I write entertaining and enjoybable. But I've never had a desire to be thought of as famous or a celebrity. I've never set as my goal "getting rich" from my work. Now, I would love to see some of my work on the big screen, but the satisfaction I would derive from doing so doesn't necessarily have a dollar sign or a certain number of zeroes attached to it. Sorry, if that disappoints, but I'm just simple like that (pun intended *smile*).

A lot of what I despise about today's arts scene (whether literary, theatrical, musical or otherwise) is the whole "15 minutes of fame" and "everybody's entitled or dang well oughta wanna be a star" notion. Bump that. Rather than doing some of everything (whether legal or illegal; moral or immoral; outrageous or just outright dumb) in order to draw attention to themselves, I really wish more folks (both artists and non-artists) would follow the advice shared in the quote above. Obviously, it's worked well for the 72-year-old crooner, known as Johnny Mathis. He's been in the game for fifty-two years and he's still going strong. Not only does he still perform, he can still draw a decent size crowd.

Think about some of today's more popular singers, writes, musicians, actors and the like. Who, among them, will still have a viable career, be in their right minds or even drawing a breath in the land of the living ten to fifteen years from now? Of course, nothing's promised and anyone of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Moreover, a lot of today's youngsters wouldn't know Johnny M. or likely be at all impressed by him, even if he turned up butt-naked on their favorite reality show, but I'm just saying . . .

LET'S TALK ABOUT SEX, BABY . . .

Uh-huh, got your attention, didn't I? (smile). Shame on you. You know good and well it's NOT that kind of party up in here (LOL). Okay, I do want to talk about sex in literature and more specifically, your preferences as far as what you might consider too much or too little; too explicit or not explicit enough.

I've been amused by some of the comments folks have been making about After The Dance as far as the love scenes are considered. (What?! Your book contains love scenes?!) Ah, yeah, it is a love story and one called AFTER The Dance, no less . . . Anyway, folks appear to be falling into one of two camps when it comes to their thoughts on the matter--either the book wasn't quite steamy enough for them OR they found it a bit too steamy.

Personally, I don't think the book is steamy at all. On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the hottest, I'd rate it about a 4-5. Really. But then, I've read a lot, seen a lot, done a . . . (LOL). Okay, let me stop. After The Dance is a humorous look at love, and do note the emphasis on humor, as opposed to anything hot and/or heavy. I'm sure someone will correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the novel contains a total of two make-out scenes and two love scenes, none of which, in my view, are terribly explicit or contain details of a graphic nature.

Yet and still, I've informed my own young'n that he's to go nowhere near this particular novel until he's at least sixteen. Of course, if he's anything like me, I'm sure by age sixteen he will have snuck and read all of the so-called juicy parts and, if he's so inclined, moved onto trashier and nastier things (LOL). Forgive me y'all, I'm just a realist when it comes to certain things.

I'm sure I'll get plenty of flack for saying this, but IMHO, a lot of today's so-called urban-lit and/or erotica is really porn with a loose plot thrown in for good measure. Hey, the market is what it is and I, for one, believe GROWN FOLKS have a right to read whatever it is they enjoy, be it porn or poetry and without a whole lot of snide commentary from the ivory-tower thriving, self-appointed book police. But the other truth is, I'm not interested in writing porn, poetry, urban-lit, street-lit, chick-lit or romance. (What?! I thought After The Dance was a romance novel?!) Ah, NO, even though I often describe it as a "romantic comedy," I view it as a love story, NOT a romance, in the traditional sense. There is a difference.

So what say you? Do you think today's literature contains too much sex? If you do, what, in your opinion, is too much sex? (too much emphasis? too many scenes? too many details? way too graphic?) Are you satisfied (no pun intended *smile*) with the amount of sex in the books you read?

If you've had a chance to read After The Dance, what did you think about the love scenes? Did you find them too steamy? Not steamy enough? Did you think there were too many scenes of the "hot & bothered" variety? Would you have liked to have seen more?

The floor is now open. Feel free to discuss . . .

WOMEN, MARRIAGE AND THE BONE DENSITY FACTOR . . .

No, this is not a post about osteoporosis. It is a post about bones . . . more specifically spines or, perhaps, I should say . . . the lack thereof.

I guess, I just don't get it--you know--the whole "publicly standing by my man" bit, particularly when said "man" has not only broken his marriage vows, but made a Zip-Dang-Fool of himself to boot.

Why after being duped by said Zip-Dang-Fool would any woman, owning so much as an ounce of self-respect left, turn around and let Zip D. Fool drag her before the public so He can apology for His transgressions? Yes, I am referring to women like Effie Barry, Suzanne Craig, Carlita Kilpatrick, Silda Spitzer and all of the others . . .

Okay, I do understand and respect folks going off privately to work on their marriage/relationship/issues and the like. I've been married a long time--long enough to have high school age kids, actually, even though I don't. I know it's all about compromise, learning to take the good with the bad and operating in a spirit of forgiveness. I'm not about to hate or cast aspersions on any woman or man who ultimately decides she/he wants to stay with Zippy, put the transgressions behind them and move forward. Tor err is human. Now, to make the dang same err over and over and over again, is, well, you know . . .

I'm just saying, after the dirt's been done, why parade the Mrs. out to hold Mr. Fool's hand, pat his back and stand by his side? For the career? Heck, seems to me Zip should have thought about that before he unzipped . . . For the children? Please. I think, in the long-run, children are better served by having a Mama with a back-bone.

Really, I just wish more of these ladies would just say, "No, I'm not going out there!" Tell ole boy, "Okay, we can work on our issues, but after having already abused me and my trust, I'm simply not going to let you use me in this fashion."

I'm sure there will be others, but if I could say anything to them it would be "Stop drinking the Kool-Aid! Really, it ain't nothing, but poison, the type of which will eat your soul, if you let it. Instead, why not go get yourself a big, tall glass of milk, put your big girl panties on and see if you can't sing a few bars of Beyonce's "To The Left?" I bet it would make you feel a whole lot better.

(Written while listening to Erykah Badu's "The Healer" "Master Teacher" "Honey" and Aretha's "Do Right Woman, Do Right Man" and "Respect."

A FEW BODY DOUBLE . . . DON'T (s) . . .

Some things you just ought not tell me . . . really, unless your aim is, in fact, to make me bust out laughing. Take the time my friend JG told me, and with a perfectly straight face, that his grandmama looked like B.B. King. What the?! (LOL) Yeah, it was slow day at the library, but still . . . I was like dude, I don't mean any harm, but if my grandmama looked like B.B. King, I wouldn't tell anybody.

Same goes for my friend YN, who every now and then will mention how her sisters used to claim one of her college boyfriends looked just like Billy Ocean. Y, girl, please . . . you know I love ya like a play cousin, but you're really gonna have to stop telling people that mess (LOL).

One body-double moment that at the time wasn't so funny was when my cousin Mary's husband said my NEWBORN son looked just like Al Freeman Jr. For those of you who don't know or need a little refreshing, Al Freeman Jr. is the actor who played Elijah Muhammad in Spike Lee's Malcolm X. Yeah MR . . . I'm still not laughing dude (smile). Actually, the boy did kind of look like brother Freeman, but still . . . Some things you just don't say out loud!

Another not so funny body-double moment, I still remember and harbor a grudge over, happened back in college. One of my so-called good friends, who, herself, could pass for a Gremlin twin, said I reminded her of Big Bird from Sesame Street Fame. Yeah, I get it . . . tall, yellow, goofy and big-hipped. That's all right, LF 'cause guess what? You still have more teeth than height!

See, don't start none, won't be none (LOL).

So, what about any of you? Any memorable body double don't(s) you care to share? Do you have a celebrity twin? Who do people say you resemble?

IN PRAISE OF GOOD BLACK FATHERS . . . A Few Comments & A Call For Submissions . . .

Recently, while reflecting on "Carl" the male protagonist in my novel, After The Dance, I drew up a list of some of his more positive traits. The list included some of the following descriptions:

1) He's an old school romantic -- he draws a considerable amount of pleasure from love songs and slow dances;

2) He's hard-working -- he juggles a 9-5 at FedEx and a part-time handyman gig;

3) He's smart and goal-oriented -- he takes night classes & is working toward an MBA;

4) He's silly & fun-loving -- he appreciates the humor in life and isn't too proud or uptight to make a fool of himself every now and then;

5) He's a good father -- his children are, without a doubt, his pride and joy.

Of all the traits on my list, I think the last one may, ultimately, prove the most intriguing to many readers. In After The Dance, I paint a portrait of an adult Black male who not only provides for his children, but also plays and prays with them too. When was the last time you read about a brother like that? Much less saw one on television or at the movies?

There are some in the media, Hollywood, the publishing world, the music industry, society in general, and heck, even within the African American community who would have us believe the type of Black man I just described doesn't even exist. I know better. And as the saying goes, it's never a bad idea to "write what you know." (smile)

So for the most part, that's what I did in After The Dance. I wrote about Black men (and women) who though flawed and at times guilty of outrageous, if not down-right morally reprehensible behavior, are still basically good at heart, capable of seeing the error of their ways and open to changing for the better.

I come from a family full of men like my protagonist, Carl. Though not "perfect" by any means, most of them were/are hard-working, God-fearing, loving and devoted to their families. I'm also proud to say I come from several generations of Southern, working-class, but largely "intact" Black families. I grew up in a household with a Black father. My father lived in a household with a Black father. I grew up knowing both of my African American grandfathers. My own father grew up knowing both of his African American grandfathers, both of whom lived within walking distance of him and his siblings.

My grandfather and his children on an outing. My father is the babyboy seated on the bench. (From Lori's Picture Collection)

No, my father didn't come from Black middle-class, college-educated people. He came from Black Southern farmers and laborers, who though "land-rich" were by most standards "dirt poor." But the way some folks talk, people like me ought to somehow feel guilty about our so-called "privileged" upbringing. Well, forgive me, but I don't . . . not in the least.

My grandfather (mother's side) and my son.

(From Lori's Picture Collection)

What I do feel, I'm not ashamed to say, is special . . . thanks in large part to the presence of a loving, caring and supportive Black father (as well as a couple of grandfathers, a bunch of uncles and a slew of male cousins) in my life.

My Dad and my son. (From Lori's Picture Collection)

If you have a "poignant" story about a Black father you'd like to share, The Five Sisters Publishing Company out of Sacramento, California is looking for essays (350-1500 words) for their "Father's Project." The deadline is November 15, 2007. Authors of selected stories will receive a $25.00 honorarium, a copy of the book and a byline. Check out the following link "Our Black Fathers" for more information.

TWENTY SIGNS . . . THAT A WRITING GROUP / WORKSHOP ISN'T FOR ME . . .

The October 2007 issue of O Magazine contains a nice article about a writing group called "The Finish Party." The eight member San Francisco Bay area group meets once a month, even though several of the members have to commute from LA in order to participate.

I came away from the article both a bit envious and with a renewed sense of hope about such endeavors. Over the years, dating as far back as my freshman year in college, I've been aligned with several different writing groups. My own experience with such groups has ranged from truly horrific to decidely mixed at best.

Sometimes the primary issue was simply a matter of conflicting interests and/or objectives. But more often than not, my own lack of patience with what I perceived as too much unadulterated bull crap came into play.

No doubt, some of the items on the following list (Twenty Signs That A Writing Group / Workshop Isn't For Me) are bound to rub some folks the wrong way. My reponse to that is . . . "Oh well." As I've mentioned before in the Old School Mix, what to me may reek like ten day old boiled cabbage, may to some one else have all of the savory appeal of birthday cake with ice-cream. It's just an opinion folks and one of the best things about living in the US of A is that we're each entitled to our own.

Anyway, this list is in no particular order, but the existence of more than one or two of these items in a group and on a regularly occurring basis will generally lead to the swift end of my participation.

1) The group is over-run by folks writing ghetto / gangsta / street / pimp /'I don't wanna be a freak but I can't help myself'/ type of lit. (Sorry, that's just not my kinda crowd.)

2) Lots of praise is given, but no real critique or discussion ever takes place. (Seriously, if all you want to hear is how great your work is, your best bet is to keep showing it to your Mama 'Nem.)

3) The group acts like it doesn't know how to function in the absence of its leader. (You know, where there is a set "game plan" this typically doesn't happen.)

4) Bad information is routinely passed of as fact and/or "The Truth, The Way and The Light." (Dag people, just 'cause the leader of the group or the dude with 20 self-published books under his belt or the wanna-be-editor who's out to take the rest of your money said "it," doesn't make "it" Gospel. Learn to double check stuff and solicit other opinions. Sheesh, when all else fails "Google."

5) The first thirty minutes to an hour is spent waiting on late arrivals. (Why? Am I the only one who thinks life is too short and my time too valuable to waste on folks who've obviously decided they have better things to do?)

6) No one knows when or where the next meeting will take place. (Ah, yeah, sounds like a plan to me.)

7) The consumption of food, liquor and/or weed appears to take higher priority than any actual writing, critiquing or discussion. (Gotta love those priorities, don't cha?)

8) Group members appear more interested in attending and scheduling events and selling their work than working on craft. (This is one of my major pet peeves. Sorry, while I can certainly see the benfits of such for some, every now and then, I'm simply not interested in doing marketing, making money or bringing attention to myself under the guise of providing a service to the community.)

9) Group members are strongly encouraged, instructed and/or required to dress alike. (Huh? Say what? Sorry, as one who treasures her individuality, just the thought repulses me. One reason I never wanted to join the Girl Scouts is because I hated those doofus-looking--oops--I meant, those cookie-cutter outfits.)

10) The group is over-run with groupies, star-gazers and brown-nosers. (In general, these types get on my nerves anyway. But in a group setting their presence is particularly distracting and annoying.)

11) There is no real accounting of the monies being collected. (Yeah, this always makes me want to hum a few bars of Prince's "Thieves In The Temple.")

12) A lot of time is devoted to writing exercises. (Really, if I wanted to do exercises, I'd sign up for a class, preferably one where I'd get a grade for my efforts. Sorry, but for me this typically feels like a huge waste of a group's time.)

13) The group has an on-line presence (or website), but very few people know how to access it or it is extremely difficult to do so. (To me, this is a sign that the parties involved don't really care).

14) The group leader is consistently late, missing in action or unprepared. (Is it just me, or does the lust for power and incompetence frequently appear to march hand-in-hand?)

15) Non-writing participants routinely critique the work of writing participants. (I'm saying, why are non-writing participants even in the group?)

16) Newcomers are never given any specific written information about the group--no rules or by-laws, no agenda, no member contact information, no meeting schedule. (I'm cool with a casual, laid-back style, but to me this is the mark of a group who isn't really serious.)

17) The poets in the group out-number those writing fiction. (Okay, I like poets. Some of my best friends are poets. But I don't really know a lot about writing poetry. Likewise, most poets don't really know a lot about writing fiction. Come on folks, lets keep it honest and real. Aren't we supposed to be helping one another?)

18) The leader dictates, delegates and castigates those who refuse to adhere to his/her personal program and/or agenda. (This may work with weak-minded, easily impressed folks who are open to drinking the Kool-Aid, but I'm grown and I'm neither easily enamored nor readily led.)

19) Members full of excuses and reasons why they NEVER have any work to submit to the group for critique. (Keep it real, y'all. Writing isn't a spectator's sport. Either you're committed and ready to do the damn thing or you're not.)

20) The group is primarily made up of self-published authors. (Nothing personal. I've just noticed that the goal of a lot of self-pub folks appears to be perfecting what they obviously view as little more than a hustle . . . rather than learning what it takes to improve their writing and story-telling skills.)

Again, to be clear, just because the things I've listed don't work for me, that doesn't necessarily make them bad. Feel free to share some of your own thoughts . . . even if they don't exactly jibe with mine.