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)

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).

Hand Selling & Pitch Preferences . . .

What turns you off as a consumer? What type of pitch approach works best for you?

Not long ago, I was in a bookstore browsing in the section set aside for"African American" fiction when one of the bookstore employees walked over and asked if needed help finding anything in particular. When I told her no, I was looking, she made an interesting comment. She said, "You know a lot of this stuff is garbage."

Now, had I not agreed, the conversation might have taken an ugly turn (LOL), but since so much of stuff showing up the "African American" fiction shelves these days makes me grimace and shake my head, she got no argument from me. For the sake of full disclosure, let me just add that I'd also had a successful book-signing in this same bookstore the day before this particular conversation took place.

Anyway, the bookstore employee went on to give me a glowing and detailed review of a book by an African American author that she'd absolutely adored. When I asked the middle-aged White woman what had prompted her to read a novel by an African American author and that had something of an "urban" storyline, she'd laughed and said, she felt a certain obligation as someone in the book business to read beyond and outside the realm of "dead White authors."

I nodded, listened and took note, in part because I'd heard/read good things about this same author's work elsewhere. Even though on that particular day, I ended up purchasing a different title, I won't soon forget the bookstore employee's enthusiastic sales pitch and I'm sure at some point, I will check out the novel she recommended.

A number of things generally play into my decision to buy or not buy a book. At the top of my list are factors like recommendations, reviews and excerpts. I pay particular attention to the recommendations of folks whose reading taste are similar to mine. If I keep hearing about a book or seeing mentions of it everywhere, I'll typically go online and take a look at some of the reviews written by both customers and bonafide book critics. If I've never read the author's work before, I generally make an attempt to read an excerpt before I make a final decision.

The bookseller's approach worked well for me because she soft-pedaled her pitch and made an effort to both ascertain my tastes and engage me in polite conversation. What doesn't work so well for me is the hard-sell or what I've come to view as the "hustle man" approach.

Pitch turn-offs for me, include the following:

Shoving a book in my face or hands and saying something along the lines of this, "This here is the bomb! You really do need to buy/ read/check this out today!;

Hounding me, chasing me, or following me around with a book while I'm browsing in a bookstore, at a festival or while I'm out in the grocery store parking lot;

Questioning my intelligence, racial solidarity, spiritual integrity, sanity, willingness to help a brother or sister out, etc.;

Bombarding me with notices (email, snail, etc.) about your latest book, literary endeavor and/or accomplishment, but never attempting to engage me otherwise. I mean, an email just to say hello, how ya doing or a comment on my blog every now and then wouldn't hurt;

Turning up at somebody else's event, uninvited, for the specific purpose of hustling me and the other guests with your literary wares;

Authors who under the guise of marketing and promotion-- boast, brag and otherwise act like they're the best thing to hit the scene since barbecued beans and chicken wings.

I do understand and appreciate that some of the items on my "turn-off" list don't bother others. We're all different and that's a beauty thing (smile). I'm also certain that to some my comments will mark me as a snob or some kind of an elitist. Oh well . . . go ahead and hate me for thinking books deserve better than to be hawked like crack, stolen sneakers or bootleg dvds (LOL). Really, all I'm doing is sharing my preferences and trying to get a better sense for how others go about making that decision to fork over their hard-earned dollars for a book. What say you?

THE MEMPHIS BOOK SIGNINGS . . . FOR AFTER THE DANCE . . . WOW!

On Saturday, April 12, 2008, I held two signings for my debut novel, After The Dance. More than 50 folks showed up at both events--approximately 51 at the first one and 58 at the second. According the my calculations, close to 100 (99) copies of After The Dance were sold and signed within the span of 4 hours.

Forgive me for being glib, but really I have to say this to the bookseller who declined to arrange a signing of my book at his store because in his words, Memphis isn't a big enough town for two launch parties . . . What the?! Who said anything about?! Anyway, maybe, just maybe what's lacking in size Mr. Bookseller Ole Boy is your vision. Free your mind and your @$$ just might follow (LOL).

In any case, there are a few things I will definitely do differently the next time out. We actually ran out of books at the 2nd signing--something which could have been easily avoided, but that's all right. Like I said, now that I know who's willing to work with me and who's not . . . (LOL).

Hey, it was and is still all good (smile). Approximately 20 minutes into the 2nd affair when it looked like we were about to run out of books, my quick thinking niece and sister-in-law called the bookstore at the mall across the street. On locating another ready supply, they went and bought a handful and brought them back over for me to sign. A couple of other folks did the same. Wow! How's that for being "resourceful?" You've gotta love it, dontcha? Shortly after that little stunt, another boxful of my books suddenly materialized (LOL).

A great big ole shout out to everyone who bought a book and/or in some way lent their time, energy and support to making the launch of my debut novel in Memphis a success. Thanks for helping me prove that Memphians of all racial, ethnic and economic backgrounds will turn out and support a sister who dares hold two book signings at two different venues on one day (smile).

A FEW MEMPHIS SHOUT-OUTS . . .

According to mama 'nem and all of the other folks who called me afterward, my News Channel 3 TV interview went over well.

Shout-out to Channel 3's Marybeth and Chris for making me feel so comfortable and inviting me in the first place. Gotta love the Memphis love.

Big shout-out to my North Memphis confidante, Dee-Dee (aka, my hair dresser of over twenty years). My hair is much longer than the picture posted on my blog and I really can't do much with it. But not only did Dee-Dee hook my hair up on short notice, the day before my interview, she came down to the studio (on her day off) the morning of my TV appearance and worked some more of her magic. Thanks girlfriend. Like I said, ain't nothing like that Memphis love.

Shout-outs are most definitely in order for my cousin from Philly, Mary, who keeps trying to get me to come up there for a book signing. She bought 10 copies of After The Dance and has her book club reading it. I keep telling her, next year, I'm trying to do my Southern thang at the moment, but she's not trying to hear it (LOL).

A couple of other multiple copy shout-outs are due for my friend Alice Faye and one of my Mama's friends, Ms. Alfredia. My girl Alice bought 7 copies and passed them on to friends and relatives and Ms. Alfredia said she was looking to purchase 2o. What can I say? Actions like those from folks who aren't even blood kin, can only be called blessings. Thanks y'all.

Shout-out to my cousin Michael who works for the Memphis City Police Department and who got promoted to Major on yesterday. You looked good up there, boy, getting pinned with that badge. Now when are you gonna show up on 48 hours? (LOL).

Shout-out to the University of Memphis Tigers who came SO close. That's all right guys. Y'all played hard, did your best and represented the city well. No matter how many professional sports teams Memphis gets, thanks to the Tigers, it's always gonna be a big college basketball town. Go Tigers! Go!

My last shout-out for the day goes to Naysue of black girl lost in a book fame who inspired this particular post (smile). On my previous post, she asked a question in jest that lead to today's list of thanks. Check out her blog sometime if you haven't done so yet. She does an excellent job when it comes to shining a spotlight on those books, writers and works that all too often fall under the radar.

I do have a few "gas-face" awards I'd like to handout to a few folks whose behavior has been of the trifling sort, but I'm gonna save those until I'm back in Charlotte. I'm not trying to have folks show up at my Mama's house looking to issue me a beat-down, verbal or otherwise (LOL).

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 PSA ON THE TOPIC OF "PLAYWRITERS" & "FICTIONAL NOVELS" . . .

This public service announcement is primarily aimed at those of you out there in blog-land who didn't cringe or frown when you read the words "playwriter" and "fictional novel" in the title of this post.

The proper term for someone who writes plays is "playwright" as I gently pointed out to the relative who proudly proclaimed himself his church's premiere "playwriter."

For the record, there is no such word as "playwriter." It's one of those made up words, like its ghetto cousin, "conversated." If you don't trust me, look it up for yourself. Unless you're using the New School Dictionary of Ebonics, I'll doubt if you'll find it. The same applies to "fictional novel." If you are currently using this term, for heaven's sake (as well as your own credibility and self-respect), please stop. Seriously, it readily marks you as someone who doesn't have a clue or a dictionary.

Short lesson here, so take notes. A novel is by definition a work of fiction. To insist on describing a novel as fictional is sort of like using the ebonics expression "kilt dead" or "killed dead," if you will. As much as I enjoy the playful use of language, I'll be d@m# if I ever get caught dialing up 911 and yelling into the receiver, "Send the police! Somebody got kilt dead over here!"

One day, years ago when I worked at the public library in Memphis, a gentleman, who fancied himself a writer, told me he'd come in to do a bit of research on his "non-fiction novel." I just nodded, smiled and said, "Uh-huh, good luck with that." Of course, besides wanting to laugh, I couldn't help but think, "What the ---?!"

Still not convinced? Okay, not long ago I watched a reality program on TVOne called "Stage Black." The show featured the playwright, David E. Talbert and his attempts to help a group of young actors break into the business. In the process of critiquing some of their work and upon noting how defensive they were becoming, he paused and said something that had me waving my hand and shouting, "Amen!"

Talbert explained that most people in the business weren't going to be as honest with them about their shortcomings. He said folks were going to let them make a plumb fool of themselves, only to shake their hands afterward, smile in their faces and assure them they'd be in touch. But as soon as they'd exited the theatre, that same director would frown and say, "Scratch him/her off the list and don't ever allow him/her back up on my stage again."

If you don't think that same kind of truth applies to those of us who are out here looking to be respected as writers and authors, you're fooling yourself. To borrow a phrase from the COS, "Come on people!" wake up, do you homework and stop trying to half-step.

Really, I'm not trying to be mean. We all fall short of the mark sometimes. I have no problems admitting that I'm a horrible speller, a lazy proof-reader and I could very well use a refresher course in the basics of grammar. But in addition to relying on my computer's spell check and keeping both a dictionary and an English text nearby, I've learned to accept being called out on my errors. After all, isn't that how you learn and grow?

So hey, if this post rubs you the wrong way, maybe next time, rather than hanging out here at the "Old School Mix," perhaps, instead you ought to dive into that "fictional novel" you've been planning to read. You know, the one written by your friend, the famous "playwriter?" (Smile)

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.

POPULAR LIT (PART III) . . . My "I'll Gladly Pass" List . . .

. . . Faulkner . . . Talk about coincidences. This past weekend, totally unprompted and out of the blue, a friend sent me an email, in which she raved about her love of Faulkner's "As I Lay Dying." As my dear, smart-mouthed son might say, "Well, I'm happy for her (smile)." Sadly and truthfully, Faulker has never done a whole lot for me. I have yet to feel the magic when I immerse myself in his work.

Sometimes I wonder had I taken more English/Lit courses in college, if might feel different about Faulkner and some of the other dead authors, whose works fail to move me. I'm saying, isn't College Lit where they hammer out a portion of your brain and replace it with loads of academic jargon and a bunch of other ivory-tower creations designed to keep you walking the straight, narrow and predictable paths of political correctness? No? Okay, my bad . . .

Anyway, the next author on the list of folks I'm supposed to like and regard with high-esteem, but dont--is guaranteed to draw shrieks and much pulling of hair (whether real, store-bought, processed or au natural) from certain quarters of the African American literary establishment. But here goes anyway . . . Richard Wright.

Black Boy. Native Son. Ah, no thanks. Keep it. Not for me. Really, I don't see the beauty. The angst, yeah, but not the beauty. Never have. Probably never will. To be fair, it's been years since I've read Black Boy. I should (and at some point will) probably read it again, because age has a way of changing things--perspectives in particular.

But I don't think there's any chance of me ever liking Native Son. The movie version of the book, starring Richard Wright as "Bigger Thomas" pretty much killed that for me. It's hard for me to watch that movie without either winching in pain or laughing (when and where I'm not supposed to). Very seldom do I ever say something is horrible, but truly, for me, the movie version of Native Son is just that. Were I ever forced to choose, I'd rather waste an hour of my life watching Flav Flav's ig'nant behind.

And this last one? Heck, I may as well go ahead and turn in my Sister-Girl card now . . . because it's more than likely gonna come back stamped REVOKED! as soon as I fix my lips to say anything negative about this person.

But to be clear, I don't dislike all of this author's work--just the one she's most famous for. Okay brace yourselves now. You ready? The title is . . . is . . . Their Eyes Were Watching God . . . (ducking, shielding my eyes and hanging my head in shame).

I can hear it now. "Oh, but the hummingbird . . . the rich symbolism . . . the love story . . . " Yeah, I know. Sorry, none of it moved me. Not in the least.

Here's the deal--I've owned the book, Their Eyes Were Watching God, since the mid-to late '80s. Nope, I didn't buy it. It was given to me. A number of times over the years, I've pulled the text from the shelves, started reading it, found myself growing extremely irritated and within a couple of pages, found myself tossing the book back onto the shelves.

Part of the/my problem with the work is the dialect. I hate reading books written in dialect, especially that which is intended to represent the way rural, Black Southerners speak. I almost passed on The Color Purple for the same reason. Though, I must say, in keeping with the lonely, politically-incorrect course I've charted for myself, I enjoyed the movie much more than I did the book. Oh, what did I think about the movie version of Their Eyes? Plenty. But I'd best save it for another time (smile).

Let there be no mistaking though, Zora Neale Hurston, the tilted-hat-wearing, Black woman, writer, anthropologist and all-around character . . . Oh, I ADORE her! And the collection of African American folktales she packaged under the title Mules & Men is my kind of reading . . . even though, I'd dare say, like most "good" social scientists, Zora Neale made most of that mess up (LOL)!

On a more serious note, the sad thing for me, as it pertains to Zora Neale is that I didn't even learn of her existence until my final semester of grad school. Had I not been a student of anthropology, a Black female with Southern roots, who had an interest in writing fiction, this might not have mattered . . . But you know, it's been years and I still tear up every time I think about it.

In any case, what's your book? You know, the one everybody and his or her Grandmama praises till the cows come home, but you'd rather take a karate chop to the throat before you read it again? Come on, don't be scared! Fess up! I've already taken most of the hard blows for you . . .

Written while listening to Jaguar Wright's "Free" "Timing" "Told Ya" "So High" "Been Here Before" and "Cell Bock" from her cd entitled, Divorcing Neo 2 Marry Soul.

POPULAR LIT (PT II) . . . More On "Unpopular" Opinions . . .

On one of our treks through Atlanta this past summer, we stayed a couple of nights with an old friend of the family. Our friend is a professor of Sociology at one of the liberal arts colleges in the the area and, like my son, is also a big Sci-Fi fan. She was in the middle of complimenting my boy on a couple of books he'd brought along, when my son's lack of zeal for the popular boy wizard's world suddenly reared its big head in the conversation.

I listened while my well-intentioned friend took it upon herself to convince my son of the merits of the Hogwarts crew and watched as my son sat and politely nodded. In keeping with his home-training, the boy never said anything flip or sarcastic (he only does that with me & his his Dad), but I could tell by the look on his face he was thinking the equivalent of, "Yeah lady and after you get through singing Harry's praises, I still won't be reaching for Potter anytime soon."

The look on my boy's face, I'm sure, was nearly identical to the one that surfaces on my own when people try to twist my arm into liking some piece of literature that has been deemed by them and others in the know as the best thing since . . . heck, the Ten Commandments or the Emancipation Proclamation.

For the record, I'm not in the habit of publicly bashing or bad-mouthing contemporary authors. Of course, if you are a regular reader of this blog, it goes without saying that I don't extend the same type of hands off treatment to actors, musicians, preachers, politicians and other such folks who make it their business to be all up in the limelight. Sorry, I simply don't consider any of the aforementioned my peers or colleagues and thus entitled to the same type of professional courtesy and/or respect.

Yes, I do think a lot of work out there, particularly some of the literature currently being produced by mainstream African American authors, stinks like ten day old, boiled cabbage. But personally, I see little to gain by pointing a finger at those folks. I'm all too happy to leave that sort of thing to the critics, book reviewers and academic types who get paid and make names for themselves doing so.

Besides, authors who appear to delight in ripping and trashing the work of other authors, writers and everyday hacks, typically come off, to me, as looking mean-spirited, petty or outright jealous. Hey, one person's ten day old, boiled cabbage, is another person's manna from heaven. I'm saying, if it's good to you and it doesn't make you wanna upchuck, have at it.

On the other hand, there are several authors, who, though long dead, are still being heralded and praised for their literary genius, but whose work I don't mind admitting, I'll gladly take a pass on, like for instance . . .

Well, if you REALLY want to know, you'll have to check back later for PART III (smile). In the meantime, feel free to add your comment and/or opinion to "The Mix". . .

POPULAR LIT . . . PASSING ON POTTER . . . (Part I)

My child is a reader. Not surprised? Well, some are, particularly, upon their discovery that my child is a young, African American male.

Yes, the same brown-skinned little boy who loves playing basketball and baseball and who appears to know even more sports trivia than the loud mouths he enjoys watching on ESPN'S "Around the Horn" is also a voracious reader.

The boy's taste in literature changes with the season. At the moment his preference leans toward the fantasy and sci-fi genre. Just about every book he brings through the door either has some kind of dragon, monster or sullen faced (Gothic-looking) youngster on the cover.

Periodically, I'll flip through one of his books or ask a couple of questions about what he's reading just to make sure he's not reading up on explosive technology, world domination or anything that might suggest he's considering pulling a Lizzie Borden. But basically, I let him do his thing-- and in much the same manner my parents did for me--without too much hovering or outright interference. Personally, I think it's best that way.

I must confess to being a bit surprised though, upon learning that my son isn't much of a Harry Potter fan. While he appears to enjoy the movies as much as any other kid his age, he's not terribly keen on reading any of the books. Matter of fact, the one book in the series he owned, he recently donated to a book drive.

During the most recent Potter book craze, I tried to convince him to reconsider. I hyped all of the Potter parties and events being held at area libraries and bookstores. I talked about all of the fun so many kids his ages were having dressing up in customes and the like. My son responded with a shrug and said, "Good. I'm happy for them."

Don't you just love/hate it when your kid turns around and hurls some of your own unique brand of snippiness/snarkiness/sarcasm right back at you? "Good, I'm happy for them," is so classic . . . "Me" . . . I couldn't do anything, but laugh.

Actually, I'm kind of proud that my son refuses to bow to popular opinion when it comes to what he ought to or ought not like, feel or do. More often than not, the price one ends up paying in the quest to please others and keep up with the Jones's (or the Hiltons, or Cruises or the Trumps or any of the numerous other La-De, Da-De, Wanna-Be-Somebodies) is the loss of the ability to truly know what makes one happy . . .

So, that's right young man, keep bucking the crowd, the latest fad, trends and bandwagons, especially if you're really just not feeling them. Never be afraid to do you. And always know . . . mama's got your back.

Written while listening to the songs on Rachelle Ferrell's "Individuality (can I be me?)"

AFRICAN AMERICANS & TENNIS . . . MORE QUOTES . . .

I subscribe to the NY Times online, but as of late, I've been much too busy to read them. While deleting some of the clutter in the mail box, I stop and read over some of the article titles in the Times Sunday Book Review, dated July 22, 2007. I noticed a review on a book entitled, CHARGING THE NET: A History of Blacks in Tennis from Althea Gibson and Arthur Ashe to the Williams Sisters.

The book, which is edited by Cecil Harris and Larryette Kyle-DeBose, consists of 65 interviews and presents an indepth look into the lives of Black tennis stars.

A couple of the quotes in the article, written by Toure, jumped out at me.

Leslie Allen, who participated in the sport in the 80's said the following: "I'd go to a tournament where the family wanted to house the No. 1 seed. But when that family found out that the No. 1 seed was me, then suddenly the housing disappeared."

The editors (Harris and Kyle-DeBose) made the following observations: "The unspoken but persistent vibe that you are not welcome, that others would be happier if you went away, a vibe that black tennis players have sensed on the main tour for decades, makes it difficult to find the rhythm and comfort zone needed to perform at your best."

I'm not a major follower of tennis, but this book sounds like one I'd enjoy reading. I was surprised by some of the details the article shared, particularly, as far as some of the personal difficulties faced by so many of the better known tennis stars. Also,I'm intrigued by the thought that so many African Americans, whose names I've never heard, not only played, but excelled in the sport (smile).

WORDS OF WISDOM & HUMOR . . . FROM MARK TWAIN . . .

The following notice appeared in the opening of Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn--

"Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot."

I think, quite often, a lot of us feel this way . . . but would never dare say it (smile). Of course, to be SUCCESSFUL in today's marketplace, we need all of those things and more. Don't we? (LOL) It's okay if you don't "get" the humor in the statement above. The truth is, the joke is generally always on the writer . . .

FOR ALL OF THE BOOK SNOBS AND THEIR CRONIES--The Book Snots, The Book Nazis and The Book Police . . .

I don't get BOOK SNOBS, in particular those who feel obliged to tell others WHAT and HOW they OUGHT to be READING. You know the type of people I'm talking about? The ones prone to shaking their larger than average heads, looking down their long, narrow noses (or wide and slightly flared nostrils) and uttering "tsk, tsk, tsk" if what you're currently reading doesn't make their list of "worthy" reads? The ones who treat reading as if it's some sort of fierce, life or death competition, and in turn have desginated themselves as both team captains and keepers of score? Yeah, you know who and what I'm talking about.

So, could somebody please tell me why these folks just don't get it? IMHO telling folks what they OUGHT TO or OUGHT NOT be reading is impolite and arrogant at best, and at its worst, fuels the type of lock-step mentality that leads to the banning and even outright burning of books marked by the "powers that be" as inappropriate.

Even though my own preferences in literature tend to lean toward "literary fiction" and I have an admitted bias for books that reflect the African American experience, I am, for all practical purposes, an eclectic reader. The books on the shelves in my own personal library will attest to the fact that I read a bit of everything--Margaret Atwood, James Baldwin, Octavia Butler, Jackie Collins, Hemingway, Kafka, Terry McMillan, Toni Morrison, Eudora Welty, Zane . . . Believe me, the list goes on and includes everything in between. And that's just for fiction.

At the risk of making a right proper A$$ out of U and ME (lol), I ASSUME most people read, as I do, for pleasure and/or enlightenment. I have no problem accepting that what pleases and entertains me and/or expands my knowledge base could very well gag or bore plenty of others.

Some of my closest and dearest friends live off a steady diet of romance novels. I can't stand formulaic romance, not to be confused with a good love story (smile). While I might, on occasion, tease my friends about their reading selections (as they do me) I don't judge or condem them for their choices.

I could be wrong, but it seems to me that assigning specific and fixed weights and values to books leads to the "everything I read is great" and "everything you read is crap" school of thought. Sorry, I simply can't get with that type of "holier than thou attitude" when it comes to books. As if owning an appetite for the "so-called" classics or the NY Times Best Sellers, or the Oprah Book Club Pics or even the Pulitzer Prize Winners will automatically recuse one from being either an idiot or an ax-murderer.

Sure, there's a lot of stuff out there I won't read (like all of that hustler, pimp, ho, thug & gansta) lit or I read very little of (most of that I don't wanna be a freak, but I can't help myself type of stuff) or that which I for the most part consider a right hot mess (nope, not even gonna go there). And yes, there are quite a few books through which I've struggled, but only after determining ON MY OWN and FOR MYSELF that the book was worth the effort.

The world is too big and life much too short to get stuck plowing through pages of material that bring you absolutely no joy, particularly if you're only doing so because someone with a MFA, PhD or a talk show labeled it a "classic" or a "must-read." Besides, unless the person doing so is your parent (and you're still a minor, living up in their house), your teacher, professor or possibly your employer, they really don't have any business dictating what and how you read in the first place.

So for all you BOOK SNOBS out there . . . when you stumble upon someone who shares your reading preferences, by all means, go ahead and applaud. You have every right to celebrate. But please, when you bump into someone whose taste in lit and/or reading habits you consider "beneath" yours, try not to castigate, verbally assassinate or straight-up perpetrate, all right?! (LOL)

AKON . . . PRINCE . . . AND THE CONCEPT OF RESPONSIBILITY . . .

I caught an interview with Prince on BETJ last week. At one point, the interviewer told Prince how much he enjoyed the song, "Dirty Mind." He asked if Prince would be performing the song in his up coming tour or any of the other risque material for which he's known.

Prince smiled and asked the interviewer what he thought Prince should do. The guy said, in so many words, "Hey, go for it." Prince said, "Well what should I do about the 14 year old who's sitting in the front row?

The interviewer said, "Well, you never thought about the 14 year old back in the 80's . . ." To which Prince responded, "No, back then, there were no 14 year olds seated in the front row. Besides, I'd like to think that I've grown and I'm more responsible than I was back then . . ."

Responsibility? Wow, what an interesting coincidence. Not only did my last post on "The Death Of Hip Hop" address the topic of artistic and collective responsibility, the post was written in the hours prior to my viewing of the Prince interview.

So what does any of this have to do with the singer Akon? Well, there is that picture of him and the alleged 14 year old girl currently making the internet rounds. You know, the one with him on stage on his back and babygirl sitting atop his thighs? Yeah, even if you haven't seen it, you get the picture, I'm sure.

Anyway, I've heard all of the excuses. How was he supposed to know how old she was? Her little fast tail didn't have any business there in the first place. Did you see how she was dressed? And where were her parents?

Spare me, please. After all is said and done, she's still 14 years old (allegedly) and at age 34 (I believe) Akon is still a grown azz man. Perhaps one good place to start would be not pulling anyone up on stage for the purpose of simulating sex. Since when is strip club behavior appropriate for a concert? I guess around about the time we all decided any and everything goes, huh? I'm pretty sure, at this rate and given the direction things are going, actual sex on stage will be next. And after that, what? Publicly relieving oneself on folks' children? Oh, I'm sorry I guess R. Kelley already did that . . . allegedly (smile).

Prince, His Royal Badness personified, is right. Back in the 80's, I had the pleasure of attending a couple of his concerts and I can personally vouch for what he said about 14 year olds not sitting up front row center of his shows. They weren't. They shouldn't be at Akon's either--not front row center (under the circumstances) and most certainly not up stage straddling his 34 year old thighs. If we were all committed to being responsible, they wouldn't be.

But if we truly want this kind of foolishness to end, we can't just stop at blaming the parents, much less the child. And at age 14, I don't care how she's dressed, she's still a child. It takes a village y'all. So stop co-signing this mess and act like you know.

THE DEATH OF HIP HOP . . . PART IV (A Few Graveside Remarks)

Just the other day, the Hip Hop Summit Action Network, led by Russell Simmons and Benjamin Chavis came out and urged the industry to ban the use of "nigga, bitch and ho" from all so-called clean versions of rap songs . . .

"Our discussions are about the corporate responsibility of the industry to voluntarily show respect to African Americans and other people of color, African American women and to all women in lyrics and images."

Ah . . . yeah . . . right . . .

I'm sort of inclined to agree with Joan Morgan, the author of "When Chickenheads Come Home To Roost." She said the recommendations were, "shortsighted at best and disingenuous at worst." Really, it does still sound very much like yet another royal passing of the buck. Cha-ching! I guess some of us still don't want to own up to being complicit in our own degradation . . . "Can I get a, What?! What?!" (smile) Yeah, I said it. Meant it too.

Even though Simmons and Chavis merely SUGGESTED that the industry VOLUNTARILY show a bit of respect toward the folks they ritualistically and habitually demean and malign and with such zeal, a lot of folks are outraged. They look at the REQUEST as a giant step toward CENSORSHIP and a violation of FREE-SPEECH. "If you don't like it, don't listen to it," they say. "If you don't want your children to hear it, turn off the radio. Do a better job of monitoring what your children buy and watch on TV." Yup, that's what they say, all right.

Hmm . . . Well, couldn't that very same logic have been applied to Imus? Or Richards? Or any other nutcase or fool who opens his mouth and barfs up hate? How come it's okay to wanna shut up and shut down folks, that aren't too many of US listening to anyway, but it's somehow NOT OKAY to ask the brother from around the way, the one who looks like you or who could very well be your son, sibling, uncle, nephew, cousin or spouse . . . how come it's not okay to POLITELY ask that brother to refrain from the constant use of the very same words?

How come we really think it's okay for us to wanna have it both ways? Hate speech is hate speech, isn't it? Or is SOME hate really more excusable . . . permissible . . . or perhaps, simply more lucrative than some other?

I think it's ironic, if not incredibly revealing how so many of the folks, who in the aftermath of Michael Richard's public moment of insanity were all too willing and eager to place a universal ban on the use of the word, "nigger" (and all of its colorful variations) are now suddenly incensed at the thought of not being able to hear or spew--when, where and however they might please--a constant barrage of bitches and ho's.

I bet Dave Chappelle could put together one heck of a funny skit behind that particular brand of madness. Can't you picture it? Some blinged out, platinum grilled rapper, who's got two scantily clad women on choke-collars and dog leashes, crawling around at his feet. And the rapper, let's call him, MC Ignant Azz, is crying, rubbing his eyes and pleading, JB-style to some faceless, cigar-smoking fat cat figure who's sitting behind a desk, "Please, please, please Mr. Big Man, Suh, I done already give you my boy, 'Nigga.' Why you wanna go and take my gals, 'Bitch and Ho?' Oh, Lawd, Mr. Big Man, Suh, please just let me have, 'Bitch and Ho!" How else is I suppose to make my bens and my ends meet?!" Hmm . . . it's kinda got a nice antebellum-like ring to it, don'tcha think? (LOL)

For the record, I don't believe in censorship. Snatching books out of schools, pulling records/cds off shelves and setting bonfires to material deemed offensive, all seem kind of Nazi-like to me. I would never advocate an outright ban on the use of any word . . . not nigga, not bitch, not ho. Should we ban the word, "Fire" just because some idiot thinks it's funny to scream it in a movie theatre? But then again, if some idiot does scream "fire" in a theatre where there is none, I don't mind at all in assisting in putting his behind out.

As I've stated elsewhere, for some of us, the issue was never about censorship, it was and is about RESPECT. Yeah, remember that song, and the line, "R.e.s.p.e.c.t. find out what it means to me," that Aretha made famous, way back when? Yes, as much as some of y'all ain't trying to hear it, along with the freedom of expression comes something called responsibility . . . responsibility towards one's self and one's community.

Anyway, back to our skit . . .

"Respect and responsibility? Oh, Lawd, No, Mr. Big Man, Suh, what is I'm ever gone find to rhyme with that?"

Finally, Mr. Big Man, Suh stands and speaks, "Well, MC Ignant Azz, I guess we both gone have to find us something else to exploit."

The two of them, Mr. Big Man, Suh and MC Ignant Azz bump fists and pat each other on the back before walking off side-by-side into the sunset.