The focus group was asked to take a look at the current cover for the book. The aesthetic is actually easy on the eyes. It’s very simple and not over or understated. I even mentioned that the font seemed on point for the type of book that it seems to be.  What I didn’t mention, but just now thought about, the photo could have stand to use some kind of action. Not a whole lot, but something more than a still shot of flowers.

Then the nitty gritty. The title was very confusing. It was hard to decipher what the book is truly about without wanting to run to a synopsis.  I mentioned three (or four?) guesses on what the book is about. After that many guesses I think I would quit and not even want to bother trying to figure out its content.  Based on the title alone, it was hard to understand the true demographic intended for the book. The flowers and a word within the title suggest that it is meant for women, but what kind? What age range? Which region?

My friend was so relieved at the responses she was receiving. She mentioned that before the focus group she made some suggestions to her client,  to which the client seemed to reject them and adamant in their stance. The client already had books pressed up and ready for distribution. When I heard that I deeply sighed. Unfortunately it’s an all too familiar story, especially with self publishing authors.  I read horror story after horror story from the women in my online writing group that have a literary service business that naturally includes the service of….. EDITING!

A few months ago a member shared how she was hired to edit an author’s work (who already had previously self published a couple of books) and her client was in too much of a hurry to have her book published. The rush was because the author wanted this particular book published in time to sell at a conference. Naturally the author rejected any suggestions made and told my fellow member to do the best she could and to have it “ready” by whatever time or date. My fellow member complied, but not without a warning or a word to her client. Of course she would have rather that the author waited to have a quality product, because not only does the quality of the book reflects on the author but the editor as well. People do realize that authors (well MOST of us) seek out an editor, even if it is Pookie from around the way that we’ve known since seventh grade that got the side hustle of “proofreader.” We have another set of eyes looking at our work as we are cranking it out. So, when the content of a book seems jumpy, has misspellings, off balance with the entire plot or just lacking character development, the audience not only attacks the author, but they also ask “who was the editor?” and then proceeds to go HAM (look that up if you dare) on both.

To all my writers looking into jump into the self publishing pool, or even if you are there already, you got to know the importance of what a public relations specialist and an editor can do.  It’s a wonderful thing to go and self publish and build up a publishing independence like no other. Yet, if this is your goal, you can not afford to be sloppy with your work.

Okay, so you don’t think you have enough shillings to pay for a high price fancy editor. Truth be told, there is a wealth of editing resources that could possibly work for your budget, big or small. Editors saturate this industry, so it shouldn’t be hard to find one. To start, the key is right in front of your face, that is if you read other people’s work. Reading the acknowledgement section of any book can be your golden ticket. Unless the author is very brief and incognito with info, more than likely you will find out out who their editor, publisher, public relations person, cover designer, literary agent and their whole family and crop of friends from kindergarten are based on who they say “thank you” to.  Look up these people (sans family and friends).  Find out if they have websites. Research.

To give you another hint, go to your local library, bookstore, wherever there are books and find a Writer’s Market manual. It’s annually published. Look for the most recent year if the current year is unavailable to you. I say go back no more than two years from the current year. Writer’s Market breaks down the profiles of publishing houses, literary agents and an array of literary services (editors, etc.) their prices, genres they accept, contact info, and more. Currently, I have a monthly subscription to the online version of Writer’s Market. It’s a God sent!

It’s pretty much the same thing when looking for a public relations person. Yet searching for one can be a bit tricky. Like editors, public relations professionals saturate .. well not just an industry, but it seems like the earth! They are everywhere! However, not everyone is a real pro at this! There are people proclaiming to be in PR but don’t have a clue into all that goes into it other than sending a press release and having lavish parties. You really have to research and get a feel for what your potential PR pro can do for you. One of the saddest things about the self publishing business is there are some really good books that come from this market, but nobody is making noise about them.  Maybe it’s not your desire to be a full blown author on that level, but you still want your self published book of poetry to go beyond your family circle. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have bothered to publish it at all.

When considering a PR person, take into account if and how they will present your book to the masses. A really good one will ask you questions about your message in the book (if there is a real message), your intended audience, what are your goals with the book and yourself (what direction if any?) and they wouldn’t necessarily be hung up on branding. They would rather that your true natural talent shine without trying to change you or make you fit into a mold that isn’t you. The brand would be you and not a false image of you.

Now that you’ve hired your editor and PR pro, do you have tough skin? Do have trust in them to help you? Are you willing to listen to their suggestions as these are professionals with years of experience in their craft and industry? If you are the least bit hesitant or thinking no, I’m going to need for you to just exit from this post and rethink why are trying to become an author in the first place.  These are the professionals willing to help you. When you found and consulted with them, certainly they believe in you enough to take you on as a client. Otherwise, if you are willing to toughen up your skin, listen to suggestions and even compromise (hint – the compromise is not about changing your style of writing or image as author) when it comes to the content then you just may be ready for the publishing world; self published or big time.

Remember it’s all about quality and making you and your work shine!

Two Leaf Clover by Natalie Dee

Anyone that knows my back story knows how far I’ve come. In fact, it humbles me when people take a look and see what I’m doing and feel inspired in some way. Constantly I’m receiving compliments on how they admire that I’m doing what I love. I take the compliments in stride yet I always feel the need to heed a warning or a disclaimer.

While you may see me from time to time at a fabulous event, scooping out my latest subject to report on, or interviewing a few well-known and intriguing figures, my life is far from glamorous. I’m a freelancer and it’s a straight up hustle. And while I hate to throw in the race card, I have to wonder how much of it is my reality as I try to become published in some of the most highly regarded publications known locally and nationally. In light of the fact, admitted or not, newsroom diversity is shrinking, I have to ponder the reasons upon which I’m told “no.” Is it because I’m the unknown girl from Southeast D.C. that has only made some noise in the industry but not enough to cause full-blown attention? Did my idea truly suck or was it definitely untimely?  Nevertheless, I try my hardest not to let it deter me and keep it moving. My skin is toughening and I’m becoming one of those people;  ”I love it when you tell me no!”

This freelance, on your own thing is not for the faint at heart.

Speaking of the faint at heart, yes there are times when I want to throw in the towel on the whole journalism thing. Maybe I’ll go into PR (something that I actually consider off and on until we talk crisis management to which a friend tells me if I can nail that, I’m IN). Maybe I’ll go back in the federal government and live out my life as a government minion sifting paper day in and out until retirement. I’m not too sure about that last one, especially as I often wonder if in fact journalism chose me and not the other way around. Clearly, when I truly dedicated myself to journalism the tides were rolling and turning leaving the industry shaky on all grounds and opening the doors for non-journalists (celebrity figures, bloggers, citizen journalists) to saturate the industry. Traditional journalists, especially minorities, have been hustling just as hard to keep their jobs. I question my sanity daily.

Then last week, amid me cursing my car troubles and lack of finances,  I read a column in the Huffington Post. Holly Robinson’s Why I Told My Daughter to Quit Her Job gives a birds-eye view into how she supports her daughter’s career moves as she went from a high paying power job to something that is hitting just at minimum wage. Because her daughter wasn’t happy at her comfy well-paying job, Robinson gave her daughter some sound advice;

“Life is too short to be miserable for money,” I told her finally. “Just quit. Take the barista job and figure out something else while you’re making lattes.” 

Where was this article in 2005 when I left the federal government? People (especially my mother) looked at me as if I were crazy when I decided not to renew another term with my “good government job.” Yet at the time, I knew I had to leave in order to do some more growing; personally and professionally.

Part of the reason why I left the government was also to regroup and figure out the appropriate time to finish my undergraduate studies. I went back roughly four years after I initially left. I have to say I was a bit naive to think that once I received my BA in journalism that my days of financial struggle would be over and the industry would welcome me with open arms, considering the small timer experiences I have that I thought would be enough to get me at least an entry-level position. Of course my perception of that has changed and Robinson’s point was the hammer that hit that nail right on the head.

“College, you see, is not really about preparing you for the job market. It’s about gaining the knowledge and skills you need to seize opportunities — and that includes knowing when to walk away from something that makes you unhappy.”

I co-sign with Robinson’s point 100 percent. I’m just amazed that it’s only NOW that articles like this are surfacing as the country is still dealing with recession issues. Still, right now my situation seems dire. True, I’m one of the 5.9 million 25 to 35- year -olds living with my parents, but I also have a kid I’m raising. Getting by on freelance work isn’t enough. So yeah, my life “ain’t” glamorous. Just look at the gaping hole on the inside thigh of my jeans!!! But what keeps me going? I guess it is my love for journalism, the fact that I live and breathe writing (journalistic and creative)  and my need to find a creative way to re-do it in a sense. So yeah, I’m in that struggle… trying to figure out how to fit in where I can get in. Still this is my hustle. Journalism… oh and let’s not talk about my creative writing ventures. Honestly, I haven’t been too focused on that side as I have been working on giving my journalism career life. However, there is news from that side, but more details are to come.

Then, the other night, a Tyler Perry video blog went viral on Facebook. Whether you agree with Perry’s work or not, you can’t really argue with what he says here in this video.

How To Be Successful by Tyler Perry

A main point that Perry says, of course coming from a spiritual, Christian,  stance, is that it was nothing but the grace of God.

“You can plant seeds all day long. You can go around giving your business cards to people, you can go around knocking on doors and audition… and nothing… for most people, nothing happens. When a seed is planted in the ground, all you can do is water it. You cannot control the sun shine, you cannot control the weather and you cannot control if the locus will come and destroy it. ” – Tyler Perry

From hard work, staying focused on at least one thing – at the time he was determined to get one of his plays produced and on stage – the rest followed.  I so needed to hear his message, as it is a reminder, especially to those of us that are control freaks over our lives, that there are some things we really can’t control. No matter what your spiritual stance is, you have to believe that some things are out of your hands. Now that doesn’t mean you slack up in your work, you just do what you need to do to get the ball rolling and ease up a bit and believe that it will work out for the greater good. It may not be within your plans, but that’s the thing……sometimes what we want or plan out isn’t meant to be. Simple as that.

So while I do easily encourage you to quit that job you are unhappy about and focus on that one thing that makes you happy that will eventually align everything up with you I also say it take a person with guts to live this kind of life I’m living. On the edge.

Please evaluate all that is going with you right now. If you are not reaching your full potential, loosing that creative fiber that causes you to feel passionate about something, you may have to set things off to make changes. Still you have to be willing to deal with the transition. Learn to rely on your faith to help you through and trust instincts when it comes to certain decisions. And yes, if you haven’t by now… go back and click the links to Robinson’s article and Perry’s video to heed their knowledge.

Also, for another inspiring story of survival and success, find a copy of the January 2012 issue of Essence Magazine (Queen Latifah is on the cover). Danielle Belton, the lady behind The Black Snob, is featured as one of the women who survived the recession. Her write-up was an inspiration for me of course as I’m still researching issues pertaining to mental illness in regards to black women and the fact she comes from a journalism background and is seemingly branching out at the right time.

I can’t wait to see how my own story will turn out when this phase is over. That alone gets me excited.

Up late… listening to The Streets.  One particular cut took me back to something I wrote exactly five years ago. The song still has that same memory lane affect. Now and certainly then. Perhaps Forever….

I invite you to scroll down, hit play to the video, scroll back up and read. Let your mind take you back… to the good times.

Vibrations Of Yesterday
January 18, 2008
By Blackvelveteen (Currently known to you as Mahoganie Jade Browne)

Mahoganie Partying in Myrtle Beach 2007

Ever been to a good party or had a real genuine good time at a club? I’m not talking about because you got wasted all night and did freaky sneaky things that you had a smashing time. I’m talking about when you went, mix and mingled and EVERYONE was about the music. It wasn’t about profiling, spitting lame pick up lines or finding a conquest for the night. It was all about the POSITIVE energy, the dancing, making new friends/connections because of a common love.

I have.

I actually miss it. I long for it. Just once more.

Take me back a few years.

Home – Washington, DC

My friend Mona and I hit up a local reggae spot – The Kaffa House.

Outside of Mona, none of my friends share the same interest in reggae (roots rock) and dancehall.

We had arrived kind of early, but it was fine. It gave us time to “chill” and watch the sights entering the building. Midnight the place started jumping. Two o’clock the place was packed. Three o’clock we were rocking with some guys that traveled from New York City.

I was 20 and staying out until five in the morning was a new found thing.

A couple of years later.

Baltimore.

My friend Kel hosted her thirtyish-something birthday party at Downtown Southern Blues. It was small jazz restaurant/lounge located in the city’s art district. Unfortunately, as new and nice as the place was, it didn’t last long. The party, however, last well into the night and probably would have kept going until dawn if management would have allowed. I was somewhat a fish out of water, only knowing Kel. However by the end of the night I would have been introduced to her life long friend, internationally know DJ Karizma – yeah… the one of former Basement Boys production fame. I had also met a local author on the rise and other faces that have been a constant in Kel’s life.

It was her Anthology party.

Again – it was looking like a 5 A.M drive up the DC/Baltimore Parkway back home.

Fast forward a few more years later.

New York City.

It was St. Patrick’s Day weekend. Part of my stay in New York was to visit my cousin “T” inBrooklyn.

We spent much the day in Manhattan with a quick run to her place in Brooklyn. Later we met up inTimes Square at the Fashion 40 Lounge. You would think with a name like that and it’s location it would be stuffy and posh. True, there were people standing around, but after a while (and perhaps a few drinks) everyone was dancing. It was about the music.

Today… I want whoever finds and reads this to think back. Think back to the time of your life where you had genuine fun…where the atmosphere was positive and you felt this vibrant energy. You released all of your frustrations on the dance floor. It’s almost as if you “went to church.”

Today I’m thinking of the people who made those pilgrimages to The Shelter in NYC, Who came here to DC to party at Club Red (RIP), Five, DC Sanctuary (RIP), who went to Baltimore to catch Oji, Karizma, D-Low and others. For the followers of DC’s Sam “The Man” Burns.  For those that traveled to Chicago, Miami and London.

For my brother Chuck who knows were I’m coming from with this.

For the guy with dreads I met in Seattle, whose house party my family and I were invited to

For Kel who inspired me and re-introduced me to REAL house music.

For Karizma who spoke candidly to me, but I never got to publish his article.

For DJ Barry in the UK, we will meet up

For Ben Watt, whose music and mixes I’m addicted to

For those that don’t understand my thoughts right now.

For wherever you found your good time and for some reason those days seem to be a faded memory…..

 

Weak Become Heroes
By The Streets

Turn left up the street
Nothing but grey concrete and dead beats
Grab something to eat
Maccy D’s or KFC
Only one choice in the city
Done voice in my pity now lets get to the nitty gritty
Tune reminds me of my first e
Like unique still sixteen and feelin horny
Point to the sky feel free
A sea of people all equal smiles in front and behind me
Swim in the deep blue sea cornfields sway lazily
All smiles all easy where you from, what you on and what’s your story
Mesmerizing tones risin pianos this is my zone so stop clonin
Pick paper scissors or stone
Coz me and you are same i known you all my life i don’t know your name
The names European Bob sorted anyway
Gonna have dance now see you later please to meet you
Likewise a pleasure

We were just standin there mindin our own
And it went on and on
We all smile we all sing
The weak become heroes then the stars align
We all sing we all sing all sing

We were just standin there mindin our own
And it went on and on
We all smile we all sing
The weak become heroes then the stars align
We all sing we all sing all sing

The night slowly fades and goes slow motion
All the commotion becomes floatin emotions
Same piano loops over
Arms wave eyes roll back and jaws fall open
I see in soft focus
Chattin to this bloke in the toilets
Dizzy new heights blinded by the lights
These people are for life its all back to his place at the end of the night
They could settle wars with this
If only they will imagine the worlds leaders on pills then imagine the mornin after
Wars causing disaster don’t talk to me i don’t know ya
But this aint tommorow and for now i still love ya
Hours fly over sail round diamonds and pearls never seen so many fit girls
Discover new worlds look at my watch can’t focus
Last two hours i lost every move fills me with lust
All of life’s problems i just shake off
Mad little events happen things map out and a few blue maddens alight the toilets
Big beefy bouncers out to reveal us geezers on e’s and first timers kids on whizz darlins on
Charlie
All come together for this party
All races many faces from places you never heard of
Where you from what’s your name and what you want
Sing to the words flex to the fat one
The tribal drums the sun’s risin we all smile we all sing

We were just standin there mindin our own

And it went on and on
We all smile we all sing
The weak become heroes then the stars align
We all sing we all sing all sing

We were just standin there mindin our own
And it went on and on
We all smile we all sing
The weak become heroes then the stars align
We all sing we all sing all sing

Then the girl in the cafe taps me on the shoulder
I realize five years went by I’m older
Memories smoulder winters colder
But that same piano loops over and over and over
The road shines and the rain washes away
The same Chinese takeaway selling shit in a tray
It’s dark all round I walk down same sight same sounds new beats though
Solid concrete under my feet
No surprises no treats the world stands still as my mind sloshes round
The washing up bowl in my crown
My life’s been up and down since i walked from that crowd

We were just standin there mindin our own
And it went on and on
We all smile we all sing
The weak become heroes then the stars align
We all sing we all sing all sing

We were just standin there mindin our own
And it went on and on
We all smile we all sing
The weak become heroes then the stars align
We all sing we all sing all sing

Outta respect for Jonnie Walker, Paul Oakenfold, Nicky Holloway, Danny Rampling, and all the peolple that gave us these times
And to the Government I stick my middle finger up with regards to the Criminal Justice Bill
For all the heroes I met along the way (The weak become heroes then the stars align)
We all sing we all sing all sing

The weak become heroes then the stars align
We all sing we all sing all sing

We were just standin there mindin our own
And it went on and on
We all smile we all sing
The weak become heroes then the stars align
We all sing we all sing all sing

To start, my Twitter timeline has been flooded with compliments and kudos to the the cast and director of the movie Pariah. I admit I had no clue what everyone was talking about aside that it is a new movie featuring Kim Wayans. If you know anything about the Wayans clan in which Kim is a part of, you know that they are a rogue group of siblings with many television and movie credits and their insatiable talent of just being funny. Kim is no exception as I still laugh at her characters from their variety show, In Living Color, in which she did a parody of Grace Jones, Oprah and Tracy Chapman in addition to her own characters. However, the word is Kim has taken on a serious, dramatic role for the film.

The movie tells the coming of age story of Alike, a 17-year-old coming to terms with her own sexual identity as a lesbian. Kim Wayans plays Alike’s conservative mother who has a hard time dealing with and accepting her child’s sexual orientation. Based on some tweets I read, it gets real intense between mother and daughter.

Dee Rees is the film’s director and is known as Spike Lee’s protege’ as Lee is the executive producer of Pariah.  As reported by the LA Times, Rees spent her early career years marketing panty liners and bunion pads before entering NYU’s film school, and is a new comer that’s on the come-up.  She has already directed the 2008 Eventual Salvation, a documentary on her grandmother’s efforts to help rebuild war-torn community in Liberia, and she currently working on a project for HBO that will feature actress Viola Davis and a thriller flick called “Bolo.”

With Pariah, Rees is tapping into rarely chartered waters; a main or lead character who is a black gay female. Within the same LA Times article, she was asked about similarities between her reality and the character. Rees readily states that it’s not really autobiographical. Yet, she admits there are some thematic similarities.

“I very much related to the idea of sexual identity and how it doesn’t have to be black and white. When I first came out, there would be butch people in baseball caps, and that wasn’t me, and then there were girls in heels and dresses, and that didn’t feel like that was me either. But after a while I learned there’s a lot of ground in between.” - Dee Rees

She was also asked about what influenced the character of Alike, especially as the character type is so rarely seen on film.

“Growing up I was very aware that there weren’t many people like me on the screen. My only queer reference was from a few scenes in “The Color Purple” – and I had to leave the room for them. My role models came mainly from books, Toni Morrison and Alice Walker and a lot of others.” – Dee Rees

While Hollywood executives may not be eagerly knocking down Rees’ door for opportunities, Pariah certainly has not gone unnoticed at least by one of Hollywood’s elite. During her acceptance speech at the Golden Globes last night, actress Meryl Streep gave a special shout to the cast and director.

For many within the black and LGBT community this film may be the fresh water needed as I do hear a bit often that the black female queer voice is very invisible on film. Viewers are thirsty for this! In D.C. Pariah is currently playing at the E Street Cinema. 

After viewing a lesbian teen navigating her way and becoming comfortable with who she is, movie goers can venture to another reality for a moment by seeing what it is like for a dark skinned girl. In case you missed it, a while back I briefly mentioned Dark Girls, a documentary produced and directed by Bill Duke. The documentary divulges on what it’s like to be a dark complexion female growing up and living in America. The trailer, released last summer over social media networks, caused quite a stir as the film brings to light issues that affect a great deal of black females; including the dark vs light skinned, an internal (and external) battle that has plagued black females for years; from slavery to present day.

Though Duke has been touring major cities with the film, having one or two day showings since early fall, the documentary is finally coming to D.C. on Jan. 20. at the Warner Theatre, for one showing only.  Tickets are available via the box office or on the official website for the documentary. For updates on schedule cities and show times go to the Dark Girls Facebook page. 

Also to be released on Jan. 20 is Red Tails. The movie, which is based on the true story and events of the Tuskegee Airmen. Director and producer George Lucas (of Star Wars fame) has been very vocal about the challenges he faced in bringing Red Tails to the masses.  In an appearance on The Daily Show, Lucas made it known that Hollywood rejected the idea of funding the film because of its all black cast.  Hollywood execs gave Lucas the excuse that they simply did not know how to market a movie with no major or leading white cast member(s).

Although there was an original production from 1942, Lucas began work on developing the film 23 years ago. After receiving Hollywood’s rejections, Lucas put up his own money to finance the project (including marketing), which stands at 58 billion.  It’s the first big budget action film featuring an all black cast.

While there were writers and a director that was originally slated for the project, in the end Anthony Hemingway (known for directing two HBO series; The Wire and Treme’) was selected. John Ridley and Aaron MacGruder (creator of the popular and ever controversial comic Boondocks) were selected as writers.  The film’s cast includes; Cuba Gooding Jr., Terrence Howard, Ne-Yo, Method Man, Marcus T. Paulk, Jazmine Sullivan and plenty others.

As Lucas is making his rounds promoting the movie and speaking on Hollywood’s rejection, the black community is talking. While he is most known for his syndicated morning show, Russ Parr is also a filmmaker, having produced and directed independent films The Last Stand, Love For Sale and 35 and Ticking. On Friday, Parr made an appeal to his listeners to take the time to see Red Tails. He mentioned how Lucas has been speaking up about Hollywood. Parr also mentioned his feelings and thoughts on why Hollywood doesn’t want to take the chance with Red Tails or any other films of its caliber.

“Sometimes we can be our own worse enemy,” stated Parr as he dug back to when the NAACP called for a boycott against the movie The Color Purple simply because Steven Spielberg was behind the project. Yet one has to wonder were there any black filmmakers around during that part of the 80s willing to step up and explore Alice Walker’s Pulitzer-Prize winning novel.

In a 1997 Essence Magazine interview with the author BeBe Moore Campbell, Whoopi Goldberg, who stared as the protagonist Celie in the movie The Color Purple, addressed the issue of facing “the color establishment”; namely the NAACP.

“When I run into individual Black folks–male and female–they don’t seem to have a problem with me,” Goldberg muses. “They tell me they appreciate me and my work. It’s only when I seem to bump heads against the Color Establishment…” Her voice trails off.

Until very recently our Black leaders have been virtually all male. In 1985 a segment of the Color Establishment deemed The Color Purpleanti-Black male (which, rightly or wrongly, often translates into anti-Black people in a way that being anti-Black female rarely does). Like Ntozake, Alice, Terry and the other Black female artists who have been attacked by the testosterone-fueled culture police for creating politically incorrect Black male characters, Whoopi was pinned with an anti-Black tag that continues to shape our perceptions of her.

About the Color Purple debacle she says forthrightly, “Mister didn’t represent every Black man. Still, we were attacked by the NAACP, who then attacked the Academy because we didn’t win any awards. That’s schizophrenic! To this day, I feel that there is a sour taste in the mouths of Academy members as far as Black projects are concerned because of the NAACP stance.” There is indignation in Goldberg’s tone, but there is also vulnerability.

“The NAACP hurt my feelings,” she says softly.

That same sour taste in The Academy’s mouth is something that Parr believes (as he told his listeners) is a savoring taste that Hollywood has yet to completely swallow and don’t want any parts of a protest by the NAACP or any establishment sof the like.

So could it be that as we allow establishments such as the NAACP speak to Hollywood on our behalf that we have successfully confused the major motion picture industry? We want to cry foul when there are no major budget films featuring a strong black actor lead and a soft “B” or “C” list white actor as the sidekick. We want to throw jabs at the industry for having a white male with clout, willing to put everything on the line to finance and bring forth our story that will feature everything we want in a black character.

Thankfully, so far no one seems to object to Lucas’ hard earn attempts to bring forth Red Tails; unlike some of the harshest critics of  The Help, which was originally written by a white woman telling the story of black domestic workers in the segregated south.  In fact, Lucas seems to be praised right now. Yet, I wonder why. Why are we praising Lucas today and “yesterday” we were ready to crucify Spielberg? Oh wait….is this a generational thing? I’m not sure. It’s something to think about.

Yet, could have actions of past outcry over such caused the initial financial road blocks for Lucas or any other filmmaker, black or white, a Dee Rees or Bill Duke telling “the black experience” in fictional or documentary form? Somehow, I don’t think that’s far from the truth.

As reported by the Huffington Post:

“ Lucas told USA Today that he was worried that if Red Tails was a failure, it could have negative repercussions for black filmmakers. “I realize that by accident I’ve now put the black film community at risk [with Red Tails, whose $58 million budget far exceeds typical all-black productions],” he said. “I’m saying, if this doesn’t work, there’s a good chance you’ll stay where you are for quite a while. It’ll be harder for you guys to break out of that [lower-budget] mold. But if I can break through with this movie, then hopefully there will be someone else out there saying let’s make a prequel and sequel, and soon you have more Tyler Perrys out there.” “

Hopefully we the viewers will do our part…to be open and explore with these filmmakers and no accept the mundane and stereotyped. So much so that we do become a visible voice in Hollywood. Then again, who needs Hollywood?

I implore you to check out these films in a city near you. I’m sure going to try my hardest – tight budget and all – to see these flicks.  They all sound too good!

It’s no secret that I feel a bit stalled at the moment and that it’s frustrating the begeezus out of me. As always, the last few weeks of the year are a slow drag. I’m anxious to get the new year started but the current year lingers and it feels like a slow death. “Just get it over with!” is what I feel like yelling.  While this month is meeting me with those same anxious feelings, there was one week in particular I was spinning in a whirlwind and it jump started my motivation for the new year.

The week of the 11th was rather interesting.  I started the week attending a local play tackling the issues of domestic abuse and breast cancer. It  featured one of my long time girlfriends.  She gave a wonderful performance as her booming voice left not a dry eye in the house. The atmosphere got some of my creative mojo going. So much so, I returned to my abandon Tumblr blog and decided to use it more for a random platform; yanno posting random things via writing, quotes, pictures and music. My digital creative outlet if you will….

Later in the week I attended two events in one night, but first I ended up reaching out to one of my journalism sisters.  It’s funny, because we’ve been friends for a long time. She’s become one of my mentors in this industry as she’s been in this for well over twenty years. We met online, and have managed to remain in contact with each other for a little over ten years via phone and email. We’ve never met in person. I initially called to invited her to one of the events. It was a holiday party hosted by the Capital Press Club (CPC), the Washington Association of Black Journalists (WABJ) and the DC chapter of the Black Public Relations Society; I’m a quasi-member of the CPC. Then naturally our conversation turned into some kind of pep talk with her giving me advice on how to work with and pitch to editors.

I was telling her about the wonderful ideas (well at least I think they are wonderful) that I’ve been pitching to different publications; local and national. No one has taken a bite. I don’t even receive some kind of notice to say it was looked over and the final decision was no. I just follow the submission guidelines as I send my pitch and then…..silence. Sometimes I send a follow-up email, but again it’s silence. This baffled her, especially as she thought I had some good ideas. Then she heard me say that I was sending the pitches to whatever the generic email address is to submit them.

“No. You have to connect directly with the editor,” she told me.

In the back of my mind I kind of knew this. It’s a basic and old school “rule”. The few editors that I have built some kind of relationship with are those I’ve worked with at some point or that taught me while in school.  Yet, with this ever morphing industry their status may have changed and their help may be limited due to buyouts, layoffs, etc. Still, those are the ones that I know. What about the ones I don’t know as of yet?

Basically my journalism sis suggested that I start off by sending an email to an editor asking them what kind of topics do they need more coverage on. She even suggested that I go a small step further by suggesting an informal meeting over coffee (I’m not a coffee drinker but I’ll drink some tea!). What’s funny is, as I listened to these suggestions I almost felt like the kid that is being told that I must eat all my veggies in order to get dessert. While I do network with others, sometimes I feel uncomfortable doing so. Mainly because my mindset goes to these adjectives; groupie, beggar, desperate. I love it when I make a new connection and it’s natural. It’s not forced or the motive isn’t clearly on the table; my motive being “please publish my totally awesome story!”

Without complaining, I listened to my journo sis go on.

“Nothing impressed me more as an editor than a writer that reached out to me directly asking what do we need. Especially since editors generally don’t have a lot of time to groom writers. So they want to get to know a writer first before taking a chance in publishing them,” she told me.

I understood this logic completely, especially remembering some of my days as an editor and cringing at some of the submissions. Yet, I’m a bit different, where as I don’t mind grooming a writer. Well, I don’t mind grooming a writer that’s in school or fresh out of school and hasn’t found their footing just yet. Writing is something that gets better with time.

I continued to listen and took down notes on what editors I need to contact at the opening of the new year. I’m trying to change my mindset with a few things, and networking is one of them. I went on to the holiday party that evening – courtesy of another journalism sibling whom I call my “big bro” –  feeling a little unsure on why I was really attending. When my big bro offered to pay I was excited and figured this would be just what I needed to get out of the house for a bit and yes, in the back of my mind I thought about (deep inhale) networking (long sigh – woosaaaaah).

Just as I was consuming my white wine and scarfing down some catfish nuggets I was beginning to think the evening was a mistake. I didn’t see my big bro in the room and the crowd was completely different. I didn’t recognize anyone from my days a full member of the organization. Then I spotted a female that I attended high school with. Granted I was a senior when she was a freshman, but she remembered me.. at least my face. We briefly caught up; she’s in public relations. As I continued to munch on my light fare, I was pulled into a conversation with another female. She too is in public relations.  The connection didn’t feel force. We talked about our backgrounds and careers and then it took a crazy turn as we ended up laughing with this gentleman that joined us in conversation. He was totally the odd man out as he wasn’t in neither the journalism or public relations industry. He deals with insurance.

As the crowd got bigger I began to see familiar faces. My big bro spotted me before I saw him. He dragged me to the other end of the room to meet his former boss and mentor. Based on a past conversation with him,my big bro knew I needed to meet with this person as it could lead to a potential job situation! The person confirmed that they have my resume, but there is a current hiring freeze within his agency.

I talked, I shook hands, hugged and exchanged business cards. The night was just what I needed to reconnect with old journo connects and meet new ones.  To my surprise, two days later I received a “nice- meeting- you- looking-forward- to-connect-again” email from the PR female (not the one from high school) I was in conversation with. I loved that and of course I responded with the same.

No sooner as I was getting really comfortable at the party I had to dash up the street for another event; the launch of a non-profit that speaks on mental health awareness.  One of the stories I’ve been pitching is on poet Bassey Ikpi. I’ve been researching, following her on Twitter, spoken to her a couple of times via email and finally met her in person over the summer. Her story touches me and I’m sure it will touch others. I wish I could just indulge a bit more on the subject matter, but I’m trying to keep it under wraps until I’m able to publish the story. I’m determined. At her event I connected with a few folks as we had conversations about some of the issues concerning mental health and the one weird conversation around…..

What was Mary J. Blige talking about  In “Family Affair” when she says “dancery”  Yes! We were in deep discussion about this. It was pretty hilarious.

Still, none of it felt forced.

Needless to say I ended the week attending a birthday gathering for a friend…to which we found ourselves at Little Miss Whiskey’s Golden Dollar dancing our cares away.  It was just what the doctor ordered.

Even as I closed out the week loosing my head and my heart on a dance floor more news flooded in for me that has me excited about what 2012 will bring.  I totally forgot about an opportunity I applied for with a locally based national publication.  I was contacted to perform a few duties just as a test. As of yet no final word. I’m praying this comes through.

Then more news on the creative writing front about an anthology I was selected to be included in.  The book finally has a name, The Perfect Pair, and is schedule to be released mid-year for 2012.  I received a contract to review, sign and return and an open invitation to (if I elect to do so) to participate in book signings. Awesome!

So yeah I have work to do in 2012, especially on working this networking thing.  I just have to remind myself I’m not a groupie and perhaps the connection is a two-way deal. They need something from me as much as I need something from them. After all, there is power in networking and actually following up with the connection!

Good Morning!

It’s Friday and I’m looking forward to the weekend! However, before I go out to enjoy I wanted to share my latest published piece. In response to a Washington Post article published on Wednesday, I wrote an op-ed piece for Clutch Magazine;The Occupation of a Black Woman’s Womb.  

I vent about Congressman Trent Franks (AZ-R) proposed legislation on discriminatory abortion. In his mind he’s saving black women and their unborn babies, because we’re purposely aborting our babies due to our dislike that our baby is going to be the wrong sex or race. I know… sounds crazy right?  His beliefs are based on high abortion rates among black women.

When I first read the article I was furious. Instead of yelling and cursing to anyone that would listen, I constructed my thoughts for the op-ed.

Link – The Occupation of a Black Woman’s Womb.

Enjoy!

The struggle for D.C. voting rights/statehood…pretty much respect from the federal front…continues.

Photo taken by Lydia Depillis of the Washington City Paper. 4/11/11 Free DC Protest.

So far getting arrested on Capitol Hill and along the front of the White House hasn’t worked. It’s also pretty obvious that President Obama isn’t going to be the city’s savior, especially not with a majority Republican party holding the power of the purse on The Hill. So what’s next? Apparently the Washington City Paper thinks my mayor, Vincent Gray, should pitch a T.V. series with drama that will highlight the struggle is a plausible answer. This morning the Washington City Paper posted a memo as if Gray would send to CBS Chairman Leslie Moonves. In it, Gray lays out the following justifications for such a show based on data gathered by the One City Division of Televisual Marketing Advice;

• Millions of Americans have spent 2011 watching televised reports of people taking to the street demanding justice as part of the “Arab Spring,” and “Occupy  Wall Street,” among other causes. Many of the participants in these movements come from the much-sought-after 18-35 year old demographic.
• Films focusing Middle Eastern current events have flopped, and movements like Occupy Wall Street disturb key advertisers.
• On the other hand, urban America is now associated with “edgy” music and fashion that appeal to key consumer demographics craved by your advertisers.
• Demographic changes in urban areas mean that government mistreatment now affects the upscale consumers desired by television advertisers.
• Thanks to initiatives like the District of Columbia’s “Taxation without Representation” license plate program, 61 percent of people who purchased new tablet computers in 2011 tell consumer researchers that they are aware of the nation’s capital’s lack of local democracy.
• 91 percent of potential buyers of deodorant, English muffins, and midrange Korean automobiles express overwhelming disapproval for Congress.

Gray also lays out a plot synopsis that starts as such;

It is day 42 of a federal government shutdown. Because of Washington’s unusual status in the federal budget, local trash goes uncollected, local police are on furlough, local streets are unplowed. Beverage-industry lobbyist Eric Carpenter (Will Smith) is not bothered. Though he enjoyed a brief go-go music career before law school, he’s a long way from his roots in D.C.’s “hood.” His children go to private school, he lives in gentrified Logan Circle, he drives an SUV over the potholes that are exclusively caused by Congressional mistreatment of the city.

Gray also notes that Bradley Cooper (The Hangover) could play S.C. Republican Rep. Tucker Beauregard and D.C. area breakthrough Hip Hop artist Wale could play Telly, a street musician “reduced to bucket-drumming for pocket-change because he was forbidden from accepting a National Endowment for the Arts grant when heartless federal bureaucrats limited the grants to residents of bona-fide states.” Other actors Gray mentions includes Justin Timberlake to play a Harvard Law graduate that lost his job on the Hill because of Congress’ exemptions from D.C. Law on discrimination against gays and lesbians, Kristen Stewart (The Runaways) to play a classmate of Timberlake’s turned political organizer and Sandra Oh (Grey’s Anatomy) to play the city’s former schools chief (nee Michelle Rhee).

On a serious note…

As I pitch local stories that have a national appeal to them, not many outlets are biting. I’m learning the hard way that people simply don’t care about us, what we do and how we are contributing to making this NATION great and in return all we want is for the government of this Nation to treat us with dignity and respect. It’s like local D.C. is a foreign land with a strange native tongue. People want to come, visit and marvel at our Roman and Greek architecture, oogle at the natives for a while and eventually disregard once they have used this city up.

Why is it so hard for local D.C. to receive respect, especially by Congressional members who use this city daily until their term is up? As my mother and I had discussed once, I had hoped that new residents, those coming from actual states join in the fight in lobbying Congress for representation and/or statehood.  I’m even more concerned about actual native Washingtonian that are clueless or are pretty much complacent when it comes to local politics; read… if it doesn’t concern Marion Barry (an obvious mega public figure good or bad)…they don’t care.

A couple of years ago I was working on an assignment for an online publication connected to Howard University. I was conducting a followup of the D.C. Voting Rights Act bill that passed through the Senate, and at the time I began the interviews it was awaiting to pass through the House. Of course the House shot it down, but before that news hit I did on the street interviews with residents of the District. There was a method to my madness as I DID NOT seek out interviews from residents that lived on Capitol Hill and all parts West of the Anacostia. I stayed within my realm, East of the Anacostia River in wards 7 and 8, but I mainly stayed around ward 7.  I did this because I knew there is still a great deal of actual Washingtonians in these wards and I didn’t want to necessarily capture the view(s) of a resident that hasn’t lived here long enough that may not have the same passion for the fight. I wanted to find a native that was in tuned to local politics and perhaps their passion would show through.

I spent a day pushing my then 2 year-old daughter in her stroller as I carried a video camera (on loan from Howard) in hand.  I was a bit disappointed as I conducted my interviews. As my raw footage shows I mainly gathered responses from men. A lot of the women I approached either had no opinion, had no clue or wanted to look fly for the camera and turned down the opportunity to respond once they realized that I was going to be recording. One lady who I caught coming out of a store with her two teenage daughters literally told me “OH NO! I will give you a verbal response, but I CANNOT be on camera looking like this!”

Really lady? UGH!!!!!

I had to keep moving as my report was all multimedia (video) and no comments were going to be written.

Nonetheless, I was glad for the responses I received. My questions were pretty basic (as you will see in the clip). I asked three to four questions about their feelings and thoughts on D.C. voting rights and if they were for or against D.C. becoming a state. Keep in mind it’s raw footage. Unfortunately at the I was working on editing the story, the news was breaking that the house had turned the bill down and I worked another angle. My video was never used.

When it comes to this particular virtual space, I’ve been trying to stray away from too much of the personal in order to bring informative “speech” mostly in regards to writing in the journalism and creative realms as I’m diving deep into both. The journalist in me wants to remain as professional – while a bit playful – as much as possible. In other words I want to present the “Tiffany” to you. Yet, the stronger creative side of me – the “Mahoganie” – wants to come out more often in order to be open, transparent, raw and just out there as it transpires into art. The Mahoganie is the exhibitionist in me; the storyteller for sure.

I say all this to say…to let you know…..for real….I don’t even feel like being the polished Tiffany right now. I’ve been in the emotional trenches hard this past week or so. From discussions with friends, my vivid dreams and a talk with a friend about those dreams, it’s been one interesting week.  It mainly boils down to helping to care for my 78 year-old grandmother. A month ago my grandmother suffered a head injury due to a fall. She required immediate surgery and after spending three weeks in the hospital she has shown great strides in recovering. Still, in considering her age along with the injury, the recovery process is tedious as she pretty much needs constant care.  She’s home, spending this current time with my parents and myself. The energy is there as we all spread the duties, but the energy wears thin, especially as my energetic 4 year-old daughter floats around the house in her own world clashing with our reality. Oh to be a kid…..

For a creative person, something like this can inspire or block you. It’s done both to me. I’ve cried, I’ve cursed (not directly at anyone), I’ve been loving and doting. I’ve had feelings of selfishness and thankfulness. I’ve felt sad and frustrated. I feel honored to be helping to care for woman who means so much to me. Caring for a loved one is a no brainer. It’s a LOT better than having them in a haphazard nursing home where lackluster care is given.Yet, the feelings of frustration comes in when I have that moment of creativity and can’t necessarily escape to attend to it; obviously for me… that’s writing. Then there are moments when I can tend to it, but my brain and body is too tired to give it my all. So I shut down.

Priorities are shifting to home and family. I know it’s the right and loving thing to do, but the selfish me wants to abandon ship; untie and free myself from such. I wish I was the kind of person that could handle and do this with ease, without blinking an eye. But I’m not made of such steel.

A brink of inspiration came late last night. I took a few notes and started to mentally plan something in my head. In the midst of that, I thought about a short story I wrote around the start of the millennium and revised a bit in 2006. It was a short story loosely based on my neighbor. She was a barely a teenager when her grandfather suffered a stroke. I used to watch and talk with her while wondering how was she handling it, especially since she is close (and lives with) to her grandparents. I simply titled it “Thirteen,” as I milled over what her past – before she lived with her grandparents – was like and wondered about her ability to cope with her family life post her grandfather’s stroke.  I haven’t looked or touched it since 2006 until….well…now.

This is for you….us….and our loved ones…..

Photo take by Mahoganie Jade Browne March 2008 at the U.S. Botanical Gardens in Wash, DC at annual orchid exhibit.

Thirteen
Rough Draft #2 (2006)
By: Mahoganie Jade Browne

A tall, sweet potato-brown skinned lady with honey-colored dreads sits and looks at me from across the room. She calls my name and asks me to bring her the small pitcher of ice water that is on a wooden table by the window. I retrieve the pitcher from its perch and see that it is sweating from the double duty of blocking some of the sun’s rays as they make their way through the Plexiglas. I hand the lady the pitcher and wait as she pours herself a whole Dixiecup full of the now not-so-icy-water.

Before she can even return the pitcher to me, a pale but happy-go-lucky woman in a white lab coat calls my family’s name, and announces that today’s rehabilitation session has come to a close. Just then, the lady with the honey dreads stands up while fumbling for her coat and purse. She and the woman in the lab coat leave the waiting room while conversing about mobility skills, medication and possible private home care. As the two of them walk toward the geriatric ward, I immediately take my place back near the window and stare into the world of the living. I can’t help but to ask myself if this is how my life is going to be from now on.

I begin to reflect back on my childhood and realize that I don’t remember much about my earlier years. Maybe that’s because my life has been a bit rugged, and I somehow subconsciously blocked out the so-called trauma that happened to me then. What I remember is that I did use to live in a house. I’m guessing it was in suburbia Maryland, because there were grass and trees everywhere. Even though there are yards within the city of DC, they are nothing compared to the suburbs in Maryland, especially in places like Waldorf, Bowie and Fort Washington.

I remember playing hide and seek with my parents all of the time in our yard. There was a tree that I used to hide behind. I’m not sure what kind it was, all I know is that it had a huge, thick trunk. The branches seemed to have reached all far corners of the earth. Every summer, my father would make corny jokes about how the tree looked like it had an afro that needed a good trim. To be honest, I don’t even think my father climbed that tree once to trim it or at least even paid someone to do it.

As I sit here in this waiting room, I find it funny that while I’m reminiscing about my parents, I still I don’t remember much about them or my old home. I just know I lived in a house with a huge tree in the backyard and I lived there with a mother and a father. What I can remember about them seems to bring a stinging and burning pain to my insides.

As a small child, I would have frequent nightmares. I would become scared, because there would always seem to be a ton of voices yelling and screaming, but yet I couldn’t see anyone. It was just dark. The voices sounded like my parents, but I couldn’t be sure. The yelling and screaming would grow louder and more aggressive. I could hear crashing noises as if things were breaking in my dream, but there was nothing to throw because it was just total darkness. Whenever I woke up crying, my father would always come rushing into my room.

One morning, I got up for school, and went downstairs. I turned on the television in the family room and switched to Woody Wood Pecker. My father came down, just when Chilly Willy the penguin was about to be shown. He kissed me on the forehead and proceeded to fix me a bowl of cereal. I didn’t ask about mommy because I assumed she was upstairs sleeping.

When I came home from school, oddly I felt a sudden feeling of emptiness. Something didn’t seem right. I asked about mommy. Daddy looked at me and told me that she went to visit her mother in Texas and that she would be gone for a while. However, my mother’s absence continued on for days like a mind numbing, hypnotic looped beat. I don’t remember how long my father and I were alone. I suspect it wasn’t that long, because before I knew it I was alone. My daddy left me.

One morning he dropped me off at school and told me he would be back at 4-0-0 sharp. Daddy had a way of breaking things down so I could understand them. I didn’t know much about time then, but I knew enough to know each top of the hour. My father never showed. A tall man who liked my father, but bearing a salt and pepper colored beard and wearing a suit with a Darby on his head, came to get me instead.

Before I knew it, I had to move in with this man, his wife and their daughter in their home in the southeast part of Washington, DC. It was a row house, with no real yard space. I couldn’t even play my favorite game of hide and seek.

One Saturday morning, instead of letting me watch my Woody Wood Pecker cartoons, they dressed me up in this ugly pink frilly dress. I tried to put up a fight, but when they mentioned that I would see my father I wasted no time in getting ready. I missed my father badly. We were picked up in a nice blue limo. It was my first time riding in a car like that. I was excited because I just knew the people I was staying with were like those people on the show, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Everyone was all dressed up, but they were all in black. They matched the inside of the limo. Even though the dress I had on was ugly, I was thankful that I added a splash of color.

Next thing I knew, we arrived at the place were I was to see my daddy. There were a lot of people around and when I asked about them, I was told that they were there to see my father too. When the limo came to a stop and the door opened I stepped across everyone and ran inside this chapel like building. I didn’t know what the occasion or fuss was for, but I was anxious to see my daddy. I wanted to know what my daddy had done to deserve such an honor.

However, when I saw my daddy, my stomach started feeling funny. It was daddy, but he looked like he was sleeping. My heart was racing and then stopping. He looked different. He didn’t have his natural color. I felt something gathering in my throat. I saw people touching my father, but he didn’t flinch not once. Whatever it was that was gathering in my throat it was reaching a point of no return. I looked around and noticed that just about everyone was in black. I felt like I was reliving my nightmare all over again. Nothing but darkness. Daddy wasn’t waking up. I threw up. After that day, my daddy and that ugly pink dress were no more.

The years that came after seeing daddy lying there asleep seemed to go by quickly. The years passed, I grew older and never gave a moment’s thought to my past. I have been receiving all the love a child should be given by my father’s look alike and his family.

His daughter is actually the closest thing to a mother that I have. She has taken my friends and I to places around the city. She is the one to discipline me. She talks with me. She even has those “motherly suggestions” when mothers volunteer their children in activities without consulting the child. People often question her motives for living at home with her parents, because she is an unmarried woman in her late 30s. She simply feels that her parents and I need her.

My new family molds me in a way I think is good. They are big on education. They have a strong religious foundation and they often encourage and support me in all that I do. They have always been there for me. Yet, at 13, I think the tables turned on me too soon.

Photo take by Mahoganie Jade Browne March 2008 at the U.S. Botanical Gardens in Wash, DC at annual orchid exhibit

Most 13 year olds find themselves at a crossroads in life. It is a time when your body is telling you that you are becoming an adult, but your mind still yearns for those activities that seem childish. With me, I had no choice but to be an adult. I was never given a chance to contemplate over it. The day that I turned 13, I became an adult.

Last October, my family and I were getting ready one evening to attend a fall revival at the church. I had been made aware of the fact that the congregation was planning a surprise birthday party for me afterwards. I was prancing around the house all evening and singing the beginning lyrics of 50 Cents’ “In the Club” aloud.

“Go Shorty, it’s your birthday. Go Shorty. It’s your birthday. We gonna sip Bacardi like it’s your birthday. We gonna party like it’s your birthday.”

Normally, any kind of rap lyrics irritate my father’s look alike, but on that day and as loud as I was he didn’t say a word. His wife was in the dinning room balancing her checkbook and his daughter had to be the one to tell me to hush and go get ready for the evening. There are two full bathrooms in the house and I had occupied the one upstairs. The second bathroom is in the basement where my father’s look alike spends most of his time.

I had just gotten out of the tub when I heard a “thump.” I thought something had fallen over in the living room, namely the parrot statue that was posted on a pole. Once in a while, if people aren’t careful and bush up against it, the parrot falls over. I continued to get dressed, but not before I heard my name being called. I was told to call 9-1-1 right then.
My father’s look alike had a stroke while in the basement bathroom and was in the hospital for several months. He wasn’t home for Thanksgiving, Christmas or New Year’s. Each holiday, his wife, daughter and I brought the holiday to him. His condition wasn’t too bad. He lost feeling throughout the left side of his body and in his right hand. His speech had slowed, but he was still comprehensible. After showing signs of improvement, he was released the first week in February.

Now as each day passes, I find myself in the whirlwind of helping to care for him. During the weekday, his wife cares for his needs until her daughter and I come home and can take over. Their daughter works full-time as buyer for a boutique downtown. She picks me up from school and we rush home to relieve her mother.

Photo take by Mahoganie Jade Browne March 2008 at the U.S. Botanical Gardens in Wash, DC at annual orchid exhibit

Everyday I cook the meals, clean the house, and attend to my father’s look alike needs. The bathing and dressing is left for his daughter and wife to do. Somehow I still find time to do my school work, attend choir rehearsal at church and to have brief phone conversations with my friends. My friends are my only connection to the reality of being 13, but now I can’t relate to them anymore. I spend so much time with my family that I don’t have time to be 13. Conversations between my friends and I are cut short because when they go on a tangent about this boy kissing that girl, or the roller skating party at this or that rink, all I can come up with are stories about the motor skills of my father’s look-alike.

I try to keep it together on the outside, but on the inside I’m crying. It’s at night when I really break down. Lately, my past haunts me. I’ve been able to see my mother’s face so clearly that it is as if she were in front of me. At night I cry for her. I yearn for her and yet I’m angry that she left. Perhaps if she had stayed, I would be living the life of a 13 year-old in the comforts of suburbia Maryland.

***

As I look away from my reflection in the Plexiglas and turn towards the waiting room threshold, I see my aunt’s honey colored dreads approaching. She will call to me and tell me to come along. She will give me a brief run down on what to do for my grandfather in helping him get into the car. Then she will tell me of all the stops we have to make on the way home. She will tell me what my grandmother would like for me to fix for Sunday dinner. My aunt will kiss me and tell me thank you. When I finally get to my grandfather, he will attempt to clutch my right hand as a gesture to say “help me.”

While this scene will unfold in this manner as it has for the past six months, I will only become like a robotic fixture performing monotonous actions. All the while, I will be longing to be a child again, playing hide and seek and watching Woody Wood Pecker.

Quote by John Steinbeck, East of Eden. Photo courtesy of MaggieCakes

Every so often I check out some of the programming on WPFW (89.3 FM), a local listener supported radio station (that can also be heard on the web). Last night I listened to  Ill Street Grooves, an hour-long program that divulges and indulges listeners with underground and classic hip hop music. Despite the fact that the show is only an hour, it’s truly a hip hop lovers dream where you are guaranteed to hear Pete Rock & CL Smooth, MF Doom, Nikki D, Harmony (remember her?) and all others of the like in the same hour.

Last night’s show was themed around the lost or perhaps rare art of storytelling. The hosts 2-Tone Jones and DJ RBI presented their listeners with a series called The Answer, which is a nod to old school radio that featured mini series programming dating back to pre and post-world wars. The Answer tells the story of two fellas in a group that experience tension and eventually a split between the two occurs. In between the aired scenes, DJ RBI played a set that kept in time with the theme by spinning hip hop music that told a story.

Growing up this was one of the things that I loved and appreciated about the genre. I could sit here and be just like the “old heads” of hip hop music and spit the origins, trace the legacy lines of how this group meshed or spit and went into this or became that. I could even ramble on about the fusion of jazz and hip hop  and how the mixing of both fused with some dub or electronic house and some funk created this whole new genre of trip hop or acid jazz that  fueled my own creativity. However, I figure there’s enough information out here to research; blogs, articles and a few documentaries (If you didn’t check out Michael Rapaport’s documentary on A Tribe Called Quest and got to see Q-Tip’s massive vinyl  collection you lost big time!).

What I will say – just like any other hip hop historian or commentary from a hip hop documentary – the music told a story. It was rare that you came across a song that didn’t really tell its listeners much of anything. Nowadays, it feels as if it is the other way around. It’s rare to come across a song that tells a story. In post-modern times they are out there, but I’m sad to say it’s like finding a needle in a haystack among all the mainstream stuff. What’s sad but also understood as business is the fact that some mainstream folks actually have some good substance in their music, but that part isn’t marketed. It’s the party song that boast of the party life that gets played out to no end. I’ll admit.. I’ll subscribe to that from time to time. We all need an escape (peeking over at my Trina Diamond Princess cd – actually some of that is a story too… like the song You and Me )  and perhaps need a taste of that superficial moment, that’s all it is. A moment. A hot minute. Then it’s back to reality, where quality counts.

This can spill into literature too. There are people who are quick to jump out there and call themselves writers, but neglect to take heed or lessons on perfecting the craft of storytelling. Instead they offer readers botched up plots with fragmented lines that leave rough edges and are happy about it! *cringes* They name drop the character’s finer wares as if their work is a catalog of free shout out ads for their favorite designers;

“As she slipped on her on her Gucci pumps, she teased her yaki Kanekalon hair, then proceeded to put on her cream Valentino suit and sprayed on Chanel No5 on the nape of her neck. Then she walked into her bathroom where she stood over her porcelain Kohler and began applying her Bobbi Brown foundation and finished it off with MAC and Smashbox eyeshadows and lipglosses. She took one last look and threw on her Tiffany and Co. shades and strutted to her Ashton Martin, which was just returned to her after it was repo’d.”

You get the picture…..

What’s interesting is one of the guests from yesterday’s program seemed optimistic about the art of storytelling, especially in regards to hip hop music. He believes there will be another renaissance where storytelling will be more prevalent again. I hope so. It does feel as if the “bling bling” era has finally ran its course.

Below is video of one of my favorites from the hardcore storytelling era. Daddy’s Little Girl by Nikki D came out during a relevant time as the song talks about teen pregnancy; in which it was pretty much considered a crises at the time (the late 80s/early 90s). As the song samples Suzanne Vega’s Tom’s Diner (another great storytelling song), Nikki D narrates a point in time when the subject was the apple of her dad’s eye. She had a normal childhood, but still felt this strong independent nature within her. She answered to it at young age, and in the end she ends up pregnant.

I remember once as one of my girlfriends and I were listening to it, she bobbed her head to the beat and without warning she turned to me and said,

“Isn’t this a sad song?”

Indeed it was…..

Indeed it was good storytelling.

Song: Daddy’s Little Girl
By Nikki D

[Suzanne Vega] (Da-da-da-da-da-da)
He-he-he-ha-ha-ha…

[VERSE 1]
Daddy’s little girl, but not the girl that daddy knew
Daddy never had a clue of what his little girl would do
A drifter, swift to open up and get with ya
A pocket full of dreams, as for my love – forget ya
I never concentrated on the fact that I’m loved, scheme for scheme
And things that would lead me to a pipe dream
Picture it, yes, I’m daddy’s little girl
I never asked for nothin, now it’s a string of pearls
My chances are thin, could I win with a substance?
A princess with a smile, but my sweetness was sort of grim
I never fought the feelin that I had to be wild
Cause in my mind I was a mature child
But I could’t hurt daddy, I played the role
But on the sneak tip, I was massagin his soul
Nikki had to be free, you see, I had to be me
Or life just wouldn’t flow through correctly
Being daddy’s little girl

(What daddy don’t know won’t hurt him)
But I’m daddy’s little girl

[VERSE 2]
Daddy’d always tuck me in bed and kiss me goodnight
Said, “Nikki, sleep tight,” then turn off the light
And when he goes away on a business trip
I flip, lose my grip – party time – ah shit!
Tell the girls, split the duty, one go pick up the booze
My other half, move your ass and go spread the news
The party went on, lasted all night long
Song after song (to the break of dawn)
Then watch some nasty porns in the morn’
My body got warm, hmm – from gettin freaky with Vaughn
Sexin like crazy, my body amazed me
By takin a chance with a man that didn’t faze me
A night so hectic, a bit unexpected
Before I made love, I shoulda been protected
Cause now I’m in a jam with this careless punk
And in about 3 months my stomach will be plump
Trouble, yes, I’m in the hot seat now
Tell my pops? No way, no how
It’ll break his heart, wreck his whole world
To have to grow up quick – daddy’s little girl

(What daddy don’t know won’t hurt him)
But I’m daddy’s little girl

[VERSE 3]
Neighbors asked could he trust me, yeah, daddy loves me
Cause I can feel it in his arms strong when he hugs me
But there comes a time when his angel must spread her wings
So I bow my head and get deep into the swing of things
Sort of raunchy I must be, cause mama knew
Every time I skipped school mama sat home and sang the blues
Now I regret the day that daddy let me out to play
But I’m a woman now, so let’s keep it this way
Daddy’s little girl

(What daddy don’t know won’t hurt him)
But I’m daddy’s little girl

Frank A. Bryant (photo: courtesy of New Era)

I was introduced to Frank A. Bryant a little over a year ago. The more I talked with him, the more I realized he is on a mission and perhaps it’s a mission that’s not even by his own choosing… well at least not initially. Fascinated by his story I pitched a local publication, East of the River Magazine, where my article on Bryant and his mission was published in February.  I talked about his background and what lead him to his current work with students in the DC public school system.  When I learned he was working on a crucial part of his mission I had to take his story a step further, a national audience.

The crucial part is him being an advocate for students caught up in a janky system that almost disregards them. Taking hints from the students voicing their concerns about a faulty school system which they are a part of and for others around the nation, Bryant formulated the National Enlightenment Walk for Education Reform in America (New Era Walk). Thanks to the listening “ears” of the editors of Loop21.com; not only was my story on Bryant and tomorrow’s walk published today, but Loop21 became a media partner for the event. I’m looking forward to bringing further coverage on Bryant and the children and their parents that share his mission.

Be sure to check out my story on Bryant on Loop21.