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Today, I’ve been alternating between crying because she’s gone and smiling/grateful because she was here.  Before Beyoncé, Alicia Keys, Jennifer Hudson, Mary J. Blige, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Prince, Natalie Cole, Luther Vandross and others, to name a few, there was Aretha Louise Franklin, the Queen of Soul, heir apparent to the late Dinah Washington.

As a writer, I would probably need a thesaurus to describe the impact she had through her gifts, the lives she touched.  In watching YouTube today, one of the things listed as a fear of hers was that she wouldn’t be remembered.  Hmmm….multiple Grammys, iconic status, countless Billboard hits, Presidential Medal of Freedom recipient, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, guest artist at President Obama’s inauguration, as relevant today as she was in the ’60s…ain’t no way.

For me, memories of the Queen of Soul go back to 1966, sitting in her daddy’s church, New Bethel Baptist Church in Detroit.  I was a 14-year-old on summer vacation from Minneapolis, visiting my relatives, who were members of said church.  Of course, in a Baptist church, A and B musical selections are the norm during service.  My African Methodist Episcopal upbringing didn’t prepare me for such a service, but her voice…once I heard her, “it was all over but the shoutin’,” that’s how powerful she touched me.  And this was a year before “Respect” swept the charts.

Though she was born in Memphis, she spent the better part of her life in Detroit; Detroit loved Aretha, and Aretha loved Detroit. Yet she had an influence on music that spanned the globe.  I give Aretha her props for never compromising her gospel roots–her “Amazing Grace” album is a powerful testimony.  “Amazing Grace” and “God Will Take Care of You” brought me through many a low point in my life.  “Young, Gifted and Black” was an anthem during my college days.  What she represented for women’s rights and civil rights can never be denied.  And yes, I still remember partying to “Rock Steady” and “Freeway of Love.”

I can’t stress this enough–some singers probably thought they had to compromise who they were to reach the level of success Aretha attained.  The Queen never did.  Her roots in the church didn’t hold her back.  They propelled her forward, channeling them into and transcending every genre of music she sang, influencing so many artists, touching so many hearts with the soul deeply rooted inside her, the very thing that kept her rooted and grounded.  With it, she broke down barriers, opened doors for the artists of today, commanded respect as an artist, as a woman of color, as a person.

Many who are paying tribute to her life have stated that her music was the soundtrack of their lives.  I am no exception.  Don’t even ask me what my favorite Aretha song is; too many of them are intertwined in my history.  I can never forget, at the age of 73, Aretha “wrecking the house” at the Kennedy Center Honors in 2015.  Whether one is an artist, musician, singer, sculptor, dancer, writer, actor/actress, there is a quote by her that is most relevant:  “Be your own artist, and always be confident in what you’re doing.”

Yes, as I sit here listening to her songs, I can’t help but think: the UK may have Queen Elizabeth, but we had a queen as well, and her name was Aretha Franklin.  She will always be the Queen.  Let us all say a little prayer for her family now.  Rest in peace, rest in power, Aretha.

Today is a day of reflection and remembrance of one of the most important people in my life.  Too often these days, the images one sees aren’t those of strong African American men in the role of successful, loving family men.  For me, what’s closer to the truth is that such men are here.  They’ve always been here, but they haven’t been getting the attention they richly deserve.  I know.  I was blessed to have one such man as my father.

I still have this photo on a wall in my home, me as a toddler and him barely 21.  Yes, he was a teen father, one who was married to my mother for 60 years before he passed away six years ago.  He’d be 86 now, and I can picture him, seeing this website and reading my work, looking into my eyes and saying, “You done good.”

Dad was a career military man (we called him The General), and he touched many lives during his career.  He was a noncommissioned officer in the Air Force, yet he commanded the respect of generals.  I can imagine the challenges of being the lone African American officer on the base.  I’m proud of him for, among other things, teaching himself to program computers and using that knowledge to successfully implement the computer system the base now uses.

The romantic in me loves the story of his courtship of Ma.  With him being 18 and on active duty, he had a leave and went to Duluth.  Through my uncle (Ma’s brother), they met.  Theirs wasn’t a typical courtship.  It was all through letters, even Dad’s proposal to Ma two months into it.  Nine months after they met, they were married.  Of course, that was the way back in 1951–you married young and had a houseful of kids.

As I mentioned in my previous post, Dad loved to read, contradicting a stereotype that African Americans don’t read.  I always knew where I stood with him; when he set expectations, he only said them once and that was it.  But yes, we both read voraciously, and as an adult he and I could get into some lengthy philosophical discussions.  Not that we’d always agree; it took him a little time to accept the fact he had a gay son.  Ultimately, we shared a mutual respect and an abiding love.

I must admit, I inherited his offbeat sense of humor.  Growing up watching action and superhero movies, when the villain falls off a skyscraper to his/her death, Dad would quip, “It isn’t the fall that kills them.”  Me?  It’s easy to find me reading a Hallmark Shoebox (it has to be Shoebox) greeting card and laughing myself silly.

At the end of the day, he was there, actively involved, setting the standard of what a strong African American father/role model represents, plus a loving grandfather to my son.  I recently had a conversation with one of my cousins about the amazing accomplishments of our fathers and uncles, with much less than we had.  With the African/African American tradition being an oral tradition, Dad encouraged me to be a storyteller.  Natalie Cole’s album cover says it all:  “Unforgettable–With Love.”  Thanks, Dad.

Yes, that’s what my teenage Millennial son would call me in this age of social media, iPhones and Internet branding.  How did I, that 21-year-old version of myself, survive without the bells and whistles of 21st century technology?  But hey, I’m a Baby Boomer and I own it.

I am always fascinated and intrigued when other authors share their stories; every path to becoming a novelist is different.  For me, it started early on, with countless trips to the library as soon as I could get a library card.  Vivid imagination spurred short stories about animals and their families, where I actually wrote a series of short stories about a family of mischievous seals (go figure).

As an African American/Native American/LGBT man, those stories changed over the years, but my passion for writing didn’t.  How many people have written short stories based on dreams they had–better yet, remembered? I have. Still, life went lifing along, and in the timeless words of Gwen Guthrie, “Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on but the rent.”

I am so grateful for that psych degree I received, for it was a major boost on my road to writing my first novel.  I made up psychological profiles of characters for fun, and a pastor friend of mine read them and said, “Why don’t you put them all together in a book?”  Seed planted!

Now, the million-dollar question:  what to write about?  One never knows where inspiration comes from, and mine sprang from a need.  Being a man of color in the 1970s and 1980s, I was ever on the search for fiction novels featuring characters who looked like me and came up short.  I was dying to read novels of successful African American men as entrepreneurs in areas other than sports and entertainment.  I knew such men existed in real life, like John H. Johnson, A.G. Gaston and H.G. Parks, Jr.  However, it wasn’t reflected in fiction.  And as for characters who were also LGBT….

Faced with the choice of complaining about this challenge or writing a novel on it myself, I did what my dad would do and chose the latter.  Thus, my concept for Mark My Words and the character of Allan Beckley Christopher.  Thanks Dad, for being my No. 1 fan and my greatest critic.  Your stamp of approval on this character as representative of your generation meant everything to me.

Trust and believe, Mark My Words was a novel 17 years in the making.  Between written pages, typewritten pages and what was then a state-of-the-art laptop (oh, those days of floppy disks), it was written in 5 years. The new challenge was the next umpteen years getting it published, and everything that goes with being a new author.  Fortunately, I was blessed with 1) the mantra “Never give up” and 2) a great support system.

Today, this “old school new kid” has embraced a new learning curve in marketing and social media as a self-published author.  Believe in dreams and never give up.