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Habari Gani,

Different holidays have taken place during this season, like Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas. However, I want to give thanks to Dr. Maulana Karenga for establishing the pan-African cultural holiday of Kwanzaa in 1966. Kwanzaa comes from the Swahili phrase “matunda ya kwanza,” meaning “first fruits.”

From December 26-January 1, each day celebrates one of Kwanzaa’s seven core principles, known as the Nguzo Saba. They are:

Umoja (Unity)

Kujichagulia (Self Determination)

Ujima (Collective Work and Responsibility)

Ujamaa (Cooperative Economics)

Nia (Purpose)

Kuumba (Creativity)

Imani (Faith)

I first learned about Kwanzaa as a college student in the 1970s. Its principles and traditions are inspirational life lessons. For in-depth information about this holiday, I highly recommend the website http://www.officialkwanzaawebsite.org. As an independent author, the principles of Kujichagulia, Ujamaa, and Kuumba are the most relevant to my business. In my community, there is encouragement to build our own businesses, as well as support other businesses in the community.

Today, while I wrote, I thought of Kuumba. Tomorrow, I think of the linchpin for all the principles: Imani.

 

On another note, I recently read an advance copy of Boyd and Sarge: NYPD Law and Disorder by B.A. Denholm. The following is my review:

I am definitely one for humor, be it a chuckle, a snicker, laughing out loud, or rolling on the floor. In the poker game of humor, Blair Denholm’s Boyd and Sarge: NYPD Law and Disorder dealt a royal flush.

Sarge has to be the most put-upon police sergeant at NYPD, having to endure a police officer like Boyd. Sometimes I can imagine Sarge thinking that double entendre Joan Crawford said to Jack Palance in Sudden Fear: “I was just wondering what I had done to deserve you.” Blair’s use of the word prompts are highly creative. There are times when his humor is subtle, when it catches the reader a beat after the piece is read. Other times, it is in your face, and one is rolling on the floor in belly laughs.

At the end of the day, these characters leave you laughing, and the illustrations by Vince Steele only add to the fun. And being a fan of Law and Order, I can imagine the character of Lenny Briscoe standing by, ready with a wisecrack.

 

Believe in dreams and never give up.

 

 

 

The following is a repost of one of my previous blogs, in commemoration of this day:

In this day and age, we remember December 1 as World AIDS Day. Even with the medical advances made in treating HIV and AIDS, it still impacts people around the globe, particularly people of color. In the height of the fear, ignorance, and paranoia of the 1980s, I attended more funerals than I care to remember. Back then, if you were so diagnosed, it was an automatic death sentence–just get in the checkout line and wait to die.

I also remember celebrities who made a positive difference in the lives of those living with HIV/AIDS, who challenged those notions. Persons such as Elizabeth Taylor, Princess Diana, and Earvin “Magic” Johnson stood as advocates in the fight against this disease, and commendations are the least that can be given, not to mention the countless number of unsung heroes who continue to make a difference today.

However, I think of this day for a different reason, one that goes back to the events that unfolded on December 1, 1955.

In Montgomery, Alabama, segregation was the status quo. Ridership of public transportation was predominately Black, yet whites sat in the front of the buses while Blacks sat in the rear. The middle section was a buffer zone: though Blacks could sit there, they had to give up their seat if the “whites only” section was filled and a white passenger wanted it. To add to the absurdity, Black passengers could not sit across the aisle from white passengers.

At the time, Rosa McCauley Parks was a 42-year-old seamstress and a secretary for the NAACP’s Montgomery chapter. On that day, with the “whites only” section full, the bus driver ordered her to give up her seat to a white man. For Rosa, with the memory of
Emmett Till’s lynching on her mind, enough was enough, and she said, “No.” She was arrested and charged with disorderly conduct.

That event set into motion a year-long boycott of the Montgomery bus system, which was led by Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. On December 21, 1956, Rosa took her seat in the front of the bus. It set the stage for the modern-day civil rights movement,  a movement that was ultimately for all people. Though Rosa and her husband, Raymond Parks, moved to Detroit, her activism continued. Upon her death on October 24, 2005, her body lay in honor in the rotunda of the U.S. Capitol.

It was one of the high points of my life, as well as humbling, to meet Rosa Parks in Atlanta in 1992. If I didn’t know who she was, to look at her one would see a petite, pleasant, unassuming woman who could easily be someone’s grandmother or great-grandmother. And yet, I looked into the face of a woman who changed the course of history. An ordinary woman who did something extraordinary.

To anyone who says that their vote won’t count or they can’t make a difference: even if you weren’t born yet, remember this day and remember Rosa Parks. She only said one word, and it brought about change. What more can you do to make a difference, wherever you are? We still have a long way to go, and we never know how our lives will touch others.

 

“The only tired I was, was tired of giving in.” — Rosa Parks

 

 

 

 

 

 

For many of us growing up, as children we would have a “second home.” It could be the beach, the park, the woods, a clubhouse, the basketball court, the YMCA/YWCA, and the like. For me, my second home was a place of endless wonder–the library.

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, my love of reading comes from my father. Of course, my early reading was largely illustrated, yet I knew I had a passion for the way authors paint pictures with words before I could articulate what that meant.

Receiving my first library card was comparable to being given the combination to Fort Knox. A world of stories awaited me for the simple price of a checkout. I’m sure most libraries attract their share of children through the media of DVDs, CDs, computers and computer games today, but back then, as a child of the 1950s and early 1960s, it was all about the written word–books, newspapers, periodicals. Given my hearty reading appetite, it wasn’t unusual for me to check out a huge stack of books up to my chin. I can imagine that folks wondered what was up with this child walking home with all those books. Ma and Dad shook their heads good-naturedly, knowing that I would read every book before the due date to ensure I could check out another stack.

As I grew older, I enjoyed reading authors who wrote series, and I would become invested with the characters with each new installment of the series. I loved humor, whodunits, biographies, autobiographies; these days romance is also on my list. In high school, when I had free time, I was on a first-name basis with the librarians.

At the time, the main library in downtown Minneapolis also had another perk: a planetarium, a great way to relax and rest my mind for an hour. It started off with school field trips, and the visits continued into my adulthood. And of course, after the planetarium show, I’d walk over to the library for books.

The college library served as the place where students did their research and homework in order to write the endless papers for classes, but I still took time for recreational reading. This was a time when I started asking questions. In my fictional reading, I found myself asking, “Where are the books that feature characters who look like me?” This was a time when colleges were only beginning to have Black Studies as part of the curriculum, including literature written by Black authors, poets, and playwrights.

Toni Morrison said, “If there is a story you wish to read, and it hasn’t been written, you must be the one to write it.” As a Black, gay, independent author, this quote is priceless. It falls right in line with something my father would do; rather than complain about the lack of representation, write the stories yourself.

Today, I am pleased to announce that my Christopher Family Novel series is part of the Hennepin County Library collection, the largest collection in Minnesota. For one who loves the library, it is gratifying to see my work on its shelves, to share my stories with others. The nine-year-old me is grinning from ear to ear.

Believe in dreams and never give up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These past fall days have been gorgeous, and it’s been a blessing to enjoy them. Today, in addition to my time outdoors, I watched what I consider a classic in Black cinema: Stormy Weather, released by 20th Century Fox in 1943. The musical was a showcase for the entertainers of that time, and it immortalized Lena Horne. It was amazing to have all that talent in one film, one of the rare movies produced by a major film studio starring an all-Black cast. We have many celebrities of color today, and we still have a long way to go. However, seeing our predecessors onscreen such as Bill “Bojangles” Robinson, “Fats” Waller, Dooley Wilson, Cab Calloway, Ada Brown, the Nicholas Brothers–truly amazing, and a DVD that will be a part of my collection.

Granted, the movie was a product of its time, given certain stereotypes that went with it, unlike Oscar Micheaux, a Black filmmaker of the day. On the other hand, when Lena Horne came to Hollywood, she was the secret weapon of the NAACP. Her father, Teddy Horne, made it plain to the studio execs that she would not play the stereotypical roles given to Black actresses; she would play herself, and she did. For those who think music videos are a current phenomenon, back in those days, they were called “soundies,” which Lena appeared in before she debuted in feature-length movies. Her first movie, Panama Hattie, wasn’t shown to white southern audiences until her scenes were removed from it. Her two subsequent movies, Cabin in the Sky and Stormy Weather, resonated with Black audiences in the ’40s–the importance of seeing faces that look like your own.

That being said, I’d love to share my reflections on today’s romance novel, Cheryl Barton’s The Lake House. Danielle Fenton and Gannon Wilcox were high school sweethearts, their families being friends of long standing. In their college days, however, Danielle broke things off with Gannon for greener pastures. What she got was crabgrass, in the form of her now ex-husband. Controlling and merely wanting her as arm candy, he was a manwhore who slogged her name through the mud with women and children out of wedlock. Gannon, smarting from his breakup with Danielle, later married a scheming, conniving woman who denied him the one thing he wanted most: children, pretending she was infertile while secretly taking birth control pills.

Years later, thankfully divorced from those losers, Danielle and Gannon, unbeknownst to one another, take some time off to regroup at their respective families’ lake houses. Said homes are on adjoining property, and the source of happier days for them as a couple long ago. Will Danielle get past her guilt for dumping Gannon and making the biggest mistake of her life? Will the summer at the lake house work its magic and heat up the embers of their old flame? Will their exes finally receive the memo that they’ve been kicked to the curb permanently?

From the time they met again at this magical spot, I was rooting for Danielle and Gannon. Cheryl Barton set a pace and flow that gradually reunites the couple, rediscovering what made them special even after messy breakups in their personal lives. Sure, they had family members that wanted nothing more than to see them together again, yet I as a reader felt like I was a part of their private world at the lake house, and I loved it.

For your reading enjoyment, The Lake House is available at your local branch of the Amazon/Barnes & Noble library, waiting for you to experience the magic.

 

 

Like most authors who are serious about taking their writing to another level, at a certain point in the publishing process the services of a professional editor come into play. After all, this is my work, and my desire is for it to represent well. Of course, before I even hire an editor, it is up to me to do my share of editing and proofreading first. One of my personal quirks? I tend to think faster than I write/type, hence I often wind up skipping words. I can figure out what the word is when I review the context of the sentence. Still, it is something ongoing that I work on.

There are many blogs and websites regarding editors, whether for traditional publishing or independent authors. Theirs is a valuable service for us as authors, and in the best scenario it becomes a partnership. That being said, I would like to share my own experiences in the search for a professional editor.

As an independent author, the single biggest business expense in the process is the editing. Many seeking to be published have been discouraged by the costs of this service, so it is beneficial to shop around for one who best fits your budget and specific needs. States have websites and organizations listing freelance editors and their services. Referrals and word-of-mouth are also great sources, especially from other writers; this was the route I ultimately chose.

A good fit between author and editor is also determined by the genre(s) the editor works with; they must be in line with your vision. If you’re a romance author and the prospective editor only does horror…not a good fit. To get a feel for their editing style, I asked the editors I was vetting for a sample edit. In this process, I received a taste of their reliability. Were their responses timely? Did they follow up? Did they do what they promised to do? Were they available for the questions I subsequently had?

As an African American, LGBT author who writes about African American characters, one criterion stood at the top of the list when considering an editor: cultural sensitivity. The editor of my first novel was African American, so that wasn’t an issue. However, the vast majority of professional editors are white. As such, the nuances that African Americans bring to stories can easily be missed, and our stories pay the price for it. To my brothas and sistahs out there, these are questions I learned to ask up front: What does cultural sensitivity mean to you? Have you had experience editing novels about cultures different from your own? Have you worked with authors of color? At the end of the day, it’s my book and my story. When it comes to matters that are culturally specific, I’m the expert.

It’s a learning process for both author and editor. Their work has tweaked my novels in the right ways to make them stronger and more polished, ready for publishing and release. I, in turn, have broadened the editor’s scope with my own unique voice and observations. For independent authors, a successful collaboration of author and editor can make for a long-term partnership.

 

Believe in dreams and never give up.