Writing What you love

My manuscript is ready for publishing. So I decided to write a how to book on my adventure In writing. This lesson in writing my novel has been a way to educate myself. This book documents some of the techniques I used to write my novel. It was a great adventure learning to do something I love to do. So if you love writing here are some ideas for your experience. Coming 2020.

Memories

Memories This is just a small design of a memoir. History in its design, drama, and comedy. It reveals who you are while dealing with life’s ironies.  Think, how would you write a book. This book has so many memories of my life. I needed to tell someone about the things I experience as an African American child Born in Washington, DC  and ended up in North Philadelphia.  How the influences in my life define who I am as a person.  This book is a promise to God that I would write and publish my book. What would I write. I was already writing poetry.  Purging my inner thoughts. 1800 Indigo House  Excerpt from a life.  A history in poetry, self-published on LULU.com. If you are “writer” you must ask yourself, what is my book about and what is it I want to say. Sit quietly and listen. Memories of events were rising to the top, and I started writing in lyrical poetry that stream close to my heart.

 

Continue reading “Memories”

One Writer’s Journey

At the sensitive age of nine I lost the two main characters in my life, my grandame and the illustrious rajah who created me. I had never felt that kind of love until I had my progeny. As a undeveloped child, I inscribe my name in cursive it completed me.  I designed letters so artistically beautiful. Connecting shapes and angles as I practice to perfection.  Writing words just to see how they would turn out. I began writing sentences to express my feelings and tell stories.  It was the first stage of learning of self. I yearned for my grandmother and my father and as I sobbed through the pain. My trusty sword, a well sharpened #2 pencil and a great pen were my weapons against tribulations.

As the spirit would have it many of my feeling were cursively written without punctuation, organization or editing and lyrically sounding, leading me to write sometimes on paper, and then in a composition book help me to put my tragedy in perspective. I knew nothing about being a writer but I was writing.    This happen in 1959 during a time when racial issues were not something, I was aware of as a child.  Writing about my feelings help me to express all the emotions that came from missing a grandmother who through religion read to me a bedtime story. The holy bible from genesis to revelation.  Helping form pictures in my immature mind. Many of the words written were designed and put in poetry form. My poetry was crafted from the poetry written in psalms and proverbs; I learn lyrical poetry. Hidden in the words that she read to me is a lesson on how to act. Hidden in my subconscious was everything that I needed to know.

Time went on I learn to put my feeling into poetry being my psychoanalysis. A journal of all my pain. After moving several times, I lost the rare book of poem.  I hope that if anyone read my words it would help them to solve their issues. My mind would play out these stories, mostly science fiction and romance genres I always loved in movies. All this happen before the desktop computer came into the home. When I received my first computer in the 1990’s. I was learning this amazing machine and the software was a magical entity. A writer that assist me to put my words into action.  I started on my first book, science fiction and I created short stories.  I was privy to its amazing talents. I lived for using this instrument to write.

Writing requires that you look at other writings and find what you are trying to convey. Have written and re-written at least a hundred times to get that sentence right. You go through an emotional roller coaster of queries that at times make you ask, “Who told you that you can write?” Then I read a paragraph of my writing and recognize that you can compose with practice. You see your talents, then research some of the things that will help you write deeper. Bookstores are bliss and every Friday I would visit my preferred. Borders taught me to how to search the shelves of this store to find the information you seek. As you go through floors and shelves you find this character called the writers corner. This area houses books on character, plot and dictionaries and the human trait. Great magazines of writing build the story for me so perfectly, writers who were dispensing words to help other with specifics. My imagination of seeing a writer’s hand reaching for another lost writer. Inside saying she had so much fear, show them how fear affects you and who. I would go back into my work and realize that it needed better wording, design and greater clarity. Fast forward to my future and I find that all my writing is in the future and it has given me great courage.

 

Getting Better


   At the tender age of sixty seven I find myself forgiving me for my life and existence. I have lost so much , mainly my children. For almost a year I think about my son who would come and get me just because.  Never thought every time I passed the building he passed away in I could feel him. That passing his name in the contacts would make me cry because the empty movement would produce his voice. We talked about his children that made his world. That their mothers made him think deeper about their motives. He loved them……. I know that from our conversations. Yes, I had my opinion “pick one” but he could not his children made that impossible. I believe in my son, even when his opinion was wrong. His friends made his life worth while he told me about each one. Only one was his best, looking out for him as brother since they were young.  Yet he took another brother under his wing who considered him family.

His name is constant in his life. “Hey mom, going to make you laugh.” and he did. I hear his voice calling my name. I see the mist of his spirit right in my face and I cry like right now. It took me until now to be able to write these few words. We would ride pointing out the car he aims to possess. This would be a gift to himself. He wanted to have a house built in South Carolina, I would rent a room for vacation, “you don’t have to rent.” he said. What he did not understand is if I could pay a hotel to stay there I could pay him. Besides his accommondations would have been luxury compared. He had kids and they needed things. I admired him as a father who surprise me. He brought me his first born, she a newborn, with a then nylon blanket wrapped in the bitter cold. He  seeks me out to get advice on what she would need.  A large blanket, snow suit, sox shoes, lots of heavy blankets and without a doubt a hat to cover that soft spot at the top her head. I gave words of wisdom. “Son,  look at her. She looks to you to give her what she needs.”  Don’t wait for anyone to get or do for her, you come with what she needs. When she cries is because something is wrong. She cried every time she saw me.  Advice that he used amazingly with all his children.

I think that I am drifting through life like on a ship to nowhere. I wish that when you leave the planet that you should be able to call just to hear what’s happening with them.  That is all I have to say for right now. Stay tuned, there is more.

Young Adult Fighters

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I watch young people going to school and remember how my friends long ago laughed and joked on any given day.  Most of the people I knew wanted to hooky school to hangout in the park or over someone’s house. Yes, killing happen to young people but not to the kids who wanted their education.  We dreamed of being something great.  Although that did not happen for many of us we did not worry about someone taking a gun and shoot at us with a perfect aim. As a African American mother and a grandmother, great grandmother I am horrified by the things that young people witness. America has changed to a melting pot of murder and killing on a scale unheard of by parents. It is almost like genocide of our children. How many of those young adults killed were visionaries of our future.  My future robot is in jeopardy, taking a trip out in space for a vacation.  Young adults are planted seeds of life.  As I sit in a room of young adults wanting to be doctors and lawyers I say to myself are they going to make it? We older adults have to look at the future, not live in the past or don’t want to give up the past, because you did not live your dream. it is the new generations time to forge the future and bring us to a place of unity.

I saw the face of a young girl after she witness other students being killed it touched my heart so deeply.   Faces of our children, tears, shaking and trying to explain what they just experienced.  My heart goes out to those families who lost their child, friend, teacher, former. My heart hurts for you. I have experience lost of a child, but not like you. hearing their voices, remember the jokes or even the last time you scolded them about something that they did.  if only,  we could be given a second chance.  “If i could say abracadabra and give them back I would”.

Governments and politicians can not help us.  They sit in safe houses, house of representatives, house of congress, the white house. While we are out here in the world taking our lives in our own hands, Vote, bipartician, fake news, the truth, this is all terminology that only confuses the lay person.  None of that matters when you loose a child.  I applaud the young adults who are out here trying to have their voices heard.  I would like to be in the background to help you scream loud “I’m mad as hell, we are not going to take it anymore!”

Those who voted for the people in office,  were your children apart of those school shootings?  If not, think about this the next mental health issue that takes up an automatic gun and shoots a child it could be your school, remember it is not about us, it is about all of us.

For those young adults who looking through this window of pain how does this effect you is the question. Fight with all your might. Get out there and raise your voice, hands, signs, stomp, tribal dance, whatever it takes. “This America belongs to you.”  Dry my tears young people make them accountable, make them take action. College students remember the college protest of the 1960-and 70’s. Remember your brothers and sisters who are coming behind you, fight for them. People talk about the NRA, don’t stop there find the guns hidden, shut down those who sell guns to anyone who has a penny. I wish that every gun on the planet would disappear, to bad that won’t happen.