Admitting Defeat

So, I loved my idea to create a story series: it gave me a writing deadline to look forward to each week, as well as a chance to create and explore a story. Unfortunately there were two major problems with this idea:

1) The world I was drawing from is the setting of a novel I'm writing that I actually want to publish. I had this grand idea, but then I'd find myself holding back or being unnecessarily vague because I didn't want anything to give away the plot of the novel.

2) Time is never on my side. I just finished a move (well, I still have a few boxes to unpack...) and I'm also in graduate school. Taking the time to generate a plot, write the plot, and edit the plot is one thing, trying to come up with a plot that isn't a spoiler but is still interesting is a lot more time consuming.

So, I have decided to stop the Whispers of War series. (I apologize to anyone who was looking forward to the series). I want to continue the episodic story idea -- there's something about it that I really like -- but, I think I need to use a fresh world. If I'm going to do it, I want to do it right! I'm going back to the drawing board to sketch out something specifically for the idea.

Thanks for your understanding and patience. 

Nice Girl

Try to be
A nice girl--
Sweet and supportive
Understanding...

No backstabbing,
No underhanded tricks
No Petty squabbles.

But the more life settles
The less you care
And all the niceties of life
     disappear--
Fade away to reveal
A petty world around you
And you don't want to be
--A nice girl.

Express your anger
Or cage it away
Stop being the soggy shoulder
Or continue to comfort?

When logic asks:
Why care for the world
     when the world doesn't care for you?
But your heart says do the right thing--
You can't hide that deep inside
A nice girl
Lives.

Waits for that final blow.

Same Shoe, Different Ball

I've always loved fairy tales, folktales, and mythology. As you probably know, most of the fairy tales we know, actually have tragic endings contrary to the way cartoonists, such as Walt Disney, choose to animate them. I actually enjoy finding and reading the different versions of each story. Some stories (or themes) are universal and appear in many cultures; it's interesting to see how this changes the story. Writers (like myself) and movie makers seem fascinated at the possibility of retelling these stories. Sometimes the retellings are full of magic, like Walt Disney's "Cinderella". Sometimes they are more realistic, such as "Ever After" which is also based on Cinderella. Some are modern twists on the tale, such as the "A Cinderella Story" movies. Others are focused on the villain's side of the tale, like the recently released "Maleficient." While others simple take the tales back to their darker origins like "Snow White & the Huntsman." I often wonder is there a new way to tell an old tale? Is there a way to take inspiration from such material to create new and exciting storylines? Or have all the twists and turns played out?

In the mean time, let me know your favorite tales in the poll below! (I was limited in the number of options I could provide, so please feel free to use the other option to add in any tales that aren't included in the list!)

Which are your favorite fairy tales? (You may vote for more than one.)

Aladdin

Beauty and the Beast

Cinderella

Goldilocks and the Three Bears

Hansel and Gretel

The Little Mermaid

Sleeping Beauty

Snow White

Other

Please Specify:

Poll Maker

Modesty

A declaration of modesty--
The restrictive cry of shrouded beauty
While the other half flaunts bold brawn
Subtle, but causing us to fawn...
And yet we define a controlled look
Try to avoid lingering eyes
Treat ourselves like bait on a hook
Awaiting someone else's untimely demise.
Who are we to define such laws
When styles change just because?
Why should I worry and acquire stress
About the shoes I wear, or the way I dress?
If he can make me weak at the knees
In a pressed shirt under a suit and tie,
What hope is there for my closest's ease?
Anything I wear will distract his eye.

Michael Ealy

Charles Michael Davis

Morris Chestnut

Post in response to a blog post called "Why I Chose To No Longer Wear Leggings" by Veronica Partridge

A Vote and A Threat

 

Whispers of War

Season 1

Episode 5

Someone's not happy about Nita and Jabir's forbidden encounter. The elders won't stop until Nita knows the extent of her betrayal to their way of life.READ THE EPISODE »

"We must put an end to this." a man's voice boomed.

There were twelve elders seated at the table watching footage of Nita and Jabir striking their bargain. A unanimous scowl spread around the table, with each gentleman clearly unmoved by Nita's daring rescue.

"Agreed," they echoed.

"How do you propose we put an end to this unnatural friendship?"

"Simply telling these youngster to cease is not likely to solve our problem."

"No, we'll need something a bit more subtle."

"We could just kill the Payeh. He's of no use without his wings anyway. Plus we keep the guardian, she learns her lesson, and no other Payeh need find out Cecaelia exist."

The elders exchanged worried glances. They had never plotted to kill anyone before, it was not in their nature.

"I think that goes against our oath," one elder pointed out.

"Do you have another suggestion?" There was a long silence before the headstrong elder reclaimed the floor. "Let's put it to a vote. All those in favor of killing the Payeh?" He counted the raised hands, then moved on. "All those opposed?" 

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Are You A Feminist?

It's a question I've been asked multiple times within the last 12 months. Until the first person asked me, I hadn't actually thought about it. Obviously, as a woman in a PhD program, I have to subscribe to some degree of feminism. Of course, in a lot of regards, my actions are old fashioned--I don't ask guys on dates (not first dates at least), I wouldn't ask a guy to marry me, and I am a die-hard fan of chivalry. Which made me question whether I was a feminist or just a girl living in a man's world.

Perhaps it's the creeping of age, and the on-set of the "when are you going to get married and have kids" comments that pushed me to explore where I stand. Or maybe its simply not wanting to sound like an idiot the next time someone asks am I a feminist...

Not long ago, when I decided to move it really hit me where most people think a woman's place is. Many people--men, particularly--seemed to think that my decision to leave should have been dependent on some guy. Conversations went something like:

Conversation A

guy: "You must not have a boyfriend."
me: "What makes you say that?"
guy: "You decided to leave."

Conversation B

guy: "You'd go all the way to Florida?"
me: "Florida's not that far. Most CS jobs are in Cali anyway."
guy: "You'd take a job in Cali?"
me: "Yeah."
guy: "Even if you were dating someone here?"

The idea that my entire world should revolve around a guy who may or may not be here next week really ticked me off. Who in their right mind thinks a girl in a PhD program--who has been working toward a PhD for 4 years--is going to quit because "Prince Charming" bats his eyelashes? In my later years of grad school, many of the guys I've had conversations with still hold the belief that as a woman I should be contented to get married and have kids; the idea that I actually want my PhD and care whether my job is crap or not is completely befuddling to them. Yet, when speaking with men studying to earn their PhD, it became obvious that they felt if they brought in the bulk of the money, they got to make the decisions. You expect me to give up my chance to afford the lifestyle I want for a man who may or may not give me the lifestyle I want? You expect me to make life decisions based on a boyfriend? A fiancé, or a husband, I can understand, you've both committed to staying with each other for better or worse (theoretically), but a boyfriend who may dump you whenever it strikes his fancy? Well...that explains why I don't date often; no way I'm giving up my beach house and corvette for a maybe. I don't exist solely to please some man. Sure, if and when I get married compromises will have to be made, but any man who thinks his ambitions automatically trump mine is not worth my time. 

I know women who think the housewife life is great--it's what they want--and that's fine. Each person should be free to do what they choose. Perhaps this makes me a feminist.  There are a lot of topics people associate with feminism: the right to wear what you want, the end of slut shaming, equal pay, etc. Though I believe in standards (which I accept that everyone will and should have different standards), I don't believe in double standards. Perhaps this also makes me a feminist. 

Feminism, as my proud feminist friends tell me, is about the right to be whomever you choose regardless of your gender. I'm totally down with that.

So, are you a feminist? Why or why not?

The Lost Dream

A Person Reflection on a Dream Deferred

I am not like them--

For they are not like me,

We are different

We are not the same.

Martin Luther King Jr. Day always brings up memories of of the past. For some, like my parents who were teenagers during Dr. King's era, the past is over 60 years ago.  For others, like the parents of Michael Brown, the past is only yesterday. Every year, on this day, the past I am taken to is high school--2002 through 2006. I call it The Time of the Lost Dream. During this period of my life, I just wanted to graduate and leave. Perhaps I thought the life of a black girl was different outside of a small town in South Carolina, or perhaps I was just tired of worrying about a situation that seemed unchangeable. Regardless of my reasoning, I had zero motivation to address or deal with the people around me.

My memories of high school are littered with subtle racism. It takes a great deal of effort for me to remember the good, and on days like today its nearly impossible. I remember white peers wanting to do away with Black History Month because "[they felt] bad" and it made "[them] sad to hear that [their] ancestors had done such things." The fact that the deepest we ever dove into the topic was to say there were white and colored only signs on everything, must have escaped them; I'm sure if we'd discussed tarring and feathering, lynching, the fact that a white man cut off my great uncle's ear for speaking to a white woman, or the hate crimes of today, they would have had to bring in psychologists for counseling. I remember my American English teacher telling my white classmates not to worry that they didn't understand Go Tell It On The Mountain by James Baldwin, citing "cultural" differences when they begged her not to fail them on an assignment. The facts that it was one of three books we could choose to read individually, that they could have stopped reading and chosen another book when they realized they didn't understand the first, nor that they would only be required to read three books by and/or about non-white people from kindergarten all the way through graduation, clearly did not influence my teacher's point of view. I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that they were always shown mercy for not understanding black culture, but I was alway expected to understand theirs. That's what high school taught me: white culture is American culture, black culture is something else and to succeed, you need know American culture.

Where are the black authors

The inventors, the chefs, the teachers?

There were civil rights leaders

There were civil rights survivors...

The fall I started college, I went to see Stomp the Yard with my white roommate. She thought the movie was the most awesome thing she'd ever seen and wanted to know why Greek life at our school wasn't like that. I came away from the movie wondering why I hadn't chosen to go to an HBCU (historically black college or university), a feeling waxed and wanned until it came back stronger than ever upon viewing The Great Debaters. I wanted a teacher to tell me to read W.E.B. DuBois or Frederick Douglass. I was sick of hearing that Langston Hughes was the only black man to write something worth reading. I was tired of Black History consisting of Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King--or rather Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech. What about everything else he said? What about everyone else? While the legacy of these people is great, I felt that what was being taught was that we, as a race, did not exist outside of black issues. We were either slaves fighting for freedom, or freed slaves fighting for rights. Lost in translation were all the people leading successful lives despite their lack of rights. In church--a black Baptist church--we learned about George Washington Carver, Booker T. Washington, Mary McLeod-Bethune, Madam CJ Walker, and other influential black people before and during the civil rights movement, but it even in my own community, Black History is treated as though it ended with the death of Dr. King. 

In the aftermath of wars fought
When the dust settles,
Clouds are swept away by wind
And the survivors go on.

Every year, not just on MLK Day, I wonder what would have happened had he not been assassinated. Would we have been closer to his dream? Would I look back on high school the way I do? There are many blacks succeeding around the country, from the highly publicized entertainers (although sometimes we'd like to pretend they don't exist), to the unknown CEOs. There are black Greek organizations doing community service as I write these words, yet the news only wants to cover them if they're on trial for hazing. There are black men in college and mentoring young children, but the only people they want to show are athletes and thugs. We had a channel of our own, where we could have highlighted the good that we do, where we could have told our history, promoted the reading of black literature, and reminded the world that we didn't just disappear when Dr. King died; but Bob Johnson sold it to VIACOM! After President Obama was elected, white conservatives (and even a few liberals) were saying they needed to "take back the country." I think we need to take back our history and teach it right. The fight did not die with Dr. King. We did not die with Dr. King. The dream did not die with Dr. King.

In a box they may try to place us
By labels they try to define,
And though I reject this oppression
My history will not be washed away.

When we can learn about the good (and bad) in every culture freely, when people are not stepping on glass so as not to disturb the "peace" and all cultures can see similarities in their differences, we will be able to see each other instead of colors. Our differences make us individuals, our similarities make us human and when we can finally see our similarities, our differences will not drive us apart. I once gave up on Dr. King's dream, because I gave up on people. Everyday I meet people of all colors and creeds that remind me there are people working for the dream and everyday I meet people of all colors and creeds that remind me exactly why I gave up on people in the first place. But if Dr. King had given up on us all, the world would not be the world we live in today; it may not be perfect, but its progress and even if one step further is all I can contribute while I'm alive, I'll do all that I can to make that step.  

Differences don't have to drive us apart
And similarities don't have to bond
The respect that I am and that you are
Is all the air we need to breathe.

Forbidden

 

Whispers of War

Season 1

Episode 4

Will Nita oblige Jabir's request? Will Jabir get to meet his rescuer? This week, see if Nita disregards the rules to meet Jabir and find out what's next for these two.READ THE EPISODE »

Someone, somewhere wrote the rule that it was forbidden for Jabir to see Nita. Nita didn't know who; she didn't know why. All she knew was that from infancy, every Cecaelia she knew acted like the planet would explode if a Payeh saw a Cecaelia. As she floated beneath the waves, listening to the little boy's muffled plea for her to come back, she wondered what would happen. Nothing bad had happened yet, and she had saved his life--wasn't that what she was supposed to do?

Nita tried to push the curiosity away, but it wouldn't budge. She couldn't miss this opportunity--after all, she'd already been seen, she might as well speak to the Payeh as well. With a strong thrust from her legs, she bolted back up to the surface, water smearing across her face from dripping yellow-gold hair.

Jabir gasped at the sight, but quickly smiled, jumped to his feet and rushed toward the water. Nita held up her hand to stop him.

"You came back!" Jabir exclaimed. "Can you understand me? Wow. You're real..."

Nita froze. What was she supposed to say?

"You can't tell anyone you saw me," she said as she swam closer. "It's forbidden."

"Why?"

"I...I don't know. It just is." Nita was starting to think, perhaps it was a bad idea after all to break more reals, but it was too late now. "Can you promise me that?"

"Will you teach me to swim?"

"What? Payeh don't swim." Hadn't he learned his lesson from almost drowning?

"No. We fly. But I can't fly." Jabir stated the words plainly, but Nita could see that it bothered the young boy. "Please. I won't say anything about you if you teach me to swim. It's a win win situation."

"You almost drowned not five minutes ago!" Nita pointed out.

Jabir didn't respond.

Nita sulked. "Fine. We have a deal."

Nita knew that she was opening the door to an unheard of friendship--a forbidden friendship, but she didn't know what she was getting herself into. Or that The Universe was watching her from a far. If she did, she never would have saved the young Payeh. She had positioned herself on the opposing side of centuries of tradition, something The powers that be would not take kindly to, and unknowingly challenged an authority higher than she could image.

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Who Am I

I don't recognize her--
The girl in the mirror;
She doesn't look like me,
     talk like me, think like me...
          who is she?
She is strong where I am weak
And then again, weak when I am strong--
If I could trade places,
Tag in and out like a game
If we shared this world
     together we are mighty
          invisible but invincible--
Who is she?
I dig deep to uncover her
Pull her from the depths,
From the pieces of reflective glass...
But I am afraid--
     if I push too hard,
          if I search too deep
The mirror will shatter
And she will disappear.

Blurred Sight

How hard it seems
To see the world...
My own eyes fall short
Of the vision of other eyes
And somewhere
    these visions blur.

Streaks of color whirling by
Unidentifiable buildings--
Nameless shows under lights
And tasteless food on table tops;
Where is the soul of it all?

Lost in the movement
Swept under the rug like dirt
We try to hide stars in the dark
But they only shine brighter in the night--
Out of reach, but not quite out of sight
    these visions blur.

Alone in this World

 

Whispers of War

Season 1

Episode 3

Meet Jabir, Nita's charge, and find out how he copes with his inability to fly. READ THE EPISODE »

It wasn't fair that he couldn't fly--every Payeh his age could fly. Male or female, they'd all taken their first flights and were confidently soaring above the city, while Jabir stayed behind alone. It would have been bad enough to just be the last to fly, but to still not be able to fly... There had only been a few months between the first Payeh his age to take flight and the second to last; it had been two years since then, and Jabir still couldn't fly.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked his mother, expecting her to give him a cheesy answer about him being a late bloomer or special.

"I have no idea," she scoffed. "The doctor can't find anything wrong, but something must be."

Jabir frowned. He didn't know why he expected her answer to make him feel better--he couldn't think of anything himself that would ease his mind, how could he expect her to?  Still, her answer bothered him. If he'd known his father, he would have asked for a second opinion. Given then circumstances, he instead settled for being different and accepted his fate.

If he couldn't fly, he couldn't work or participate in any of the other normal activities in the city like his friends, which meant he had all day to himself. When they were young, he and his friends use to play in the woods and the meadows nearby. Now, he wanted to see something different; he longed to experience something they had not. That desire is what first prompted him to spend his time in the water--he'd never met a Payeh that could swim.

There were rumors about eight-legged creatures beneath the sea--Cecaelia, the exceedingly superstitious called them. Supposedly part humanoid and part cephalopod, they were said to be agile and dangerous by some and kind and protective by others. The rumors kept most Payeh out of the water, but Jabir was willing to take the chance.

Under the water everything looked blurry, his body was heavy, but his mind was light as a feather. The water would crash over him as he struggled to stay a float, and it reminded him of the tumbles he'd taken trying to take off from the ledge above the city. The attempts were exhausting, and possibly a waste of his time, but for some reason, he wouldn't give up. If he couldn't fly, he was going to swim...

When he awoke in the sand with the golden skin of the young Cecaelia who had apparently saved his life, he couldn't believe his eyes. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined they were real, let alone that he might see one. This was his chance--

"Wait! I won't tell anyone I saw you if you'll stay," he called out to the fleeing and visibly frightened girl. "Could you teach me to swim?" he added the question half-heartedly, expecting the situation to continue playing out as it were.

The ripples surrounding the girl, who had dove under the water to obscure his view, disappeared. Jabir held his breath, did that mean she had stopped at his pleading? Or that she'd dove even further beneath the water?

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Not Like You on Display

All is dark,
Yet I am there--
Center stage,
Hiding in the bosom
Of a deep red flower...
And the audience is a-chatter
Unaware of my presence,
Waiting for the show to begin--
My show, my life...

The flower gave birth to me
Under the spotlight
On the cue of violas
And there I stood
With awe struck eyes--
And the audience was surprised
This little alien girl
Before them startled
Dazed and confused...

Despite the confusion
The curtains continue to rise
The orchestra continues to play
And the music soothes the air
It's my stage, my show
I don't know what they expect
Leave the audience to reflect,
On the life of this alien girl--
Just began only moments ago
Deep breath, command the stage.

Out in the Open

Whispers of War

Season 1

Episode 2

Nita finds herself in a dangerous position when her charge catches a glimpse of her. She must choose between saving herself from Zuri's wrath and saving her charge. READ THE EPISODE »

Jabir was smaller than Nita had expected--much smaller. It was her first time seeing a Payeh up close, but even from a distance, she could tell the young boy was small for his age. Like all male Payeh, the wings trailing behind him were golden with blue and green plumes of decorative feathers decorating the gold. His skin was the same electric blue that appeared in the rings embellishing her tentacles and white skin appeared across his green eyes like a mask. The young Payeh seemed content to chase a small, furry, animal through the sand while the other Payeh took to the skies.

Nita sighed. There was nothing interesting about watching the young Payeh running in circles. She wondered, again, why he was so important as she settled into a hiding spot behind two large boulders. Just when she thought she would fall asleep from boredom, Nita heard a splash.

"What is he doing?" Nita whispered.

Peering over the boulder, Nita witnessed the young payeh struggling to swim in the rushing waves of the water. With each stroke of his arms, his wings became confused, stroking in awkward positions and throwing him off balance. Nita chuckled to herself, remembering her first attempts to swim in storm waves. She understood why he was struggling to fly--clearly this youngling did not have full control over his wings.

Jabir didn't give up though; he struggled and struggled, while Nita looked on until his body began to tire. When his legs and arms stopping paddling, the large wings collapsed around him and she began to sink.

"Get up!" Nita hissed. "Come on! Get up!" As the boy's body continued to fall beneath the waves, Nita panicked. Really? On the first day?

Nita debated going to rescue the boy. She wasn't supposed to be seen and actually saving the boy would definitely put her at risk of being seen, but she couldn't let him drown--not on the first day. As a wave devoured the last of his body, Nita kicked off from the boulder like a torpedo, diving into the heart of the ocean toward her charge. It only took a second to reach the boy and even less to grasp the boy in her arms.

The wings were soft--even wet--and heavy. Nita let the water carry the weight as she lead the boy back to the coast. Struggling to push him on shore, Nita lifted her on body into the sand for leverage. The sand stung her tentacles but she kept pulling. When most of his body was safely on shore, she let go and sighed.

His eyes were still closed and his body unmoving

"Wake up," Nita cooed as she shook him gently.

Jabir's green eyes jerked open and Nita leapt in to the water with a splash. He sat up gingerly, blinking his eyes and looking around. "Wait! Come back--I want to thank you."

"Zuri is going to kill me." Nita muttered.

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Second Day

Time rushes by me

And I never see it past

Didn't have the time to see

What did or didn't last--

When the dates roll by

And the hours tick on

The work piles up high

And dust turns to dawn...

Stop, take a deep breath

A moment to enjoy the day

Thankful for life and health,

Let any problems fall away--

Here's to to stopping the clock

If only for a moment in time

We create a mental block

To wipe away all the grime.