The Boogie Down Clique Series: The Kids at Latimar High

Have you gotten a taste of that eastcoast flavor?—Well, maybe that’s because you haven’t met the teens from the Boogie Down Bronx yet!

Meet Lauren, Rosalyn, Kevin, Trinny, and the rest of the teens at Latimar High.


The Boogie Down Clique Series



The Kids at Latimar High

Going to Lewis Latimar High used to be easy for Lauren O’ Neil. As long as she stayed on the honor roll, got the juiciest stories for the school paper, and made sure her silky thick flip reigned amongst all the other girls at Latimar High, things stayed as smooth as a White Castle’s vanilla shake until the day she got the assignment of a lifetime: to interview Kevin Johnson, Latimar’s star quarterback, the finest boy in the Bronx, who was up for grabs by every girl in the school, including her best friend Rosalyn, who makes a move for Kevin. And in doing so, violates just about all of Lauren and her “Girlfriends’ do’s and don’t codes to live by.” In fact, as the competition heats up, Lauren breaks a few friendship codes herself. With a sudden bitter twist, life at Latimar High isn’t as easy as it used to be...


Check out snippet of The Kids at Latimar High Cartoon!

Excerpt

Chapter 1
Lauren


Boom-boom-boom-da-boom-boom-boom-da went the drums. All the students jumped to their feet. The bleachers felt as if they were about to cave in. The band struck up a hip-hop beat just for him. The hottest song in the nation, “Lights, camera, action!” by Mr. Cheeks exploded on the field. Trumpets and trombones were swaying. The band was shaking.

Screams and roars held me captive on an overcrowded bench as I clutched my writing pad. I couldn’t tell if he or the hysteria of the crowd was making me tremble. Lewis Latimar High School colors, blue and white, collided on the field with the opposition, The Lincoln Bears’ red and black padded uniforms. With percussions and brass swaying behind him, he ripped through the field, clutching the football, stiff-arming any player trying to stop him. The bench shook and pounded as he raced for the touchdown. I stood on my feet, dropping my pad, watching him juke and knock the opposition out of the way. He was like a sculpted piece of art in motion. Strong, tight muscles bulged through his uniform as if the uniform had been painted on him. Only sixteen-years-old, and our star quarterback, Kevin Johnson, had it going on. I was so engrossed in his victory that I didn’t see Darren Medford with his camera wave at me to come and join him on the field. I was too busy watching Kevin take his helmet off. As he victoriously swung his helmet in the air, I envisioned myself corn-rowing that six-inch Afro of his. The boy could stand a good brushing and braiding by the hands of a female—me. Jolted from my fantasy, I felt the vibration of a herd of elephants charging down the bleachers. In a near panic, I swung around at the crowd. Students were leaping over each other, madly dashing down the bleachers, rushing into the field. Latimar’s Panthers had won three games in a row!

“Lauren, come down here!” Some psycho pushed his way towards the descending crowd. I looked down and spotted Darren, mister-school-photographer-of-the-year, and the year before that. He was the school’s newspaper, the Latimar Defender most talented photojournalist, and he let everyone know that.

“You got to come down here and interview Kevin. Jody is in the bathroom crapping in his pants!” Darren’s narrow face was just inches from my face. I blinked uncontrollably at what I had heard, or thought I had heard.

“What?” I could hardly get the words out.

“Jody told me to tell you to take the Panthers story. I told him to stop eating Pop Rocks for breakfast,” said Darren.

“Take Kevin,” I said weakly. Darren smirked at me. His unibrow wiggled behind his square gold-rimmed glasses.

“Look, I took some dope pictures of him, so I need one bad-ass story to go with it…Can you handle that, Lauren?”

Darren had the nerve to ask me that. I mimicked the cocky look he was giving me. He had the nerve to doubt my competence. I had been writing for the school paper since my freshman year, had been on the honor roll all through junior high, and now, as a sophomore at Latimar High, I ranked in the top fifty out of the entire school. Mr. Camera boy couldn’t edit a paper with a tutorial. I stood up straight and squinted at him. Darren’s face flushed a deep reddish brown. He glared at me insulted. He assumed I was making fun of him. Darren was half Chinese. But I wasn’t making fun of him. It was his eyebrows. They connected like a fuzzy piece of brown yarn on his face. I was trying to make my eyebrows meet like his, hoping he would crack a smile. Darren was too serious. He would actually be kind of cute if he learned how to relax a bit. And maybe get rid of that gooey stuff he puts in his hair in a vain attempt to create dreadlocks. Not that I was knocking dreads–dreads were way cool on people with the right hair texture. Darren looked like a brown Dragon Ball Z character that had dumped his head in molding mud. I guess that was his way of claiming his black side.

“Of course I can handle it,” I said, putting my attention back on the football field.

“Well, get down there before he hits the showers,” Darren said. I tried to act cool and confident, but the thought of me standing in front of Kevin Johnson and looking into those deep eyes of his made my knees go weak. Get it together, girl, I told myself, following Darren down the bleachers. Then I realized that I didn’t even have my notebook! I scrambled back up the stairs looking for it. I saw it all crushed and dirty underneath the bench. I swiped it up, trying to flatten the pad out.

“Lauren!” Darren’s impatient voice made me cringe. Ah! I wanted to scream. Where was Rosalyn when I needed her? I retracted that thought. She was probably down there with the rest of those “hoochie momma’s” shaking their pom-poms and everything else in Kevin’s face. True, Rosalyn was my best friend. But we were both after Kevin! How could I ever get Kevin with Rosalyn looking the way she looked. We were complete opposites. I took a deep breath, reminding myself on what I did have: brains for one, and long thick hair that every girl at Latimar High would die for. I wasn’t tiny and curvaceous like Rosalyn, but I had something too, now. I was thinking really hard. Yeah, I had C-cups and...I caught myself. What on earth was I doing? I was violating our “Girlfriends’ Do’s and Don’t codes” number one.


RULE #1
Never size yourself up with your best friend. Remember, you don’t get a boyfriend based on looks alone.

Glimpsing down at Kevin, I took a deep breath and stood up straight. After all, I was the one who made up that rule. You didn’t get a boyfriend based on looks alone, but character, intelligence, and charisma—if you had it! Rosalyn lacked at least two out of the three. I slapped my forehead, realizing I was doing it again. This wasn’t a competition. For goodness sakes, I had to get a story! I did, however, smooth out my silky black flip before I bravely tapped Kevin on those broad shoulders of his. He was talking to Coach Jay. He turned his head slightly to see who had touched him.

I fought my insides from turning to Jello and bolted out in an aggressive Cheryl Miller voice, “Can I get a few minutes with you for the press, Kevin?” He peeped at me from the side before turning his full frame to my attention. Although I was five feet seven, he towered over me by at least four inches. His deep-set brown eyes looked me over.

“I’m Lauren with the Latimar Defender. Can we go somewhere less distracting?” I asked him, keeping my professional pitch. All the while I was trying not to let his manly attributes affect me, especially those lips which had curled into a little pout like a little boy who just had been scolded by his momma.

“Uh, yeah, one second,” he said, gesturing his index finger at me. As he turned back to talk to the Coach, I spotted Rosalyn’s honey brown face and blue and white pom-poms heading my way. I cringed when I saw her, wishing a steel iron gate would come charging down to stop her from messing up my—my what? I checked myself. This wasn’t about me. It was about the Latimar Defender.

“Hey, girl!” Rosalyn chirped, flashing that soft, dimpled smile of hers. She was right up on me now. Her mischievous hazel brown eyes focused in on Kevin.

“What cha’ doing?” Rosalyn asked, giving me a quick hug.

“An interview,” I said tightly.

“What!” she almost screamed. Her mouth flew open, and she flashed a finger at Kevin.

“No, way!” she tried to whisper. I nodded at her, shooing her away. She ignored me.

Kevin turned around.

“Ready?” I said loudly. I knew Rosalyn’s angelic little frame took Kevin by surprise. A crooked smile reshaped his lips. He stood there staring at Rosalyn, who beamed back at him. I couldn’t stand it! I didn’t know if I should introduce them, or pretend there was no “cutesy putesy” Rosalyn Brown standing there. Quickly, Kevin wiped the sweat that had been running down the sides of his temples with his towel. I took in his body language. He stepped back a half of a foot as if he was suddenly aware that he might have a body odor.

“How about the gym?” I blurted out, breaking up the silent attraction waves emitting between those two.

“Yeah, sure,” Kevin said, still looking at Rosalyn. Rosalyn shot me one of those looks that said: “What are you waiting for? Introduce us!” I did something I’d never done in the six years that I’ve known Rosalyn. I violated rule number two of our “Girlfriends’ Do’s and Don’t codes.”



The Author



Deborah J. Copeland is a native New Yorker from the Boogie Down Bronx. She captures her memories and experiences coming of age in her North Bronx neighborhood in her YA books, The Kids at Latimar High and Spring Fever, Pink Snowballs, and a Splash of Haterade. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Library Science from UMA and a MFA in Creative Writing from UCLA.

When Debbie was a child, she started writing plays. She took it so far that she hand-picked her childhood friends to play the actors. They rehearsed on the stoops and in their backyards, taking turns with the meeting spots. One summer they performed a play that she had written, “Little Miss Broadway,” in her parent’s backyard. They made tickets: $.50 cents for the adults and $.25 cents for the kids. Parents donated chairs and before they knew it, neighbors filled Debbie’s backyard, and they had a show going on!

Debbie and her childhood friends made about $45 dollars that summer. She recalled what a great feeling it was! She remembers her friends’ parents shaking her hand and calling her Miss writer/producer. After that, Debbie fell in love with writing. Not to mention that every summer she and her friends put a show on and made money every time! They performed everything from variety shows, beauty pageants, puppet shows, and original plays. By the time Debbie graduated from high school, she knew she wanted to be a writer.

Debbie also has her own radio show on Blog Talk Radio called [The Teen Zone] where she interviews and spotlights Indie and self published books. She believes there are a lot of self-published gems that are flying under the radar and readers don’t know anything about the author or their books. In addition to promoting self-published books, she looks for multi-culutral books written by Latino authors and authors of color that need more exposure to the market.

Debbie just recently launched a new blog called [The Teen Zone Book Club], which will feature exclusive author interviews, guest bloggers, giveaways, book and movie news, fashion tips, fun surveys, and much more.

She currently resides in Southern, California, where she is happily anticipating an animated film of The Kids at Latimar High, optioned by an independent film company in New York. Currently she is busy writing the third book in the Latimar High series, 4ever and 4always, 4real, and a YA fantasy novel yet to be titled. She is also a foster-mother of three tenacious teens, and has worked as a social worker and a library technican.

The Inspiration to Write: Author Anjuelle Floyd, Part Two

The Writer

Anjuelle Floyd is the author of Keeper of Secrets…Translations of an Incident, a collection of interconnected short stories, and a novel, The House, due for publication in Fall 2009.

A wife of twenty-seven years, mother of three, she is a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist specializing in mother-daughter relations and dream work.
Anjuelle graduated Duke University, and earned a MA in Counseling Psychology from The California Institute of Integral Studies, San Francisco, and a MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College, Port Townsend, Washington.

She has also attended the Dominican Institute of Philosophy and Theology, Berkeley, California. Anjuelle has received certificates of participation from The Hurston-Wright Writers’ Week and The Voices of Our Nations Writing Workshops.

Anjuelle is a writing instructor at Perelandra College.

A student of Process Painting for the last decade, Anjuelle has participated in The Art of Living Black Exhibitions 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, and 2009 held at the Richmond Art Center, Richmond, California.

Anjuelle facilitates writing groups and provides individual consultation of fiction projects.

She also hosts the weekly blog talk radio show, Book Talk, Creativity and Family Matters.

Read Anjuelle’s blog @ AnjuelleFloyd.com!

The Books

One truth begets
another as a tale of passionate
confrontation in a restaurant travels from
eyewitnesses to others present.


Memories of the Hindu icon of dancing Siva compel wife and mother, Raven Clarke, to intervene in the attack of one restaurant patron on another.

Watching from a distant table, Lahni Irete finds herself driven back to the violence of her childhood and adolescence. She shares her account of the happening with psychiatrist, Reynard Williams, who embraces the tale in efforts to confront the pain that has left him sexually and spiritually impotent.

Williams seeks consultation from Sahel Denning, an injured psychologist no longer practicing psychotherapy.

The restaurant incident offers engineer, Michael Banks, a map to recalling the events of the morning before he fell from scaffolding on the Richmond Bridge.

Rumor and innuendo cloud Ariane Gadsen's acquaintance with the story that propels her towards reconciling her childhood loss.

The restaurant scene stirred regret and despair within Trey Williamson, a widower on his first date since the death of his wife.

Newly discharged Captain Darryl Sharpton receives safety and redemption from his most dark and intimate truth in the restaurant where the incident took place.





What would you do if you learned the person you were divorcing is dying?

On receiving the very thing she wants, a divorce and the power to sell their house, Anna Manning learns that Edward, her soon-to-be ex-husband, is dying. A faithful wife for over three decades, Anna endured Edward's constant absences while traveling on business for his international real estate firm, and his extra-marital affairs.

Anna takes Edward to live out his last six, possibly three, months in the house she fought so vigorously to sell. But letting go of someone who has caused so much pain does not come easily.

Edward has changed.

As their children return home, and say their farewells Anna confronts the challenges that Edward's impending death delivers each of them. Then there is Inman who loves Anna, and provides the one thing Edward denied their marriage—passion and intimacy.

Anna must also face the hopes and dreams she abandoned as an art history major turned wife, and mother out of college. In requesting the divorce she had planned to use her proceeds from the sale of the house to move to France. She would study the great art works of Europe, perhaps work as a docent in a Paris museum.

News of Edward’s terminal illness provokes Anna to understand the present rooted in the wellspring of the past, and pouring into a future without him. The House shows what happens when we adopt the belief that, All hold regret, and are seeking forgiveness. Our salvation rests in the hands of others—most particularly the ones whom we love most, and who have treated us wrongly.

Inspiration

Where do you find inspiration to create your stories?

Keeper of Secrets...Translations of an Incident contains 8 interconnected short stories. The major characters and their situations in the first 4 stories come from novels I wrote, and still unpublished, prior to earning my MFA in Creative Writing. I created Keeper of Secrets...Translations of an Incident as my thesis for required to earn my MFA.

I gain ideas for my stories from my work as a psychotherapist, and from my own experiences in psychotherapy as a client.

Prior to earning my MFA I had earned a MA in Psychology and completed an internship wherein I earned a license to practice psychotherapy. I was also a client of psychotherapy for nearly 25 years.

Studying psychology and becoming a psychotherapist allowed me to investigate and explore not only the lives of my clients, but for me to learn more about myself. Like writers, psychotherapists are drawn to our work in an effort to heal our own wounds. We accomplish this by assisting and giving to others.

Our work with clients requires that we continually examine our wounds. Tending our psychic injuries we reflect back to our clients what they have catalyzed us to learn about ourselves. The work of a psychotherapist is quite rigorous, at best. Patience, lack of judgment, internal honesty, and a willingness to observe our own scars are but a few of the requirements.

The first 4 stories in "Keeper of Secrets...Translations of an Incident" show protagonists who are in the helping profession. Raven Clarke, at the center of "Dancing Siva" is psychotherapist turned stay at home mom of three daughters. Her husband, Drew, is a partner at a law firm that provides legal counsel to corporations who are being sued. A wonderful husband, Drew defends the guilty. He knows this. So does Raven.

Though she loves Drew, Raven hold holds judgments about the nature of his work. Raven's mother is a federal judge. Her mother's longtime friend owns the San Francisco law firm where Drew was invited to join on asking Raven to marry him. He was made partner immediately after their wedding.

But Raven has her own crimes. Raven lived with a man named Absylom while the two studied in graduate school to become psychotherapists. A corporate scion that had traveled the world marketing electronics for a computer firm in China, Absylom had lived his life according to a chronometer before meeting Raven. Absylom's mother was of Rajasthani/South Asian descent. His father was of the Bakonjo tribe of the Ruwenzori Mountains located in Uganda. Absylom's parents met as young adults when his father was a student of the father of Absylom's mother, Abysylom's maternal grandfather. Absylom's parents married.

When Absylom was eight he and his family fled the regime of Idi Amin that ousted all peoples of South Asian descent. They went to London where they encountered other social difficulties placed upon immigrants. Abyslom's father, then at teacher at an all-boy's preparatory school died of a heart attack. Absylom and his mother believed the heart attack was rooted in his father having made the choice to leave Uganda to return because of his wife being South Asian and his son being of mixed descent.

Though accomplished at marketing computers and the accompanying software, this was the psychological wound that drew Absylom to San Francisco where he would study to become a psychotherapist. Absylom sought to become a psychotherapist, and then to travel to Rajasthan, the home of his maternal grandparents, and a place he had never seen. He would establish an ashram, a haven of rest and acceptance, for women abandoned by their families, much like Idi Amin had forced Absylom and his family into exile from Uganda.

Raven had promised to go with Absylom. But Raven's mother hated Absylom. The first African American woman to achieve federal judgeship in the 9th Federal District of California, Raven's mother despised the close and influential relationship Absylom held with Raven. Absylom had touched Raven's soul and awakened Raven to her spirituality, an aspect of life with which the judge grappled concerning her own life. That Raven was beginning to examine the hidden aspects of life unnerved her mother.

Raven and Absylom are working as student psychotherapists at a counseling center when she meets Drew. Drew's father is a former Lt. Colonel who survived two tours of duty in Vietnam. His family, Drew and his mother, hold remnants of the scars reflecting his battle to overcome the experience of the horrific war. Struggling with his own hidden demons, Drew has come for his first session of psychotherapy.

Drew and his mother endured much pain during his father's brooding depression while re-adjusting to civilian life. A career serviceman, Drew's father had worked as an orthopedic surgeon in the Marines. The transition had been rocky. Though they survived with their family in tack, Drew, as an adult, coped with his wounds by being good at what he does, defending corporate giants, who though arrogant, must kneel to his will, if they are to gain freedom from the courts and remain out of prison.

The vast majority of the corporate criminals that Drew defends are headed for Federal court where Raven's mother oversees cases. The nature of Drew's relationship with Raven's mother prevents the judge from hearing his cases. Still her presence looms within his mind as he prepares defense strategies. Neither does it hurt to have a relative reigning in that area of the courtroom.

Drew's expertise at pre-trial litigation allows the corporations to avoid court, but at a hefty price. Hence Drew receives a nice salary, what he feels the U.S. government owes him and his family in that his father fought in Vietnam, and that Drew and his mother gave so much in their efforts at supporting his father's difficult re-adjustment.

Raven is crying when Drew enters the waiting room of the counseling center. A psychotherapist in training she is waiting for a colleague student to vacate the office she and the fellow student share. Drew hands Raven a tissue. She does not tell him that she is not a client. She instead answers his question of why she is crying.

"My father is dying." An hour earlier surgeons explained that her father's cancer was inoperable. Raven's father and mother, the federal judge, divorced when Raven was 11. The divorce threw Raven's family in to emotional disarray from which Raven, and her two siblings, one younger and one older sister, have yet recovered.

"He's my only friend," Raven says to Drew of her father. She mentions nothing of Absylom with whom she has, and still lives from 3 years past, when they met during registration for earn their graduate school. Drew asks Raven on a date. Raven agrees. The fellow student vacates the office Raven shares with her. Raven goes across the hall to her office, Drew never the wiser that Raven has actually gone to see a client, not as a client to have a session. Minutes later Abyslom greets Drew. Drew's session is with Absylom. Absylom, the man with whom Raven is living, becomes Drew's therapist.

The daughter of a judge, Raven carries much guilt. She has lived with Absylom against her mother's wishes. And now she has been smitten with a man while living with another. She has also promised to accompany Absylom to Rajasthan and help him establish the ashram. Raven has dreamed about this project. She longs to travel to India and meet Absylom's mother. She also wants to escape the watchful, preying and judgmental eye of her mother.

Hours after the engagement party feting her and Drew's engagement, Raven, goes back to Absylom's apartment to get a book she as left. She assumes that he is the counseling center. And in truth he should be. She called first to ensure he was not there. Receiving no answer she is surprised to find him present when she enters the apartment. The two subtly spar for a moment, then on retreat from each other, Absylom apologizes for having worked so much during the last months. The two are six months from completing graduate school and Absylom has been absorbed with raising money and making plans for the ashram. On accepting his apology, Raven falls weak to her loss of not being able to go to the ashram. She and Absylom make love.

A week before she is to wed Drew, Raven learns she is carrying Abyslom's child. Raven and Drew have not made love. Hesitant to end the pregnancy, Raven goes through commencement with Drew and her mother looking on from the crowd. Absylom has left for Rajasthan, India. The graduation service holds an anticlimactic note that over shadows the small ceremony wherein Raven weds Drew, to whom she says nothing of the pregnancy. Two months later, and at her mother's insistence, Raven undergoes an abortion. The fetus was 16 weeks old.

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My unpublished novel, Absylom, provided the basis for my short story Both the novel, Absylom and the short story, "Dancing Siva," open 16 years later. Raven and Drew still married. They have three children, ages 13, 10 and 4 months.

In the short story, "Dancing Siva," Raven's and Drew's four-month-old infant will not stop crying. This, coupled with the fact that Raven has decided she will have no more children, delivers Raven a sense of dread. Her infant daughter's constant cries remind Raven of the 4-month-old fetus she aborted 16 years earlier, and for whom Absylom was the father.

"Dancing Siva" opens with Raven frantically searching for the wooden icon of the Hindu god Siva. Absylom's father carved the statue for Abyslom's mother. Absylom's mother then gave it to Absylom when he left for college. Absylom gave the icon to Raven before he left for Rajasthan. Raven's mother, a federal judge, had threatened Absylom with deportation if he did not leave the U.S as soon as he completed graduate school.

Absylom told Raven none of this. Aware of the threatened deportation, Drew said nothing to stop Raven's mother, even though Absylom had been his therapist. Drew has grown over the years of his marriage to feel immensely guilty for his silence. In a more subtle way it mirrors his actions of defending the corporations. Absylom had done much to help Drew come to grips with his internal problems.

"Dancing Siva" shows what happens when Raven does when she witnesses a couple grapple openly in a restaurant with an abortion that has taken place.

The novel, Absylom opens with Drew defending a company that has marketed and sold a brand of poorly designed baby seats. The company is facing a substantial class action lawsuit for the deaths of over 100 infants.
Though successful at what he does, Drew has grown weary of his work.

The novel, Absylom, shows Raven and Drew are fighting for their spiritual lives, and to save their marriage from destruction by the secret that sits between them---that Raven slept with Absylom on the night she celebrated her engagement to Drew.

Absylom, the novel, shows how Raven, Drew and Ravens' mother respond when Raven receives a call summoning her to Abyslom who is sick at the ashram he established in the Thar Desert of Rajasthan, India.

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I gained inspiration for this novel from my experiences of sharing and listening to the stories of fellow students with whom I became close during my four years of studying psychology at The California Institute of Integral Studies in San Francisco, California where I earned my MA in Psychology.

So much of becoming a mental health helping professional involves self-inquiry. Haridas Chaudhuri, a student of Sri Aurobindo, founded The California Institute of Integral Studies in San Francisco with the belief that the process of becoming psychotherapist required one to look not only their mind and that of their clients, but also to examine her or his soul in an effort and an example for facilitating clients in doing the same.

Course requirements for students of psychology at the CA Institute of Integral Studies include not only classes on Jung, Freud, Rank and Carl Rogers, but also those in Philosophy and Religion that explore eastern approaches to understanding life.

Hindu and Buddhist principles form the major cornerstone of the bridge that connects the study of psychotherapy at the California Institute of Integral Studies, and how students can use psychotherapy, combined with knowledge of these principles, to facilitate clients in addressing their problems. Attention to one's spiritual life is seen as an important way of taking what one has learned through self-inquiry fostered by psychotherapy, and using that information to alter life patterns of manipulative, self-sabotaging, and destructive behaviors.

The character, Absylom, in my novel symbolizes The California Institute of Integral Studies. Raven learned to meditate when living with Absylom. In many ways be was her spiritual teacher. The two spent an inordinate number of nights sitting before the wooden icon of Siva, the icon's eight arms out stretched, and dancing in the ring of fire. Siva is said to dance only when angry.

These hours spent in meditation preceded Raven and Absylom's lovemaking, experiences wherein and through which Abyslom, several times over, endowed Raven with the spiritual heartiness he had inherited from his father, and mother.

Raven holds much anger towards her mother, the federal judge whose character symbolizes an adherence to the rule of law without the benefit of mercy such that it engenders self-loathing. Yet Raven was destined to marry Drew of whom her mother greatly approved. And it is Drew whom Raven truly loves.

Raven holds a huge internal conflict that prevents her from experiencing spiritual freedom, and peace. The roots of her conflict lie in the depths and nature of Raven's relationship with her mother, the symbol of criticism and condescension. Raven manifests this conflict through her interactions with Absylom who like the ideal guru, mirrors aspects of Raven she has yet to claim.

A loving wife, and devoted mother, Raven has given her daughters the stable and loving home she never experienced with her sister when under the federal judge's care. Raven grows spiritually, psychologically and materially when living with Absylom. In choosing to abort their child, Raven set her hopes for success in the material and mundane world with Drew. She also belabored her spiritual quest of traveling to the Thar Desert and establishing the ashram.

Sixteen years of marriage and mothering teach Raven the truth of the adage, "Man cannot live by bread alone." Raven holds dreams and wishes for her soul. And like her mother, Raven too has personal ambitions.

Raven secretly wishes to devote herself to meditation, and exploring the realms of her inner consciousness. Like Absylom, Raven yearns to use her skills as a psychotherapist to facilitate others who desire in learning how to meditate and to use their experiences in meditation as a way to heal.

On a higher level, Absylom addresses the battles we all fight between loyalty to our jobs, the actual work of which poisons and kills the desires of our hearts.

"Render to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's."

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I've shared quite a lot about one novel, yet published, and the short story that opens my collection in Keeper of Secrets...Translations of an Incident. My aim in doing so was to demonstrate the kind of thought that goes into creating characters that tell a story. Many of the details I've shared do not go directly into the story. They instead inform me as the writer in shaping the narrative. They also guide me in establishing plot.

Part One of this author feature can be found at All the Blog's a Page!

Keeping the Faith with Author Wanza Leftwich

The Author



Wanza Leftwich, The Gospel Writer, is a missionary, freelance writer, and speaker. She is editor of UrbanChristianFiction.com and the creator of the College Prayer Network. As a writer, she is passionate about sharing her faith on two inspirational blogs, The Gospel Writer and Faith & Fertility. One blog shares practical faith tips to live a prosperous life, and the latter encourages families to believe God through their season of infertility. She has expanded her freelance career by writing short stories and interviews for Tha Message Magazine.

Wanza is married to the love of her life and best friend, Arthur, III. They reside in Brooklyn, NY with God’s gift, their daughter, Symphony. They are currently expecting their second child.

You can also find Wanza on Facebook and Twitter.

The Interview

Let's start with an easy question - as hard as it is to get published today and as much work goes into being an indie-publisher (if that's your mode of publication), why do you keep coming back to the WORD, to the writing?
Writing for me is life changing. When I write I begin to understand myself, my God and the people around me more and more. Writing is a difficult field, especially if you’re looking to go the traditional route of publishing, but once your words are published, they can never be erased. Not only is it a sense of accomplishment, but it’s immortality at its best. Imagine the books we read today that change our lives and the author is deceased. Words are powerful. It’s worth the work to be published traditionally or if you put your work out there yourself.


What three writers have influenced your writing and how?
I have done at least three interviews already and have been asked this question and probably gave the same replies each time I was asked. I love reading literature that gives my imagination a surge. And though I have many who have influenced my passion for writing, you asked for 3 and it’s a tough pick, but will tell you my top 3 and why.

I absolutely love reading but unfortunately, many books do not hold my attention long enough to finish them. At this moment, the most influential authors in my life are Mary E. DeMuth because she can make me see and feel her words – they come to life off the page. Her prose is raw, gritty and you can really feel her heart. She has helped me let go of the fear of writing the next chapter. Writing is not about the author, but the story – and the author can not be selfish with words to protect her own heart.

Next, I’d say ReShonda Tate Billingsley. I relate to her style and drama. I can finish every word of her books. Her writing is smooth and real. When I write, I remember to just flow and the let the characters interact.

Thirdly, Joyce Meyer. Yes, JM is one of my favorites. I write non-fiction and fiction. Ms. Meyer’s honesty about real life events mixed with Biblical solutions to problems we face everyday has encouraged me to write with soundness. By that I mean, not by my opinion, but write according to what God truly wants me to say – what He speaks to my heart in accordance with His Word.


How do your beliefs, values, and cultural awareness reflect themselves in your writing?
I am a follower of Christ. I am Christian and my writing does reflect that in my work. I write Urban Christian Fiction and non-fiction works that are centered on Christian living. My values are integrated in my work – I wouldn’t know how to remove them! I write what I think and believe. Sure, all of my characters wouldn’t agree with me, but for the most part you can know exactly who I am after reading a passage of my work. Culturally, I find myself writing from an Urban Black perspective most of the time. Again, that is who I am but I am not limited to it.


What are some of the themes you find yourself circling back to in your writing?
I tend to weave in love and honesty in most of my writing. I think the world is lacking genuine love. We live such shallow lives that most times a man can’t tell a woman that he loves her or vice versa. We rather hide behind “the game” of dating and relationships instead of realizing what we really want and love and going after it. I’ve seen too many couples break up because of dishonesty – they couldn’t bear to tell the other person what they truly felt due to pride or what others thought about their situation. It’s such an injustice and I write about it. It’s my heart. I’ve been there.


I selected you as an October feature because your "writer's heart" connects with me. When I read your works, I sense your passion for writing and for conveying images, sounds, emotions, feelings to your reader. If you could, describe what "the heart of a writer" means to you.
Although, the story I write is fictional, the content is true to life. It’s a story that could be anyone, anywhere. I can't afford to hold back words – those very words maybe what my reader needs. “The heart of the writer” to me means that as an author I write unselfishly for my readers. I write what is true, honest, painful but helpful. When you read my writing, you see and feel what is on my mind. That is when my heart shines through my work.


Yes, writers "feel" the need to write, but we have to be realistic, too: writers WANT to get published. Talk a bit about your publication journey and some of the important things you've learned while on that journey.
My first work, Sunday Morning, I self-published. I will admit, I had NO idea of what I was doing. I just knew I was writing a book and I put it out there. To my joy, people loved it. Yes, it was structured wrong and could have used an editor, but it was out and the story made people talk and talk. I knew then that I had to continue, but I was fearful. The story was so real many people became angry because they thought I was writing about them. That was not the case. I stopped writing for years – nearly a decade.

Along this journey, I have learned to be unselfish. Someone needs the words I am going to write or have written. They need a laugh, a sigh or even a cry. It’s one of the things I was born to do. I have the ability to change someone’s thought pattern with my words. With that realization, I began to write again. Now, I am currently publishing a short story for Tha Message Magazine and pursuing traditional publishing.


Writers are more than writers today; they are publicists, marketers, brands, a whole product aside from the book itself. What are you doing, as a writer with many hats, to market/promote yourself and get your works into the right hands?
I am developing my social media skills! I blog and tweet mostly, but I am definitely online promoting myself and my brand as The Gospel Writer. I believe it is important to “do unto others” so I actively interview and promote blog tours on my blogs for other authors.


What are you working on next?
I am working on the sequel to Sunday Morning. It’s been a long time coming, but the time is now for Flour Ain’t Bread ‘Til You Bake It. Also, I have a few non-fiction proposals that I am submitting before the year is out.



The Excerpt

Taken from The Newlywed Diaries


Meet George & Sarah
by Wanza Leftwich, The Gospel Writer


Dear Diary,

Can you handle that I tell you the truth
I paid my tithes, sowed my seed
Every day broke indeed
This is what I be
The dreams I see
Can you handle me telling you about me
Walking and talking
Shouting and praising
Depressed and gloom
Never seeing prosperity
Prosperity, you see
But is it for me
Do you see where I'm coming from?
Tossed in the night
Tears streaming down
Eyes of fright
Letting up on my fight
Praying you hear
Are you near?
Sounds so weak, but this is
How my heart beats.
Can I tell you the truth
Can I trust you
No question mark at the end
It is a rhetorical sin
Can you handle me
The thoughts I see
The rain I hear
The pound that resounds within my ears
Prosperity, you say again
Is it for me...

"That's all you ever do is write that crazy depressing poetry!" George snatched the diary out of my hand. "You think God gonna deliver you if you keep writing like that?"

This time I didn't move. I didn't reach for it. I didn't grab it. I knew what he would do. He was going to flip the page. I was going to let him. Gone on, flip it. I tried to

spare your egoistical feelings, but you’ve done it this time. One more page and you're going to wish you never married me.

"What? Is this what you think?" George tore the pages out. "Is this what you think?"

A smile rose in my heart. Finally, the truth was out.

The Heart of a Writer ~ Author Erin Cormier as E.K. Entrada

The Author



Short fiction by Erin Cormier, writing under E.K. Entrada, has appeared in numerous print and online journals, including Keyhole Magazine, Kyoto Journal, Asians in America Magazine, and the Audience Literary Journal. She recently had a piece of flash fiction selected for an anthology published by Green Lantern Press and was a top 40 finalist for the 2009 Eric Hoffer Fiction Prize. A Filipina American, she has been published in print journals throughout Asia, in cities such as Manila, Hong Kong, and Kyoto, Japan.

You can learn more about E.K. Entrada by checking out her official website, her Facebook page, and her Twitter page.



The Interview

Let's start with an easy question - as hard as it is to get published today and as much work goes into being an indie-publisher (if that's your mode of publication), why do you keep coming back to the WORD, to the writing?
All of us are born to do something. For some, it can require a lot of digging and self-exploration before that “something” is revealed. Fortunately for me, I knew right away that I was born to write. Writing is as much a part of me as anything else. Being published is an honor, but I consider it a benefit to writing, not the reason for doing it. I wouldn’t know how to act if I couldn’t write.

The first story I can remember writing is “The Two Orphans,” which I wrote in second or third grade. When I asked my dad if I could publish it, he said yes, took it to his office, and taped the pages between two pieces of cardboard. It’s my only hardcover to date.


What three writers have influenced your writing and how?
As a young adult writer, Gennifer Choldenko has been my greatest influence. Adolescence is full of challenges and tragedies, and it can be difficult to convey the fullness of them through the eyes of a young adult protagonist, but Choldenko makes it look easy. Ernest Gaines is another author who has influenced me greatly. In my opinion, every writer should read “A Gathering of Old Men” to learn about voice, word choice, and word economy. Finally, Judy Blume, for obvious reasons.


How do your beliefs, values, and cultural awareness reflect themselves in your writing?
My ultimate goal as a writer is to convey universality through characters that are generally considered outsiders. My stories are meant to embrace diversity, which is central to my beliefs, values and cultural awareness.


What are some of the themes you find yourself circling back to in your writing?
Loneliness is a common theme in most of my fiction. Sometimes it’s subtle, but it’s there. My protagonists often struggle with feelings of being an “other,” which is probably why YA fiction appeals to me so much.


I selected you as an October feature because your "writer's heart" connects with me. When I read your works, I sense your passion for writing and for conveying images, sounds, emotions, feelings to your reader. If you could, describe what "the heart of a writer" means to you.
A writer is constantly surrounded by unwritten short stories and novels. A few examples: I once read a newspaper story about the mistreatment that road workers face at the hands of frustrated motorists. That eventually became “Morris Sees a Furrier” [link]. An uneventful episode of Wheel of Fortune became “Susanna Buys a Vowel” [link]. A ride on a ferry in the Philippines developed into “The Saint of Difficult Situations” (Audience Literary Journal, Fall 2008), a simple anthill became “Owen and the Colony” (Fiction at Work and Green Lantern Press, Winter 2010), and a college class that required an oral presentation became “The Naming of Cats” (The Philippines Free Press, February 2009). If you recognize big stories in small events, you have the heart of a writer. Whether or not you write them is up to you.


Yes, writers "feel" the need to write, but we have to be realistic, too: writers WANT to get published. Talk a bit about your publication journey and some of the important things you've learned while on that journey.
In 2006, my main goal was to publish a short story in a print journal, but when it actually happened, it was anticlimactic. I was overjoyed at first, but it faded quickly. I decided that to truly feel a sense of accomplishment I had to publish in Keyhole, one of my favorite literary journals. When that happened, I decided that I needed to get into a top 100 market. When that happened, I had the same reaction: Hooray! … Now what? If you were to ask me what would make me happy today, I’d tell you that I’ll never feel accomplished until one of my novels is picked up by a publisher.

I guess the most important lesson that I still need to learn is to enjoy the ride and stop thinking about what’s next. That goes for writing and life in general.

Practically speaking, one of the most important things I’ve learned from rejection is that endings are my greatest weakness. I was once in a writing group that universally rejected an ending I’d written. I defended it by arguing that life doesn’t end in a nicely tied bow. Soon I learned that life doesn’t, but stories do.


Writers are more than writers today; they are publicists, marketers, brands, a whole product aside from the book itself. What are you doing, as a writer with many hats, to market/promote yourself and get your works into the right hands?
For whatever reason (probably a lack of self-confidence that plagues a lot of writers), I’m often embarrassed when people ask about my fiction and I’m equally embarrassed to discuss it. But I’ve learned that to rise above other writers who are equally talented – and in many cases, more so – you have to be willing to draw attention to yourself. I started a Web site and maintain Facebook and Twitter accounts. I seek out authors, editors, agents, and publishers that I respect and ask them for insight. I send out my short stories and novels to anyone who wants to read them. I’m constantly researching new short story markets, as well as established and emerging publishing houses, that fit my writing aesthetic. My writing brain never stops.


Just about every writer today writes under the cloak of at least one pseudonym. Some do it because of the various genres in which they write in. Some do it to honor someone close to them, someone who has been an encourager of their work. Some never use their real name and cloak their entire writer identity under a pseudonym for anonymity's sake. Why do you use E. K. Entrada as your pseudonym?
Entrada is my mother's maiden name. Most of my fiction has been influenced by her family tales, or by my own experiences as a Filipina American. I feel it more accurately reflects my writing aesthetic and I want to give as much recognition to my heritage as possible. Asians are largely excluded from Western literature, despite its rich literary tradition. "E.K." isn't actually a pseudonym -- it's my first two initials.


What are you working on next?
I’m nearly finished with the first draft of a YA novel, “The Apple Watson Songbook.” It’s about a 12-year-old girl who can’t stop singing. The novel was inspired by my own daughter, who has sung at least one song every day since 1999 (by my estimations). Parts of the novel were also drawn from my personal experiences as one of the only Asian students in a small southern school – a challenge that also faces young Apple.



The Excerpt


Opening Chapter of The Apple Watson Songbook, a young-adult novel

1 Being Named After a Fruit

In America, it’s not easy being named after a fruit. Americans have very clever things to say about it, like “Do you have a brother named Orange?” or “Does your family come in a bushel?” Some just scrunch their nose and ask “What kind of name is that? Is it short for something?” And I tell them it’s what Filipino mothers do. Filipinos love nicknames, and I don’t mean American nicknames like Bob, Jack, or Beth. I’m talking about nicknames that have nothing to do with your real name. Take me, for instance. My legal name is Perla Rizalia Watson. But to my family, I am Apple.

“Because of your head,” my mother says. She’s told me the story a million times – about how when I was born no one could believe how big my head was, and how my father said it looked like a fruit, and how I was only Perla for about two hours before I became Apple. Then she cocks her head to the side and says, “Your head still looks like apple.”

That’s the thing about my mother. She loves to tell the truth. When she first came to the States, she asked a red-haired neighbor if all her hair was red, or just the hair on her head. And she asked the man who lived downstairs if he was upset that his wife was so homely.

I’ve watched a lot of American mothers. They pour sugar on the truth, but my mother loads it on a plate, slices it up in broken English, and raises it right to my nose.

I’m not sure which is better.


♪


I believe that every person on Earth has at least three interesting facts about them. Take my mother Josie, for instance. The first thing is, she is the most honest person I know – for better or worse. The second interesting thing about my mother is that when she was 10 years old, she slammed her head against a fishing boat in the Philippines and ever since then, she’s had short-term memory loss. It takes a few hours for thoughts to stay in her head. Just about every day when I come home from school, she asks me what I have for homework. “Four pages of math,” I’ll say, and she’ll nod and leave the room as I open my books on the kitchen table. Six minutes later she’ll come back and ask what I’m working on, and two minutes after that, she’ll ask what I have for homework. It gets exhausting, but my stepfather Quincy says I have to live with it because we all have our moments.

The third interesting thing is the fact that she agreed to marry Quincy and move to Chapel Spring, Louisiana, USA, after knowing him for only three days. I was three years old and my real father had died of a brain aneurysm. She was a waitress on a resort island called Bohol and he was vacationing alone when they met.

“Weren’t you worried he was a serial killer or something?” I asked once.

“No, because I don’t know what that means, serial killer. We have no serial killers in the Philippines. Everyone’s being too busy trying to find food and have fun,” she said. “If you ask me what a serial killer is when I first come to America, I would say someone who murders the Cheerios.” She laughed for a long time at that.

It’s no wonder that my mom married Quincy right away, though. Everyone loves him. He’s even a national hero. When he was in the Army, he received a medal from the president of the United States for something heroic he did in Operation Desert Storm. My mother says you should never ask a veteran about war, so I don’t know what he did to win the medal, but I like to imagine that he saved a soldier from a burning building or pulled his best friend out of the raging waters of the sea. That seems like something he would do.

The second interesting thing about Quincy is that he can spin a basketball on his middle finger for thirty full minutes. It’s true. He says it’s a trick he learned when he played college basketball. I’ve tried it a million times, but the basketball always gets away from me and knocks something over, like the flower pot in the backyard or the lamp in the den. (After I broke the lamp, my mother was furious, so I cleaned it up as fast as I could, hoping she would forget. She didn’t.)

The third interesting thing is that he can fall asleep right away. I read somewhere that it takes an average of seven minutes for people to fall asleep, but Quincy gets knocked out right away. He’ll say that he’s going to sleep and as soon as he hits the pillow, he’s snoring. It’s amazing to me, because I have a great deal of trouble falling asleep. My mind wakes up at night and starts spouting out all the thoughts it locked up during the day, even silly thoughts, like I wonder where Julia Conner got those Converse sneakers or The carrots served at lunch tasted funny. Sometimes, though, my thoughts aren’t silly at all. Like I wonder what kind of man my father was, or How come I can’t make friends at school?

I have some ideas about that last question, and I’ve decided that my own three interesting facts have made me an outcast:

1. My name is Apple.
2. I was born in a country that no one – at least no one in Chapel Spring, Louisiana – knows anything about.
3. I have a weird habit.

My habit isn’t normal-weird, like chewing the erasers off my pencils or biting my toenails. No, that would be too easy. Instead, I sing. Not just in the shower or when a catchy song comes on the radio. That’s normal. I’m not – at least not according to my mom.

Right now I’m singing “Hey There Delilah” by the Plain White Ts. I love to sing and my voice is okay, but you can’t go through life singing. They do it in movies like “Grease” and “Hairspray,” but unfortunately, real life doesn’t work that way.

The big problem with my singing is that I do it at inappropriate times, like during math class or when I’m in line at McDonald’s. My mother says it’s a nervous habit, which is funny, since I don’t feel nervous at all when I’m doing it. It really annoys her. She’ll say, “Stopping the singing!” and tweak my nose between her knuckles. My mom speaks English well enough that you can understand her, but sometimes she gets her verb tenses messed up, or she forgets one word and substitutes another, but basically, she wants me to stop singing.

“I can’t help it,” I reply. “I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

“Of course not. Because it’s nervous habit.”

“But I’m not nervous.”

She rolls her eyes like I’m trying to be difficult, even though I’m not.

Last week, just as I started humming “This Land is Your Land,” she announced that she had figured out a way to stop the singing. We were in the kitchen, washing snap peas before dinner.

“It’s no wonder no boys sending you Valentines,” she said, because it was the week after Valentine’s Day. “You are going to see the school counselor so she can get to the tops of things.” What she means is, get to the bottom of things. “She is a nice lady, and she knows all about your crazy singing.”

Everyone at school knows about my crazy singing, because I sing in the hall, in class, at my locker, and after school. Most of the time I sing quietly. Other times I just hum. And then there are days when I don’t sing at all – I mean, no one can really sing every minute of the day, right? My teachers are used to it now. The only one who makes a big deal out of it is Miss Lattis. She makes me sit in the back of the room, in the desk next to the fish tank, so I won’t disturb anyone. She thinks I need medication, like Ritalin, which is supposed to be for kids who can’t sit still and can’t pay attention. But I have no trouble at all paying attention and I never move from my seat.

“Why do I have to see a counselor? That’s only for crazy people,” I said.

My mother sighed. “I have good adult reasonings.” That was the phrase she used whenever I disagreed with her: good adult reasonings. I have no idea what it means.

The evening before my first scheduled session, my mother told Quincy about her plan to get to the tops of things. We were sitting together on the couch – she in one corner and me in the other.

“I scheduled Apple to see the school counselor,” she said. “What do you think? Good idea?”

Quincy leaned back in his massive recliner and flipped the channels until he found an old rerun.

“She doesn’t need a counselor,” Quincy said. “She just needs something to occupy her brain. She needs to make friends.”

“How can she make friends when she is all the time singing?” my mother said.

I sighed. “I don’t wanna make friends at that school anyway. The kids are weird.”

“You’re all weird at that age,” Quincy said. “Not quite children, not quite adults.”

“They’re not quite human,” I said.

Quincy laughed. His laugh is loud and booming. It’s one of the best sounds in the world, because when you hear it, you have to smile. This time, however, my mother didn’t.

“Don’t encourage her, Quincy,” she said.

The old rerun continued on for the next five minutes, but Quincy was the only one who thought it was funny. My mother and I watched it in silence. When a commercial came on, she turned to him and said, “I scheduled Apple to see the school counselor. What do you think? Good idea?”

The See-Through Soul of Author Onika Pascal

The Author



Born in Trinidad, Pascalle Onika Lewis now resides in Brooklyn, New York, where she recently completed a Bachelor of Arts degree in Psychology at Medgar Evers College. Her first self-published books of poetry entitled Collections of a See Through Soul - Portraits and Collections of a See Through Soul – Bardvillian Symphonies were both written under the pen name Onika Pascal, debuted in 2008 and the latter in 2009. Since then, she has been working on many projects, a novel titled On the Eve of Goodbye as well as penning a memoir titled Becoming More Than Just An Orange.

Pascal's talent of turning words into phenomenal stories and pieces of art is one that is infectious. Pascal's publisher, Pam Osbey of Osbey Books, Inc. solidifies this: "With words that pierce your soul and beg you to enter the temple of openness and curiosity for life, Onika Pascal's pen commands your attention at first glance. Working with this inquisitive soul whose spirit is unique through a lens all her own, I have been honored to see the progression of a writer who has only touched the surface of her literary purpose."

When she's not writing, Pascal serves as a group leader with the Misunderstood Youth Development Center, a non-profit organization that provides a place for youth to express themselves. It is here that Pascal has shared the wonders of poetry with the teens in her group.

Learn more about Onika at her blog.



The Book



A compilation of poetry and prose that gives such vivid imagery that the words seem to dance. Its prose is engaging and its poetry is true to life. If you didn't appreciated the art of poetry before, this collection of writing will.


Click the cover above to purchase YOUR copy of Collections of a See Through Soul – Bardvillian Symphonies today!



The Interview

Let's start with an easy question - as hard as it is to get published today and as much work goes into being an indie-publisher (if that's your mode of publication), why do you keep coming back to the WORD, to the writing?

In my “light-bulb” moment of deciding to publish my writing, mainstream was much of a scare for me, simply because I didn’t want to toss myself into the sea of all the famous authors. It’s a competition out there and I wasn’t prepared for that. I wanted to make a dream realized and like you said, it is hard to get published today, so going the indie route afforded that possibility. And I don’t regret it. I actually applaud it; it makes me believe in myself and definitely supports my confidence to keep writing. Writing is my passion, I’ll always return to it.

What three writers have influenced your writing and how?

I have done at least three interviews already and have been asked this question and probably gave the same replies each time I was asked. I love reading literature that gives my imagination a surge. And though I have many who have influenced my passion for writing, you asked for 3 and it’s a tough pick, but will tell you my top 3 and why.

Maya Angelou first and foremost. Her writing is my motivation. She’s poetry, she’s fiction, she’s literature, and she is my she-ro. After reading “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings” and “Gather Together In My Name” and her countless poems, I fell in love with the notion of putting out work that’s just as valuable. Her writing is true to life. Her words are woven in such a way that the imagery is almost 3D…it’s the best I can describe it. I read and imagine myself in the moment. That’s how I want to write. I want my readers/audience to see themselves in my character’s role, in that place and time that I write about and to let my words play a scene in their heads as they read.

Nikki Giovanni: Poetically she is phenomenal. Her prose and poetry reminds me that there’s a purpose to writing. I re-read her collection and get a renewed reason to write. She’s mindful of painting a picture with her words. She spells out her passion with every literary piece she publishes. It’s what I aim for. Am I aiming to high? Maybe, maybe not…but I love knowing that I have a standard to work with.

Elizabeth Nunez: Author of “Prospero’s Daughter”. She is a very recent influence. I’ve read “Prospero’s Daughter” twice. First time was to see what the review raved about and the second time to really take in her writing style. One it took me back to my days as a child in Trinidad. She’s Trinidadian born. As I. But her background isn’t why she made the list. Her craft in making a story come to life is. I pictured myself on the island. I pictured the country club, the police constable. My dad was a constable, so with the read I was imaginatively placed in her words. For me that’s what reading is about. Seeing yourself in that place and time, amongst the characters, in every word and picture it paints.

How do your beliefs, values, and cultural awareness reflect themselves in your writing?

Ahhhh, my beliefs! My belief that one must always persevere to reach their goals resonate with just about all that I write. You see it in my blogs, my poems, my prose and soon to in my upcoming novel. My values of respect and decency has its place in my writings as well. In that I’m mindful as a mother that one day my son will read my work, mindful that I have my grandparents and my mother, my elders, cheering me on. I want it to be tasteful. Not that I’m perfect but I have a sense of who I am and what I want to stand for. My culture is in my blood. My first and second collection of poetry has something dedicated to that. It’s inevitable. It may even show up in my first novel as well. How can I leave it out when it’s my genetic makeup? It won’t always be present in story lines, but it’s very much present in my being. It helps me be who I am for the readers.

What are some of the themes you find yourself circling back to in your writing?

Most of my writings revisit the theme of perseverance and love. It’s my own personal regimen for success. And a writer writes about what he/she knows. I couldn’t make it up if I tried.

I selected you as an October feature because your "writer's heart" connects with me. When I read your works, I sense your passion for writing and for conveying images, sounds, emotions, feelings to your reader. If you could, describe what "the heart of a writer" means to you.

And I was truly floored with appreciation that you reached out to me for the interview. I thank you for the kind words and as you know, I too feel heavily connected to you as well. I believe it’s why we click. Hmmm, what “the heart of a writer” means to me! To me that means the pleasure of knowing words are there to tell a story and as a writer you can use them infinitely to convey a message of your emotions. In my first collection I stated that they say a picture paints a thousand words, but I always beg to differ and say that words paint a thousand more. So many pictures are painted when reading something that a writer has to have heart to give that gift to a reader/audience. So the “heart of a writer” comes from his/her love for words. And as I say, if words came gift wrapped, everyday would be my birthday.

Yes, writers "feel" the need to write, but we have to be realistic, too: writers WANT to get published. Talk a bit about your publication journey and some of the important things you've learned while on that journey.

For a very long time I wrote only for myself; my poems, my stories and of course in my journals. But when I decided to publish my poems, I didn’t imagine ever being on this path. It was to be a one time, self published book. I found information via google and decided to go for it. But a snowball effect took place and here I am. I’ve learned the importance for my work to be copyrighted before putting it in the hands of others is mandatory, I’ve learned to have a budget to work with, I’ve learned to not feel intimidated by others and especially, learned to be confident in my work. With two books under my belt, a first novel to be published and all I can say about the journey is that it is a learning experience. I have my fears of being tossed into the sea of veteran authors, however, this world is big enough for all of us to dream and accomplishing what we set out to do is the only thing that should matter. And that’s just it…I accomplished that. So my journey isn’t one built on competition, but one that makes me feel completed in bringing a dream to fruition. We all have what it takes to succeed, we have to persevere (there goes that theme again, :-) ). So though being published wasn’t quite a fleshed out thought, its one that I fell into but I’m learning with every step I take.

Writers are more than writers today; they are publicists, marketers, brands, a whole product aside from the book itself. What are you doing, as a writer with many hats, to market/promote yourself and get your works into the right hands?

It’s so funny that I’m answering this question. For weeks I spent with pen and paper, mind to thinking as to what is my purpose on this journey. Sure I love to write and want to put something out there with content tasteful enough for readers to oooo and ahhhh about. Yeah it’d be nice to have that. But then what? In looking back at who I am as an individual and the people I’m surrounded by, I finally found my niche. As a writer with many hats, as you put it, I aim to help inspire and motivate other single mothers and anyone in general who has a dream and have that fear to pursue it. I’m one of many who have had the fear, but broke the barriers and made it happen. But that in accomplishing that dream of theirs, it’s to not focus to heavily on success but just knowing that they can make a dream realized and knowing that achievement can be satisfying. So to be a marketable product, I have the help of my publicist to reach out and find the audience that my writings pertain to and be that product that instills something in them to go after their own dreams.

What are you working on next?

Aside from my grad school applications, I am currently working on my novel “On the Eve of Goodbye”. I’ve been working on it since 2006 and now feel like it is completed and ready for the process to be published. I’m hoping it would get picked up by household name publisher…as a writer your dream expands and the recognition is as rewarding as publishing it yourself. I’d love to see this out on the shelves and in the hands of avid readers of a wonderfully woven skit/plot. I’m excited for it and hope to have it out no later than summer of 2010.

The Excerpt

Taken from Collections of a See Through Soul – Bardvillian Symphonies


LISTENING TO GOD, 1985


What I remember mostly about it was the darkness and eeriness of the room. It was so enclosed and so guarded. The humming and mantras caught me off guard because I never understood what the singers were saying. It scared me a bit, but yet I felt safe. I paid it no mind when I saw the sponge cakes and colored caramel popcorn and sweeties and cheese‐paste sandwiches that lined the table in an adorning manner. At the end of the event, they would all end up into one bag creating a popcorn‐sweetie‐cheese‐paste sandwich‐cake. Everything just mashed together as though it was a collage. I enjoyed it though.

It was the highlight of the event for me. I wondered how fat their god was. My Allah was a thin man with a matching whitish gray afro and beard and dark skin that made molasses bow down in shame. He was darker than all the Negroes put together. I’d sit in the far corner of the room and wondered when they’d finish. Sometimes, it’d last longer than the time before. So I never knew. Yet I always came. And when I was there, I never truly liked the sprinkling of the water. I was never able to time when it would hit and when it did, I’d jump out of my skin, startled like a deer in headlights and then I’d jump back into it seeking warmth and comfort and love.

I’d come to this event because I was bonded to my cousins in such a way that I experienced their living as though we were one. And this event made me look at them in awe, holy and special, for they knew God. I visited them on some days and Sundays. Sundays were the best, except when six o’clock came and the streetlights came on. It meant that it was time for me to go home. But there would be one streetlight that struggled to come on as though it knew I wasn’t ready to go, so it stayed dim, for me.

The humming got louder and my heart got louder with it. Pounding as though that god they were summoning was trying to come though by way of my heart. And that woman who spoke in a different language knew just when he’d get here. As I tried to decipher he hieroglyphic tongue, someone beat me to it and responded to her with a baritone voice. Powerful she was. The leader I gathered her to be. Some sang happily, while some cried. Was it a happy cry? I didn’t know. I watched just as a child would. Full of confusion, yet finding humor in the instances one would seem to hit the roof and come back to earth full of glory. In 1985, nothing was serious to me.

I wanted so badly to ask how they’d know when to stop. But my aunt, in her red head wrap would shoot me a look from under one eye. The look had magical powers, for it shot across the room, through the humming and hymns, and it’d be able to creep into my ear and say “Chile, doh cross meh here tuhday…yah hear meh?” Too afraid to even wonder what the other eye would have to say, I’d watch quietly at the other children who were used to this play and ignore the magnificent spiritual antics and dances going on.

When my heart slowed to its regular pace, it was when I thought he had arrived. It was when he had come. He too would eat with me, the very same popcorn‐sweetie‐cheese‐paste sandwich‐cake. He would sit and pick it apart like I did, hoping to separate the 9 popcorn without losing the cake to crumbs. Spiritually, I didn’t know how powerful prayer was and how seriously things in life needed it. This event, these women and their humming and their mantras and their God taught me that. It was their thanksgiving. No turkeys were involved, but the spread of food was immaculate. Just as if the native Indians taught them as well. What they taught me was how to listen to God. He’d come when my heart raced to the pace of lightning, when it would beat as hard thunder and when it fell as though it was 135 feet in the air. I’d listen to Him the way I listened to Him back in 1985. Like a child.

Formatting Rules in Latest The Write Life for You Article

Becoming a Lifelong Learner of the Craft of Writing
By author, editor, educator Shon Bacon aka ChickLitGurrl™




The Write Life for You is a series of articles on the writing craft. Past articles have focused on building character, developing a solid plot, and harnessing a writing style.

In October's article, I look at some FORMATTING rules that are important to know to get that manuscript ready to send out to agents and editors.




Head to APOOOBOOKS.COM to read my latest article in The Write Life for You series!

Talking YA Fic Series with Author Shelia Goss

For the month of September, All the Blog's a Page (AtBaP) is looking at authors who have been put into the genre "young adult fiction." Up next is an author I've known for years now and have enjoyed for her adult fiction; now, she brings her literary talents into the YA realm with her Lip Gloss Chronicles, Shelia Goss.

About Splitsville: The Lip Gloss Chronicles, Vol. 2:

The divas are back. Jasmine, Britney and Sierra’s world is filled with drama at Plano High.

DJ Johnson has been spreading nasty rumors that threaten to ruin Jasmine’s reputation. Jasmine’s home life is in turmoil too. Her parents are in the midst of a divorce, and she’s taking it hard. As if all that weren’t bad enough, Jasmine soon finds herself involved in drama that makes the situations with DJ and her parents seem like child’s play.

When asked Why write teen fiction, Goss replied, "I've actually wanted to write a teen fiction book since being a teenager and reading Nancy Drew. My friends’ teens love books like Gossip Girl, The Clique, Private, etc., so I decided that I would write a series where the main characters were minorities but grew up in middle to upper class households. The stories are reality based and although entertaining, each book in The Lip Gloss Chronicles series deals with issues that some teens face."

Come by AtBaP to continue reading Shelia Goss' thoughts on YA fiction, her series...and to read an excerpt of her latest literary offering!

ALL THE BLOG'S A PAGE (AtBaP) - Where everything relates to writing[http://alltheblogsapage.blogspot.com]