Root Swingin’

Rejection is a language in itself. Initially it speaks hurt and devastation. Eventually it presents doubt and causes one to stop the process or the detour the journey they are on. Every artist is told something to the tune of, “rejection is a part of the game.” But there are no courses or free therapy sessions to instruct you what do to with the emotions, fear of trying and trauma that tag along with repeated rejection.

dadblog What I am witness to now is that the repeated process will produce. Like the watering of a plant, it is done with intent. You touch the soil to check for dampness, to determine how much water is needed for that day. You trim the dead edges of the leaves, you turn the plant to face the sun and eventually the plant grows to it’s potential. While it is done consciously, it is for the plant to stay alive not necessarily to grow. This is the same with artists. The acts of our creativity keep us alive and with that continued process of creating, our art grows.

If I could talk to my 25 year old self, I would tell her to define all of the rejection she will experience in auditions and writing queries on her own terms. I would tell her that it does not mean to perfect the “plan B”, it simply means that was not the right job. Something better suited is coming down the pike through the continued process. I would tell her that what is hers will come specifically designed with her name on it.

So, this message is for me. I am definitely coming full circle with my dreams. I recently enrolled in an acting class to warm my technique back up. I am speaking into existence my return to the theatrical stage and I am beginning my process now.

a Prose for Fannie Lou Hamer’s

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She stood by the bedside of Jordan.  A lotus.  Feet grown from delta mud.  She was creation.  Exploded from chaos.  A holistic believer.

Ruleville, Mississippi.  Crooked state.  Chosen land.  Eternal cost.  Chosen woman.  Creased face.  Her memory wavers like an untuned church organ.

If you see her.  Tell her you remember.  Her protected skin that matched night.  Unafraid.  Sleep patterned to that of bats.  Called upon.  Like Nut and Shu.  To uphold the heavens.  Keep young mouths breathing.  When tempted to swallow swollen faith.  She followed the dust and escaped through the vents.

Continue reading a Prose for Fannie Lou Hamer’s

vacation in history

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I was planning a trip to the beach. Fortunately, Atlanta affords me the leisure of choosing between various Georgia Islands, or a few hours drive to Florida, South Carolina or the coast of Alabama. I decided to do a quick turn around trip to one of the Golden Isles off the coast of Georgia. Distracted, I began to flip through Facebook and came across an article about Igbo Landing or Ebo landing.

“The Igbo Landing occurred when Igbo slaves who had taken control of their ship marched into the water and drowned at Dunbar Creek on St. Simons Island, Glynn County, Georgia.

After surviving the rigours of the Middle Passage, the 75 Igbo slaves who were bought for labour on the plantations of John Couper and Thomas Spalding for 100 dollars each.

The slaves were chained and put aboard a small ship to be transported to their destinations. During this voyage, they took control of the ship and grounded it, drowning their captors in the process.”

(from the site pulse.ng)

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I looked up St. Simons Island and discovered it was a mere 4.5 hours away and I could choose lodging on the island or in nearby Brunswick, Ga. There are so many stories to be told. So many lands to be visited and honored or memorialized, and as a writer I believe there are always new words to discover. New smells and newly uncovered ways to describe emotions. So I booked my lodging, fueled up the Buick, and hit the road.

Continue reading vacation in history

My Reading on Saturday…

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I am reading this jewel of a book this morning for one of my classes. (ok… it’s Saturday so I am doing some work around the house so I have the audio on as well)

There are so many jewels that I am coming across in this text that I want to share some. Enjoy 🙂

“I learned to love my son without wanting to possess him and I learned how to teach him to teach himself.” – Maya Angelou

“I am convinced that people do not grow up. We find parking spaces and honor our credit cards. I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulation of years in our bodies and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are still innocent and shy as magnolias.” – Maya Angelou

“Some entertainers have tried to make art of their coarseness. When they heap mud upon themselves and allow their tongues to wag with vulgarity, they expose their belief they are not worth loving.” Maya Angelou

“The ship of my life may or may not be sailing on calm and amiable seas. The challenging days of my existence may or may not be bright and promising. Stormy or sunny days, glorious or lonely nights. I maintain an attitude or gratitude. If I insist on being pessimistic, there is always tomorrow.” Maya Angelou

nothing like it, for peace and justice

20180711_105519.jpgI have visited the majority of the civil rights museums in the southeastern states. The Center for Civil Human Rights in Atlanta, Ga. and the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, TN are two of my favorite. This past spring, in Montgomery, Al., a space opened that is the first of it’s kind in this country. “The National Memorial For Peace and Justice is the nation’s first comprehensive memorial dedicated to the human loss suffered during the era of racial terror lynchings, which swept across the south and beyond in the decades following the abolition of slavery.”

 

The memorial is a collection of work done by the Equal Justice Initiative, identifying more than 4,000 African American men, women, and children who were lynched between 1877 and 1950. This space was haunting. In the same breath, this space made me feel like another piece of me had been reconciled.

Until now, lynching had been painted in songs, danced about in novels. The impact of seeing 800 steel monuments inscribed with crimes of lynching, some detailing the reason why, presented a different sentiment. While this is a space that uses literature, sculpture, art and design to tell its’ story, there was no rhythm or pace to it. There were no perfectly fitted color patterns or designs, it just happened. There was no spell check, no correction of verb/noun agreement, the art at this memorial lends escape to no one. This space brings name to the thousands of men, women and children who were hideously and violently murdered for mere social transgressions and some from absolute innocence.

There is tons of history in Montgomery, Al to see. So planning a trip to this memorial is not the only thing you will be making time for. This is a must for anyone seeking reconciliation against violent crimes committed against African Americans in this country. This is a must see for anyone seeking retribution for human justice.

Continue reading nothing like it, for peace and justice

I am a lover of perseverance. I am folklore. I am consistency and contradiction.

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