When I’m writing, I like to have a soundtrack to the story that I’m putting on paper. This week, it’s all Erykah Badu, all the time.
I can’t listen to any old bootsy ass music when I’m writing; I have to have the sounds of someone who loves their art as much as I love writing behind me…one creative being to another kind of thing. No matter how you feel about Ms. Badu, that woman’s mind and music is out of this world. It lifts you to another space, almost like an out of body experience.
I thought I would share one of my favorites with you. Enjoy!
I’ve been in a mood all week. Not quite angry and not quite sad, but somewhere in between. I can honestly say that I hate this process of separation; it takes me off my center and I can’t focus.
The good news is that my mind is made up. The bad news is that my mind is made up…feel me?
This song has been #1 on the Marvalus mp3 player all week. I think it sums it up for me…
Have you ever had someone in your life that you know is holding you back? You know this person, even without intention, is toxic to you and your life? I’m in that situation right now, and I must admit to being sick at the thought of letting go of someone who I consider a friend. Especially when that someone has no idea the reason why.
I guess the womanly thing for me to do is sit down with this person and let them know. My heart resists this. I have to make a clean break; I have to drop it and never pick it up. I have to, in essence, disappear from this person in order to appear to myself. That is a huge challenge.
When I love someone, they own a piece of my heart forever. Ignoring their residence in that space is difficult. If I am to truly stand in the space that God has designed for me, though…ignoring is what I need to do. On the other hand, not making a clean break gives that person to swoosh back into my life at a later time, when I think I’ve got my shit together, and fuck it up. Oh, the quandary…
Please forgive the rambling. I just needed to let some of this go.
For some reason, this week I’ve been on a Maxwell kick. He has been crooning in my ear while I work, and I believe that I’m all the better for it. My writing has been silky (if I must say so myself) and I am going to give the credit to Max.
Here’s one of my favorites…I give to you with a warning: you may just experience wild flutterings of the heart and breathless moments while listening.
Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
I’ve said a thousand times here that I love the game of basketball. With that said, this has to be one of the saddest days of the game that I’ve ever witnessed. LeBron James, my favorite player, has dumped the Cleveland Cavaliers, my favorite team, to head for promises of championships rings and beach front property.
This doesn’t feel like it’s fair. Remember when Shaq left the Magic back in ’96? I have never liked the Orlando Magic, even when Shaq was breaking backboards and making everyone else look 2 feet tall. So when he left, so did I. And when Shaq left the Lakers in 2004, I followed him to Miami. And on to Phoenix. And finally, finally, he was on a team that I actually liked. The Cleveland Cavaliers. Shaq leaving the Magic didn’t feel like a betrayal by him for riches and the sun of Los Angeles (even though it was, in every way); LeBron leaving Cleveland feels like he sucker punched every fan that loves the Cavaliers squarely in the throat.
And when KG left Minnesota for Boston? I cheered for him, and so did the fans of Minnesota. You see, KG had given Minnesota everything he had. It was a fruitless effort, and his time had come to see if he could get a ring somewhere else. The fans, myself included, never blamed KG for his decision. Mostly because every night he left everything out on the floor. He brought it every game, and that could only result in unadulterated respect and admiration.
This thing with LeBron, though? In the playoffs of this past year, he gave up. I tried and tried to think of every other way to say it than that, but he did. His mind was made up when he didn’t see any chance of winning. That is the biggest bullshit move I’ve ever seen anyone pull. And this is coming from someone who lifted him higher than the other superstars who had a piece of jewelry that showed the world they were great.
I’m pissed off. My feelings are hurt. As of right now, I can’t understand why. Oh, it will wear off once football season starts and I can begin to focus my attention on Donovan McNabb and the Redskins; but now? Now it just smells like the biggest pile of shit ever. I love DWade, have even cheered for Miami (see Shaq). I will continue to cheer for them. I hope they are able to work this triumvirate into something magical.
I just won’t be rushing out to buy a James #6 Heat jersey.
I purchased a book shelf a while ago, and just put it together this weekend. I have about 9 boxes of books in my office closet, waiting to be lined up on the shelves and perhaps, plucked from their comfortable spot and cracked open. In every room of my home, and even in my car, you will find a book.
I love books.
I remember as early back as Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. This book opened up a world to me that I was unaware of. I thought, You mean to tell me that other 12-year-old girls are going through the same thing as me? It was incredible, and I was hooked. When I started thinking about romance, Forever was there. It was the book that let me know that what I was holding was a treasure not to be shared with just anyone. Judy Blume can probably be credited to opening my eyes to writing, and reading, and loving them both.
As a teenager I read Roots and another door was opened. Reading it from cover to cover, before the benefit of the much-watched television miniseries, helped to bring me closer to my blackness. I remember thinking that I was such a big deal because I was reading it, what with it being a huge book that spanned generations and generations. What I learned was that I could not go where I was going, unless I knew where I came from. I was the child of warriors and strong matriarchs, and I was also a Queen.
Then I became fascinated with the world of The Chronicles of Narnia, the series by C S Lewis. You could not tell me that a world existed on the other side of my own closet, because I frequently went there when my head was in these books. I saw things differently, I felt things differently, and I realized that I loved books that told me a story, real or unimaginable or downright delusional. It was the words within that I sought; I craved to be able to string the words together and have them mean something to me.
I found meaning in The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I was handed this book by my English teacher in high school, Ms. Mallory. Ms. Mallory gave this book to me and told me that it was going to change my life. See, she knew how much I loved reading, but from her point of view, I had an unrealistic expectation that everything would work out in the end. She saw that I needed the fairy tale, and this book would provide me with a reality. And reality is exactly what I got. I learned that life is not about the destination, but about the journey. This book set me on a course of discovering my purpose.
There were others that rocked my world. Waiting to Exhale was my introduction to the mirror image of my own life. It was about friendships and love, and the fact that sometimes people fail and make wrong choices. Temple of My Familiar helped me jump, fully clothed and open, into being a woman. Hot Johnny (And The Women Who Loved Him) was hotness incarnate; the words and images leaped off the pages into my head and heart. And Sugar took me back in time, to a place that I didn’t understand but wanted to learn more about.
There are so many more titles and authors. There are so many other stories that have shaped me into who I am today. What I ultimately discovered about myself, in reading all of these books, is that I love the craft of writing. I’ve read countless things over the years that have told me that of course, I can write a book. Anyone can write a book; but can I tell a story? Can I hold the attention of the readers who, like me, are looking for a definition or epiphany?
It is this thought that pops into my head when I sit down and write my own novel. I don’t want it to be something that is read and forgotten; I want it to breathe and live and attach itself to the hearts and minds of everyone who reads a single word. Reading is my salvation; I know that that is also the truth for so many others. All of the books that I have waiting on me to put them into the emptiness of my new book shelf have affected me in some way. There are promises, secrets, joy, sadness, and disgust left by my fingerprints on the pages.
Most of all, there is love there. And that love demands to be let out of the boxes that have kept it hidden for too long. So here at 2:40 in the AM, I am off to gently organize those books on my book shelf.
And be reminded once again of my love for each and every one of these books.
I don’t like kicking someone when the are down. I don’t like poking fun of people who are less fortunate or worse off than me. I don’t like blindly engaging in gossip or foolishness just to gain somebody’s approval.
I’ve been a blogger for over 4 years now, and it is the cynicism that is just about going to send me running for the hills. Everyone has an opinion; of course, they are entitled to those opinions. But you know that saying about stones at glass houses? I think people spend too much time on the Internet, trying and wishing to be someone else.
I guess I just got rubbed the wrong way this week. Or maybe I’m tired of pedestal preachers who would allow you to think that their lives are so fucking perfect that they can look down and pass judgement on everyone else. Spare me, please.
The truth is, if we looked inside some of the homes of the people on the Internet spouting “Thou shalt not sin!” or “The way you live is wrong!”, we would find a plenarily, solid mess of profound portions.
The thing is, I know I’m not perfect. I know I fall short of the glory of God. But I also know that because of my relationship with God, I am saved by his gifts of grace and mercy. I certainly am not going to spend my time arguing with someone who tells me that what I believe is wrong. You can go fly off a tall mountain. In a snowstorm. Buck-ass naked. See if I care.
Romans 3:10:
“As it is written: “There is no one righteous, not even one;” (NIV).
