Stand Up and Win

I entered a short story contest this month.  It’s the first time I’ve ever entered a contest that judges my writing. The first prize is a nice cash award and of course, bragging rights.  I surprised myself when I did it; even more so when I heard my voice say “I want to win”. 

I’ve never really been competitive.  For some crazy reason, I always thought it to be rude; wanting someone else to lose, that is.  Is there a difference between wanting to win and wishing someone else would lose?  Probably but whatever the answer, courtesy isn’t at my forefront this time because I want to win this contest. And I will.

The name of my 1,500 word story is “Nina’s Story”.  It’s a smaller piece based on the best selling novel I’m committed to writing in 2010.  Again, a first for me.  That too I want to win. By win, I mean I want to see it through this time.  Ironically,  in a way, that also means  I want to “lose” – to lose the fear  and self doubt that has kept me from doing it this long; To lose the idea that there’s no time to write, or that it stinks or any other sabotaging, idiotic thought living inside my sometimes fuzzy head or falling from my fragile lips.  In 2010, I resolve to win. 

In this resolution, I’m reminded of the Parable of the Talents (Matt 25 14-30).   I want to represent the one who made God proud and multiplied the talents that God gave him.  God gives each of us gifts/talents ; but what He doesn’t cast upon us is a cowardly spirit. He wouldn’t have gone through all of THIS (life, love, sacrificing his Son, etc) to see us fail, not even at our own fumbling hands.  So stand up, talents.  Stand up straight, stand in faith.  Stand up and win.

I am a good writer.  I am talented, positive and prolific.  I am a winner. Thank you God.  Thank you as I write “Nina’s Story”

“Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.”

 

The Powers of Sheila and Spatcho

Finding motivation to write isn’t always easy.   Finding time to write is even harder.  Recently I re-discovered a website that offers writing prompts that writers  can post and/or just read other writer’s post.  I posted my first and felt good that I got something on paper.  It’s not Pulitzer Prize winning or anything but it keeps me writing.   And that is so very important.

The prompt: You wake up one day with an unusual super power that seems pretty worthless—until you are caught in a situation that requires that specific “talent.”

             This was the 3^rd day in a row that Sheila Jones awoke with her hands over her ears.  “Honey, are you sure…”  She didn’t even finish the question because she already knew the answer.  No, he didn’t hear it.  It was still all in her head.  Ever since Spatcho, her German Shepherd, died Sheila heard the sound of barking dogs in her head.  Her husband Shane didn’t hear it.  No one did and now on this third day, it was getting louder.

             She rolled over and tried to focus on the sunshine that crept through her faux wood blinds.  The TV was on mute but she noticed the newsflash about the recent arrest of the serial bank robbers in the area.  “Five bank robberies.” she thought to herself.  “I’m glad they’ve caught those criminals.”  She snuggled in a bit more knowing she and Shane had to get up in a few minutes for their morning run. The cool temperatures outside made the bed especially nice this morning, despite the barking in her head.

              “You hear the barking again don’t you?” Shane muffled still half asleep.  “Yes,” she said as she rolled over to face him.  He pulled her a little closer and asked, “Seriously, honey did you make your appointment with the doctor.  This is getting ridiculous. ”

“I know she said.  “I’m going to call today but honestly I don’t know whether to call a doctor or a vet.  It’s crazy babe.  Maybe Spatcho is trying to talk to me from the dead.” she joked.

 “Hey, are we running this morning?  she asked.  Shane turned over and pretended to snore.  “No you don’t buddy! Get up. ” she screamed and hit him over the head with a pillow.  

 Taking off from the driveway after a good stretch, she noticed the barking getting louder, almost urging her to follow it.  “Honey lets go this route today.”  She requested.  Two lefts and a right turn later, they ended up at the park.  The barking was out of control now and she continued to follow it. 

             “Sweetie,” Shane asked.  Where are you doing? ”  Sheila ran ahead.  Shane stopped to take a seat on the bench to catch his breath and have a drink of water. Minutes later Sheila screamed “Shane call the police.  Now!!”  Running to where she was, Shane called the police and stood with his mouth open as he stared at his wife covered in dirt kneeling in a hole she had just dug with her hands.

The police arrived and after some questioning Sheila and Shane headed home.  She noticed the barking in her head had stopped.  Hours later the police called to inform Sheila that what she dug up was probably the stolen money from the recent bank robberies. That night she slept like a baby, no barking at all.

As the sun shone through her windows the next morning, Sheila opened her eyes with a start as if having a bad dream.  “Honey,” she asked, “do you hear quacking?”

Distractions, Distractions…

To be a great writer,  “they” say; you simply must write.  Well I get that but what if Michigan was spelled with a Z.  Huh?  I know that’s crazy right… but that’s exactly how it happens.  I start off  with one intention, and before I know it, out of nowhere, I’m somewhere I didn’t intend to be.   

Yesterday, I sat down with every good intention of finishing a piece.  The letters were popping up on the screen as my fingers danced that keyboard jig,  and BAM.. a distraction.  The phone rings.  A car door slams.  A squirrel is on my roof.  In my attic.  And I stop to respond.  Hours later, project is unfinished and I’m dressed like Rambo  because Mr. Squirrel drew first blood.  

How many times have you set yourself an unmet goal or made a workday ”To Do” list that seems to do you?  By the end of the day only one or two of the 20 things you’ve listed got completed because of the distractions.

Oh, sweetie,  I hope you didn’t stay tuned because you thought this would end with a sage piece of advice or some fancy tactic to prevent this from happening again.. LOL.. because I just don’t know. 

However, what I do know is that not one of these distractions is  bigger than my DREAM.  Not one distraction will stop me from getting there… or you if you’re committed to  Live with Passion. To  Live on Purpose.  All I can say is keep your “stick to it-ness” and just refocus on… oh wait, is that for me? 

"MsDee you have a phone distraction...I mean call."

 

I Dare You

This morning on Steve Harvey’s radio talkshow, Queen Latifah said she doesn’t do anything unless she feels passionate about it…otherwise it feels too much like work and she doesn’t just want to work.  She wants to live.

Can you imagine a life like that?  What would it look like?  What would it feel like…for you?  Passion is so personal, it’s different for each of us, but when shared with the world we all share in its commonality. 

 I dare you, today, to envision your passion.  Apply the  five senses to it.   Give it a name and be specific and uninhibited, all at the same time.   Make it bigger than ordinary.  I dare you!

Pity Party

Last night I completed Speech #4 (of 10) at my Toastmasters meeting. I hadn’t done a speech for over three or four months so I felt a little nervous. The speech entitled, Remembering the Renaissance, was in honor of the Harlem Renaissance, a time in history I love and admire; that acts as my “muse”. My inspiration.

So, in the name of  Toastmaster protocol, the audience members are asked to write comments/critiques on little pieces of paper to be given to each speaker at the end of the meeting. One of my notes read “It’s always nice to hear people speak with such passion.”

“Passion?” I thought. It’s crazy because I wasn’t feeling very passionate; I actually was feeling empty about my place, my purpose…where, and if, I’m headed as a writer. I didn’t even do a blog entry this week because I was too busy having that “pity party”.. And I had invited all of my “best” friends. “Negative Self Talk”, “Self Doubt” and her first cousin, “You Ain’t Got No Talent” arrived early to help set up.  I don’t remember “Girl Please” being on the guest list but she was there in a bad, hot pink fedora and matching stilettos. “Fear”, with his fat ass, was late as usual making his infamous grand entrance; he got drunk and then loud. He and “Excuses” sat on the patio and you could hear him all through the house.  It’s like he covered us.  Smothered us.

Passion? Where was Passion? She must have been somewhere because one of my fellow Toastmaster members recognized her. “It’s always nice to hear people speak with such passion.”   Was it a quiet light shining in my eyes.. or the way I spoke about Langston Hughes and Zora N. Hurston?  Was it my personal, internal celebration of a time that inspires me so?  Was it the spirit of the heroes of the Harlem Renaissance?

After the meeting I went home and my “friends” were still there. Drunk and out of place.

After kicking the freeloaders out of my house, I drifted off to sleep in the arms of  my beloved “Baby It’ll Be OK”.  The always voice of my mother.  The sometimes corner of my mind. Good night.

This morning I woke up to find a few of those fools couldn’t make it home and had slept on my couch.  Or anywhere they could find a spot to rest up before their next party… down the street. Across town. In Montana.  Anywhere. Somewhere over someone’s rainbow.  

I tiptoed out, got into my car and reminded God of His promises to me. “Will never leave or forsake… I can do All things …. If God is for me….Love never fails”.  Pulling out of my driveway, I knew they would all be gone when I got home. Useless losers.

Have a Passionate Day and trust Him.  Despite it all.

Tyler Perry’s “I Can Do Bad” Does this Body Good

I felt lighter.  Walking out of the theater on Friday, shoulder to shoulder with friends and strangers who had just watched Tyler Perry’s “I Can Do Bad All By Myself”,  my chest felt lighter. Maybe it was because we cried just a little.  Maybe because we laughed out loud.  Or maybe it was just because “I Can Do Bad” was,  good. 

I Can Do Bad...

Actually I expected it to be.  I expected classic Madea madness and crazy Joe.  I expected the story of the damaged damsel in distress and her hero.   I didn’t understand though, why this time I felt lighter.

That next day, Saturday, I saw a play a friend of mine invited me to.  She played the part of the “other woman” in the storyline of the cheating, greedy husband.  Another couple in the play represented the good man with his ungrateful wife; the third brother refused to date black women because of his disintegrated relationship with his black mother; and the fourth was too shallow to love a big hearted “big girl”.  And I felt lighter.

This weekend I saw two stories that could have starred any one of my friends, or even me and I decided I didn’t want to be “that girl”.  The one so emotionally lost in the hurt, pain and disappointment of her past she couldn’t or wouldn’t be loved. So confused about her worth that she couldn’t recognize the love of a good man but runs to the limp “love” of one doing bad all by himself. 

I watched the shame of staying after the  first time an ex boyfriend hit me, float out of my life. And I felt lighter.  I  released years of guilt for not making it back home before my grandmother died. And I felt lighter.  I unhinged the hung up hate for the man who had shot and killed my little brother. Lighter.  I watched the emotionally crippling effects of the disgusting acts of my father, walk on by.  If I wasn’ t going to be that broken up girl, I  had to let the “issues” that made my heart feel “bad” dissipate.

All that from a movie? A play? No, not really.  God has been working on this lil ole heart of mine, ever since a very special lady re-introduced me to the love of Christ.  But this weekend was an AMEN moment of real forgiveness and I  feel lighter.   It’s amazing how much more of Him gets in, when you let the junk seep out.

A lot of men talk about how “bad” the black woman is.  Sneaky, mean, bitter, selfish, combative, loud; but she didn’t get “bad” all by herself.  Hell, a lot of sisters hate on sisters because of how “bad” (bad meaning bad and bad meaning good) she may come across. But she didn’t get “bad” all by herself.  But it is by herself, in Christ, that she (we) begins to stand up and get right.  

Tyler touches on it in his movies all the time; and in “I Can Do Bad”, Sandino, the movie’s Hispanic hero, was sent to the  April, the drunken damsel in distress, by the church to help her fix her house… and unknowingly her life.  But before he would love her,  he asks April to love herself enough to move past the hurt of who she thought she was, to be the woman God says she is. And in the play that Saturday, the young men were schooled by an elder –a God fearing man- to listen as God speaks to the heart of a man choosing his “good thing”… When a man finds a wife he finds a good thing.

Ok, maybe I am a bit over the top but this is what I saw this weekend.  I know the “happily ever after” was a movie but I still believe in the Sandino’s.  Strong men in God who want to love a good woman through “it”; whatever her “it” may be - abuse, incest, esteem, bad choices, generational curses, whatever.  Just  recognize that the happily ever after I’m loving, is not just in the movies, it’s in His Word.  Love never fails.   

And that, mi amigo, excites me even more than that sexy scene in April’s kitchen.  Ay Carumba!

Indigo in Blue

I can’t quite define what He does to me, how He makes me feel but

I see desert sands when my eyes are filled with water.  I find sunshine amidst gray clouds

and frowns become smiles if you stand on your head.  I hear harmony in chaos.

Oceans comes to life inside of sea shells and the morning’s serenade rewrites love songs to welcome a new day

With Him I can always taste the sweetness of lemons and smell roses in weed patches.

I can often see the indigo in blue.

I can’t quite define what He does to me, how He makes me feel, but simply feeling it quiets the urge.

IF

If love begins as a doubt but in time becomes clear…

Clear as the bluest of blue heavens on the most summerest of days

after the rains have stopped and the sun sneaks a peek from behind the clouds

as silent breezes blow sunshine through cracks, greeting you where you sleep one eye at a time,

Good morning beloved….

When rainbows stand high above bridges making promises and the brilliance of heaven’s eye, creates dancefloors for shadows. When green becomes more than a color, simply a gift from God and birds soar to the calling sky. Ascending.

Wings flapping like applause..a standing ovation.

If love begins with a doubt but in time becomes clear, so perfectly clear, then love began with you.

You are my clear blue heaven, my dancing shadow,

my good morning love

simply,

my gift from God. 

WoWMoM at Panera Bread

I hung out at Panera Bread today.  That’s what writers do, you know?  We sit around cool coffee houses or cafes; maybe Starbucks, Java Monkey, Panera or anywhere there is a suggestion of coffee and a piece of sugary sweet bread.  I went there to do some “ear hustling” , which is my easedropping into innocent conversations.  It helps generate creative ideas or characters.  My more pen-challenged friends call it ”mild mannered stalking ” or just plain nosy. 

There were about eight occupied tables. I slid into a booth that gave me entry advantage, i.e. facing the front door and therefore able to scout any handsome, single men entering…oh wait. Wrong story. Sorry. Back to Panera.

Nestled in the corner of my undercover booth, I’m feeling very 007.  Commencing to “ear hustle” I zone into a table close by.   My fine tuned investigative senses tells me this guy is a student, and yes even if he didn’t have a backpack, a college branded t-shirt and a thick book titled Organic Chemistry, I still would have concluded his status – thank you very much.  Anyway, no action there.  Moving on.

A second guy with strong Ethiopian  features refused any distractions, his eyes locked onto the 13’ laptop screen.  What is he so into, I wondered.  The Nancy Drew DNA I inherited during my preteen years kicked it.  A spoon, I thought.  I needed a spoon, which was conveniently located on the counter behind his table.  I hoped the fact that I had nothing on my table requiring a utensil wouldn’t blow my cover. I’d already finished my Summer Corn Chowder and had fought the call of the 6000 calorie Cobblestone pastry.  I stood up with my best ‘No I’m not interested in what the Ethiopian guy’s reading on his laptop’ look and circled the counter.  Coming up behind him, eyes wide with anxiety, I bent the corner just in time to hear the click of his laptop close. Dang it, I missed.  As he shoved it into his bag, he turned to meet my eyes and I smiled, quickly holding up my unassigned spoon.

The smarty pants Organic Chemistry guy was laughing inside of his IPOD…or was he laughing at me?  I forgave him and refocused.  I needed a new target.  Target found: small group near the window.  It looked like some kind of meeting: Mary Kay, real estate, Noni Juice. Who knows.  There sat three ladies, two with matching hair cuts, the other a lone ponytail and a guy.  Ooooh and he’s kinda cute too..ok, ok.. back to Panera.  One of the Friends of the Matching Haircuts placed her elbows on the table and kept rubbing her palms together.  She must have been the team captain because all three sets of eyes rested on her moving mouth.  I started my  relocation plan when I realized I had hit the motherload.  Literally.  Right next to me was a middle aged man on the phone … with his mother!  Oh yes, this would require a second cup of pumpkin latte and the forbidden indulgence of the Cobblestone Cake.

I sat and quickly assessed that she must be rather fascinating because every few seconds he’d say “Wooww.”  It rolled much too frequently from his puffy lips and was uncoupled with any other expressions, words or conversation.  I became obsessed with what she might be saying.  There it was again “Woooooowww!!!” only this time it was longer and louder.  I almost jumped out of my chair and begged him to put her on speaker phone.  Ok I thought, he’s doing it just to entice me.  To make people think his mom’s sooooo super interesting.  Wait, he moved his hand to his jaw and was stroking his chin with his free thumb, nodding his head slowly…In agreement?  In amazement?  What the heck was she saying?  I couldn’t take it anymore so I called my own mother to show him he didn’t have the only WoWMoM in the world; but the US Open was on and if you know my moms relationship with tennis, then nuff said.  She immediately started in about the matches, about Venus or Serena, Federer, Nadal and something about love and faults…or something. Ok moms, I’m out.

He sat there, wowless for a few moments.  Finally the torture is over, I thought.  I breathed a sigh of relief and watched as Son of WoWMoM began packing up to leave.  He was telling her how he needed help with his math classes and would ask his teacher for help.    Then, almost like she gave him the answer to some freaky, unsolvable algorithm, he gave her another “Wooow”.  Oh whatever!

My phone rang. It was my mom saddened that Venus had lost.  Knowing how much she loves the Williams sisters; I felt badly and softly whispered, “Oh Wow.” Excitedly I looked up hoping he had heard my WoW; but instead, black shades on, he was already out of the front door.

I really need to get a life.

Nothing

I posted my first blog yesterday, so this morning on my way to work, searching for my next topic, I decide to Listen. Windows up tight and radio off, I waited.   I waited to hear God speak to me as I yielded for the empty school bus, passed by the corner gas station and noticed the 5 pieces for $14.95 dry cleaner wasn’t flashing its OPEN sign.  I merged onto the highway in silence, still waiting. I looked up as if to say, “I know you see me down here waiting on you.”  But I Got Nothing!

 Until I noticed this constant knocking under my hood, I advised myself to get it checked out. I reached to turn the music on in defiance and thought better.  Not in my time Dee, in His.  Just wait.  As I moved with the traffic I noticed the yellowing of the trees lining the highway and peeps of purple and pink from the crape myrtle trees.  Juicy intermittent raindrops, unmet by the swish of my wiping blades, decorated my windshield.  I got off at my downtown exit and on the sidewalk was a burst of red hair celebrating the freedom from life under a helmet. I said a quick prayer for the bold man on the scooter. Against the gray sky a slew of birds sat along the phone wires, looking like tick marks on a timeline.  Following the click of my turn signal I met the look of a sour faced young man, someone’s homeless son. As if someone had called is name, he looked up from his story and his duffle bag and quickly returned to the pages.

Students were on their way to Georgia State’s halls of academia, school bags – pink canvas, black leather, and neon bright – slung over shoulders or bouncing on backs.  Mouths laughing out loud or thoughts isolated in IPODs.  I remembered Columbine and Virginia Tech and said another quiet prayer.  A black security guard flashed his white teeth and shared a hearty hand shake with a stranger, maybe a friend, beneath the golden arches where billion have been served.  I made the final turn as yellow turned to red and a salt and pepper faced man, irritated by my inattention to his right of way, waved me along.  He reminded me of my own father whom I haven’t seen in over 20 years.  I nodded my head in apology and drove down into the parking deck. Stepping out of the car and into a puddle of rainwater, I stained my light colored pants and smiled.

This morning I saw the colors, courage and creation of everyday life and I thanked God for Nothing.

Fire In Your Belly

At first glance, the title may cause you to think I need a shot of penicillin but trust, all is well.  However, I must admit that I do feel sick, but not in an “I need a shot of penicillin” kind of way.  I’m sick of mediocrity.  Tired of settling.  Sick and tired of my own excuses. My self imposed fears. And when I’m feeling the sickness at its strongest, I hear those four words -Fire In Your Belly- as clear as the Verizon guy promising phone service. Yes, I can hear you now. 

Those four words were spoken by a middle aged, white bearded college professor who saw talent.  In me.  I don’t remember the name of the writing class and I doubt if Professor Benske even remembers my name; but there was an…An assignment.  An assignment to write commentary on the 1994 OJ Simpson trial.  Easy enough right?  It was only the biggest media sensation at the time and if you hadn’t heard of it you must have been hiding under the seat of a Ford Bronco.  So I turn it in and for some reason he likes it.  I mean really likes it.  Likes it so much he tries to set my belly afire.  “You’ve got to have fire in your belly”. 

Long story, sad – After class that day, he asked me if I really knew how well written my assignment was. He said it was better than some professionals he’d worked with.  The wrinkle in my forehead and the confused look on my face forced him to the point.  He knew people in media and could get me “on”.  All based on this sample of my work.  No adult person had ever recognized me in such a way. I felt proud and scared and despite my love for the craft, I began to second guess myself.  I’d always known I wrote well but what if I couldn’t do it again?  What if no one there saw what he saw?  What if this young college student couldn’t find that fire? So obviously when he later presented the offer I couldn’t refuse, I refused.  I graciously told him, “Thanks Professor but no thank you. I have to work.”  Now mind you at this time I was working part-time at a clearance center but just like that I walked away, went back to the world of 75% off and avoided any other of Benske’s classes. After graduation, I found myself reading about writing and talking about writing but never pursuing it as a career.  I eventually completed graduate school but after all those years, no fire.  Not even a smoldering ash.

I didn’t realize the damage I was doing when I turned that opportunity down. And 20 something years later, as I write this first blog entry I know the most damming part was not just that I allowed my fears to win, not that I ran away from the challenge. The crippling part was that I told myself it was ok.  Not verbally. Not even consciously.  In the long run that decision has left feeling mediocre and mundane. It’s time for a change.

Professor Benske told me that in order to be great at anything you must have fire in your belly… and I didn’t have it then.  It’s a desire so strong you hate it.  A passion so palatable you serve it with a fine wine on grandma’s good china.  You’ve got to have a belief in yourself and a conviction of your spirit that is so God inspired, no man can take it away.  You’ve got to flap your wings and fan the flames. You’ve got to have fire.

Many of us have a fire belly story.  A time in your life where fear simply won.  A time when you first began backing away from the flames.  And now you hear yourself say over and over… I don’t have the time…  We can’t spare the money…I’m too tired after I get off of work…If I didn’t have children, then maybe I could.

Now, this is not about waiting on the voice of God because I believe that the ultimate success will be directed from Him, in His time.  This, my excuse laden friend, is about fear. Of rejection.  Of failure. Of success. Of fear itself, but you and I can move pass that.

God gives us gifts.  It’s up to us to use them. He’ll present Professor Benske’s to you or simply tell you to go and you won’t.   Like the man in the Parable of the Talents (Matt 25 14-30) who received one talent from God and hid it, I feel as if I am robbing God if I don’t do… something.  So for now, I write. This blog.   I know I am a good writer but if I am to represent the glory of God I want to get better, so I can become the best.  Part of the reason I started this blog was to get practiced, hone my craft, define my voice/style and hopefully, and most importantly, help someone else in the process. 

So here I am, simply being of service, 365.  Belly on fire.

Where are you?