Residency Applications for The Millay Colony for the Arts – Deadline Oct. 1

The Millay Colony for the Arts offers residency opportunities for writers, artists and composers. Named for writer Edna St. Vincent Millay, the artists’ colony is located next to the Millay estate in Austerlitz, NY (about 2.5 hours outside of NYC).

Visiting artists have access to a private studio, room and board, and are provided a small subsidy to help with travel costs. This experience affords the artist an opportunity to experience creative collaboration and development supported by other artists from across the country.

To be eligible, applicants must be a resident of the District of Columbia, New Jersey, New York, or Pennsylvania, and should apply online the Millay Colony. www.millaycolony.org

Application Deadline: October 1, 2012

Source: The Mid-Atlantic Arts Foundation.

National Book Festival This Weekend!

There’s no better way to kick off fall than with the Library of Congress’s National Book Festival! The event, now in its 12th year, features over 100 authors, poets and illustrators on the National Mall. There are events for just about everyone from children and teens, to history buffs, foodies, poetry lovers and more.
The National Book Festival kicks off today at 10 a.m. and ends tomorrow evening. For those of you in the DMV area, getting to the National Book Festival is quite easy via Metro. The National Mall is only steps away from the Orange Line’s Smithsonian Metro Stop.

Of Movies & Memoirs

It’s been a couple of months since I last posted to my blog. I apologize to my five — no, four — faithful subscribers for being out of the loop. But you know how life gets in the way of our best intentions.

I have a couple of writing projects in the works right now. so I am rather excited about them. I’m slowly easing myself back into the novel I started working on for my thesis at Hopkins. Truth be told, in order to get it done in earnest, I’m going to have to clear my slate and fully immerse myself in the writing process. More on that later.

I also have had the honor and privilege of helping out a couple of my talented friends on their creative projects recently. Matt Bowden, my friend and classmate from the Writing Program at JHU, is working on a documentary on The Crown Seekers, a New Orleans gospel quartet group. Back in March, Matt and the producers held a screening for the project, By and By: New Orleans Gospel at the Crossroads at Maisy’s in downtown Baltimore. (Remind me to tell you about Maisy’s pizza later.) Matt solicited feedback from those of us in attendance. Of course I was so fascinated by the whole thing — the music, the filmmaking process and all — that I churned out a four-page dissertation. I grew up listening to gospel music, and have such an affinity for and appreciation of the genre. Matt’s work on this project is phenomenal. I cannot wait for the movie to come out. Click the link below to check out the trailer for the film and as well as a special message from the film’s creators Matt Bowden and Joe Compton:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/byandby/by-and-by-new-orleans-gospel-at-the-crossroads/widget/video.html

Then there is the new memoir written by my friend and Twitter brother, Clay Rivers, I was humbled when Clay asked me to be a part of the editing process. Clay is a gifted writer and has an amazing story to share. I am so proud of him for taking the plunge into the waters of self-publishing. Clay is releasing his book Walking Tall: A Memoir on the Upside of Small and Other Stuff, and I must say it is a fantastic, page-turning must-read.

And in other news, I recently started writing for MadameNoire.com, and my first piece, “What’s Better for Your Hair? Hot Comb vs. Flat Iron” went up last week. This week I’m working on three more pieces for MadameNoire.com, including a couple of celebrity interviews. Stay tuned…

Richard Wright: Hurling Words

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all. 

~ Richard Wright, American Hunger, 1977

Freewriting: A #LoveLetter

Every Tuesday during the month of February, I’ve been leading a community writing workshop at the Mondawmin Mall’s Re-Entry Center in Northwest Baltimore. It’s something I’ve been doing for the past five years simply because I love sharing and inspiring others to find and develop their voice through writing.

Considering it was Valentine’s Day, I thought it quite apropos that we wrote about love yesterday. Not that sappy kind of love we wrote about in grade school, or that Hallmark kind of love, but love. Pure, deep, all-encompassing love. I asked everyone to write about who, what or why they love, and let them take the theme wherever their hearts, minds and pens desired. What came out were eloquent, insightful and brilliantly unique pieces that explored the breadth and the depth of love. Here’s what I wrote:

Oh writing? How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love writing. I love words. I love how they ebb and flow, swirl and swing on the page. I love how words strung together can form beautiful poetry, unbreakable narrative chains, passionate arguments. I love how words have the power to make us act, feel, think, dream, relate.

I love No. 2 pencils for they make me feel smart and determined. I love how pencil sound against paper. I love notebooks and journals and college-ruled paper. I love how felt-tipped pens give my words flair and finesse. I love handwriting. I love my handwriting, and all the loops and curls. I love typing words on a fresh screen. I love Helvetica and Arial and all the other fonts that make my words look gorgeous and perfect. I love how I can share my deepest dreams and craziest ideas with my pens, pencils, papers, (or my Macbook) and how they, like no other, can keep a secret.

I love giving birth to ideas on the page and the screen. I love creating characters, giving them breath, movement and purpose. I love taking my characters where they lead me, and leaving them better or different than when I first met them. I love creating landscapes for my characters to explore. I love painting pictures with words so readers can see. I love the musicality of words that can make even the most mundane moments of our lives sound beautiful and extraordinary.

I love sharing my writing. I love reading my writing — silently or aloud — giving my words power and depth, giving my life purpose. I even love it when someone gets what I’m trying to say, especially when they have to swim through a sea of jumbled words to get to the meaning. I love that I have the chance to create, revise, improve and flourish every day.

That’s what I love.

Who, what or why do you love?

At the Intersection of Music & Words

“I am beautiful no matter what they say/Words can’t bring me down…” ~ Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful”

I join the chorus of million around the globe who are expressing their shock and sadness at the tragic loss of the iconic Whitney Houston. Her music – from the big, soulful ballads to the buoyant dance cuts – moved me at different points in my life. My favorite songs of Whitney’s are the gospel tunes from The Preacher’s Wife soundtrack. It was a testament of her faith; her love of God and love for song evident in every note. It is no doubt she did what she was called to do on this earth. Whitney Houston shared her gift of song.

When I heard the news Saturday night, it rendered me speechless. I didn’t want to talk or tweet about it. I didn’t want to read the hundreds of tweets and Facebook comments, or countless news reports that condemned Whitney or laid blame or analyzed her demons. I didn’t find it comforting to wade through the stream of “what if” chatter, the negativity. None of that can bring her back to life. None of that can change or lessen the depth of the tragedy. She’s gone.

We will miss Whitney Houston mostly for selfish reasons. Her voice – its incomparable range and grace and power – could fill a space and touch something deep within our souls. We sang with her, ebullient and lovestruck. We slow danced as her voice serenaded us. We nodded our heads as she reminded us to exhale. We lifted our hands in praise to God as her voice twirled and swirled and leapt to the heavens.

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Rather than I chose to reflect on the good: the light and love that radiated from Whitney’s soul. I wanted to read how the writers and music critics memorialized Whitney’s gorgeous, angelic mezzo soprano voice and the legacy of music by which she will be remembered. I wanted to stand at the intersection of music and words and marvel as the traffic went by.

In a NY Times article on Whitney’s death Jon Pearles and Adam Nagourney wrote: “Ms. Houston’s range spanned three octaves, and her voice was plush, vibrant and often spectacular. She could pour on the exuberant flourishes of gospel or peal a simple pop chorus; she could sing sweetly or unleash a sultry rasp.”

LA Times ‘ Pop & Hiss – LA Times Music Blog writes about Houston’s rendition of “I Will Always Love You”: “It’s two words — the “I” at the beginning of the line, and the “you” at the end — held for a few beats longer than most others could sustain but with ironclad control, that seals the deal, a single pair of syllables so convincing that it should have won her both an Oscar and a Grammy. She sings the words differently throughout; at first, it’s with love, then with conviction, then with desperation, a drama that unfolds across four minutes. She shaped notes so that they sounded like floating hearts one minute, only to explode as the emotion turned from love to loneliness.”

“Houston’s flawless voice was untouchable, and her versions of “I Will Always Love You” and “The Star Spangled Banner” are considered two of the highest peaks pop music has ever reached.”

Rochelle Riley of the Detroit Free Press: “She was bigger than music. She was a lyrical narrator, expressing in that glorious voice what we were living.”

All the beautiful words written to capture the timbre and the essence of Whitney’s iconic voice will outlast any of the negative press surrounding the details of her death. In the end, what matters is that she gave us love.

In Honor of Black History Month…

As an avid reader, I almost always have my nose in a book. Sometimes I’ll be reading more than one book at once, reading a few chapters of one and then switching to the other for a few chapters. Despite my undying love for books, there are not too many books that affect me in such a way that they change my life.

However, The Known World by Edward P. Jones is one of the books that changed my life.

I had been introduced to Jones’s works through the Writing Program at JHU. In one of my fiction writing classes, I read “The Girl Who Raised Pigeons,” a short story from his collection Lost in the City. I aspired to write about Baltimore the way Jones wrote about his native Washington, DC.

It was during the fall of 2009 when I was in a fiction workshop that I got another introduction to Jones. I had submitted my first set of manuscript pages for workshop, and was nervous about the feedback I would get from my classmates and my instructor. I was stunned when my instructor pointed out, almost immediately, that the opening chapters of my historical novel reminded her of the Pulitzer-prize winning novel The Known World. I was floored! At the time, I had heard of the book, but had not yet read it. I ordered the book with the intention of starting it while on Thanksgiving break.

From the first page, the opening paragraph, the first sentence, I was hooked. Jones’s gorgeous prose and compelling characters drew me into a world I never knew existed. Without giving too much of the plot away to those who have yet to read The Known World, this novel is about former slave Henry Townsend who becomes a slave owner in fictional Manchester County, Virginia, and the people on both sides of slavery. There were many sentences, chapters and moments in the book that swept me off my feet and took my breath away. To have my own unpolished writing compared to his was a tremendous compliment, and at the same time quite intimidating.

I started The Known World that Thanksgiving weekend, and finished it a few days before Christmas. The ending was so breathtakingly beautiful that I wept, my tears staining the last pages. Everything in the book made sense and was tied up, but not in a contrived way. It was pure and logical. Intrigued by the man and this book, I scoured the internet for anything I could find. In one interview before he won the Pulitzer, Jones said that he had the book floating in his head for several years. Once he left his job as the editor of a tax newsletter, he wrote the novel (it’s 388 pages in paperback) in three months. However, the ending he already written. He said, in fact, that most of his story endings, he knows and writes ahead of time.

I revisited The Known World several times trying to deconstruct elements of it to learn from the master. The story of The Known World isn’t told in linear fashion. There are several secondary storylines running concurrently with the main one. And there is an omniscient narrator hovering overhead informing the reader of every single detail down to the thoughts of each character. When I started working on my novel, I had an omniscient narrator, too. I was dismayed when my instructor and classmates shot it down. “It cheapens the experience,” my instructor said. “It’s a device used by lazy writers.” Well, Edward P. Jones isn’t lazy. I tried rewriting portions of my novel using a third-person narrator, but there were details that they couldn’t share because there were things they couldn’t know. Only my omniscient narrator – who was about to be laid off by my instructor – would know! I kept plugging away attempting to restructure my novel using the third-person narrator, which stifled me greatly.

Imagine my delight and surprise when my workshop instructor called me a year later to tell me she had invited Edward P. Jones to speak to her class. She asked me if I’d like to sit in. I told her I was already there.

Meeting Jones in person was a moment I will cherish for the rest of my life. It is not every day that a reader gets to me his or her favorite author and engage them in a conversation about craft. Armed with his books and a writing journal, I was prepared to ask questions and take notes.

There was so much that I learned from Edward P. Jones on that evening. It affirmed me as a writer to be in his presence and relate to his thoughts and perspective on writing. I strive to tell my story as well as the stories of our people and the culture. Edward P. Jones is a master at that. For Black History Month, I will be re-reading The Known World to commemorate our history, our heritage, our culture and our literature.

“Fiction,” Jones said, “[is] adding wonderful sauce to all of the lies so the reader will be able to swallow.”

That sounds delicious.

Ain’t Much Real With These Housewives

RHOA, we have a problem.

This is a post I’ve been wanting not to write, but I could resist the urge no longer. It goes against the very purpose of my blog, which is to be a place of inspiration for writers and breakfast food lovers. There isn’t anything writerly about reality TV. Besides, there are enough blogs out there that focus on reality TV. In any event, I’m suspending my writerly posts for this very special announcement.

I watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta on Bravo faithfully. It’s one of my guilty pleasures. Until recently, I was free-flowing with my RHOA commentary on Twitter. In fact, some of my wittiest tweets were borne out of some of the more ludicrous scenes on RHOA, Celebrity Apprentice and Top Chef (pea purée, anyone?).

I’ve long subscribed to the theory that reality TV is not totally 100% real. If anything, I think it’s 10% reality and 90% ratcheted-up drama. Let’s admit it. Most moments in our everyday lives are not TV-worthy. We wake up, send children off to school, drink coffee, sit through boring meetings at work. We eat. We tweet. We watch TV, talk on the phone, watch the caller ID. We go to the bank, the cleaners, the grocery store. We drive. We walk. Laugh. Cry. Yawn. Sleep. And then we get up the next day and do it all over again. Of course, there are moments that are sprinkled in those monotony of the day that are so incredible, drama-filled, or humorous that they would make for great TV. So to think that every week for eight or twelve or however many weeks that a Housewives season lasts, that there are so many of these incredible TV-worthy moments to fill an entire season. I’m sure there is a team of producers behind-the-scenes who look at these women’s lives and ratchet up the drama enough to make us want to tune in. I mean, who really would want to see one Housewife at a social event when you could actually watch all the Housewives at the same event bickering, shouting, cursing and shoving? Stuff like that is a ratings goldmine.

Watching this week’s special RHOA episode “Law By Sheree”, I was so irritated that I was talking back to the TV. For those of you not caught up on the latest RHOA drama, housewife (rather divorcee Sheree Whitfield) recently decided to take her ex-husband – former pro-footballer Bob Whitfield – to court for failing to pay child support. Leading up to the court date, we’ve seen Sheree driving fancy cars, carrying expensive designer bags, and sporting impeccable fashions. Her children, meanwhile, are sleeping on air mattresses on the floor of their Atlanta apartment. (The apartment arrangement are temporary, I presume, as Sheree has been seen on-camera talking to her contractor about plans for her Chateau Sheree…more on that later.) I can’t help but find it interesting that Sheree, who says in the RHOA open that “I like things that are elegant and sophisticated” just like me”, would be in such a predicament.

Intrigued about the Bravo producers’ fixation on this court case drama, I did a little digging for the real deal. Perusing the ATL blogs, I found a different account. It wasn’t Sheree that took Bob to court; he took her to court! (And for the record, Sheree’s attorney of record at the time of the hearing was not the one & only Phaedra Parks.)

What the ham sammich is wrong with people?

If you watch the show closely, you cannot believe everything that you see. Most of this foolishness is staged. Orchestrated. Choreographed. If you watched Tuesday’s ep of RHOA and believed that Sheree was the innocent lamb going up against Bob, the big, bad, evil ex-husband, then you need to change the brand of crack that you’re smoking. The Atlanta blogs (written by bloggers with a different insight into the RHOA ladies’ personal lives) paint a much different picture than the one that unfolded on the screen last night. Chances are, Bob really isn’t the deadbeat that Sheree has made him out to be. But Bob as a good father wouldn’t make for good TV. There has to be drama, conflict, tension, tears. What better way to show that than through court proceedings?

Yeah, so I know what you’re saying, if you have such a problem with RHOA, then why do you watch? You have your guilty pleasures, so let me have mine, okay?

Ennnnnnnd scene…

Post Haste

“I post, therefore, I am.”

I recently had surgery and now am traveling on an eight-week road to recovery. What was supposed to be a two-hour surgery and a two-day hospital stay, ended up being a four-hour procedure and five-day ordeal. The first two days after surgery, I was very woozy. Nurses struggled to keep me upright when I wasn’t in the hospital bed. I don’t remember much else about those first two days. But once the fog of anesthesia and painkillers wore off, I was ready to trade in my scratchy hospital gown for fluffy pajamas, and the uncomfortable hospital bed for my own.

Unfortunately, the doctors and I didn’t see eye to eye. They said my post-surgery vitals weren’t up to par and that they needed to see significant improvement before they would discharge me. That was frustrating. I had been doing all that they had instructed me, including taking short walks around the hospital floor, and doing breathing exercises on several times a day. Still, the doctors saw little improvement over the next couple of days.

What was I to do?

I started tweeting about it.

Social media provides me with an outlet and, at times, a lifeline. I have found that social media apps such as Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram and Facebook are great tools for connecting with friends and people who have similar interests.

Many of my friends on Twitter and Instagram were happy to see my posts from the hospital, and the interaction with them – the outside world – was refreshing. Who wants to be cooped up in a hospital room for five days with a bunch of prodding nurses and a TV with just twelve channels?

Hey, the Washington Post liked my pic on Instagram!

During my stay, I had a few visitors and phone calls from friends and family. Those moments provided some bright spots along my road to recovery. Yet I missed interacting with my friends on Twitter, reading through the timelines, engaging in discussions. My loving husband took pity on me, and after two days brought my phone to the hospital because he knew I missed tweeting, chatting and interacting.

Apparently, not all my “tweeple” and friends on Facebook were happy to see me back online. Someone relayed a couple of snarky comments from a couple of friend-slash-associates, “Oh, Kim must be doing well. I see she’s online.” I was advised that my posting online possibly was giving people the wrong impression: that my surgery wasn’t as serious as I had told them, or that I wasn’t taking my recovery as seriously as I should. That irritated me.

Social media has permeated every facet of society. It has opened up a world where people can interact with media outlets, organizations, banks, politicians, public figures and religious leaders and vice versa. Social media drives how we get information, form opinions, how we perceive and are perceived. Where it was once largely unaccepted to use social media apps in public venues, it is encouraged on many levels. Performance artists love it when their audience and fans post about their shows. Stores appreciate positive posts about their merchandise and customer service. At the church I attend, the pastor, who is very social media savvy, encourages the congregation to tweet inspirational moments during church services.

However, there are those who haven’t embraced social media, and there are others who only dabble in it, maintaining a limited presence. I find that people who aren’t fully immersed in social media, or at least accepting of it tend dismiss the rest of us as dysfunctional over-sharers. It appeared that some people viewed my post-surgery tweets as over-sharing. Mind you, I didn’t post photos of incisions or IV tubes, nor did I go into detail about my procedure or BP readings or vital stats.

How did I resolve to address the matter? Via social media, of course!

Funny how these same people have yet to call, email or even tweet me to see how I’m doing, encourage me, or to ask what they can do to help during my recovery. I now know where to file them.