20oct16 update

Been awhile but it couldn't be helped. School demands and I must obey. Mid terms have passed and I'm on the final stretch. Barring some mishap I will finish the semester no worse for the wear.

For the last two months I've gone back and forth on my career goals. I started this to improve my writing by studying in depth great writers of the past. I wanted to know what literature professors see when they read, wanted to understand. 

I achieved much of that goal. I know the difference between fiction and literature, I have an inkling of the effort put into such pieces. I expected to find it mostly bullshit, some system set up to make those lucky enough to achieve higher learning feel good about themselves. I was wrong.

 (My ego is such a curse!)

I've learned much and can't wait to learn more.

I discovered the importance of passionate teachers too. This semester exposed me to people who LOVE what they do. The room shines with the passion they have for the subjects they teach. If thier words have such an effect on me, what if I can do the same? I'd only given lip service to the idea when considering school, as a possible way to pay back loans but now? It's definitely on the table.

But lateIy I've remembered what I went for, to become a better writer, to create my own stuff, not critique someone else's. I had wandered off the path. Two months with no personal writing done. Jason warned me it could happen. 

I wrote a few lines yesterday in a space story I put on hold for school. It felt like coming home, like "Hey guys! Let me show you all the things I've learned since I been away!"

A paragraph deleted in other versions as too whatever, begged to be fleshed out in new ways. There was so much yet to be said, there, in the cracks. The old me would have skipped blithely over it as something the reader would never read.

There is still much work to do school wise. Next semester will be a year. Only one more to get the masters. The demands for writing and reading remain overwhelming. Still, I will find a window to do MY things. 

I REMEMBER MY REAL NAME.

05sep16 the dark night

Just about a month into the new semester.

This has been my most enlightening experience in higher education so far.

Contemporary African literature along with American lit it is eye opening.

The early part of American lit is focusing on black writers of the early twentieth century. Charles w. Chestnutt, who I'd never heard of, did a series of short stories on interracial relationships during the post civil war era along with addressing the issue of a place for blacks in a post war society. 

Some deal with black women light enough to pass for white and the difficulties encountered when "passing." 

This is when people of color are light enough to pass for white and do.Who chooses to pass? Why? Do they come back? Can they really? He sheds light on the scenario, the holed out feeling that follows giving up everything to pass, the constant terror of being found out and killed, or sent back.

There was a whole generation of black people of mixed heritage after the civil war ashamed to be black I was unaware of. Proud of their bright skin, and well educated, they longed to be, but were never accepted as white, despite their high levels of intelligence and effort to emulate European culture.

A people lost along with their dark skinned brothers.

African lit shows some of the same. It shines a light on the damage done by the British empire with its arrival on the continent. Entire cultures and oral histories were eliminated, wiped out to be replaced by a European model that later sets the stage for exploitation. They replaced native gods with their own, convinced them the western way was the only way, the one true God's will.

I don't wonder about angry Africans anymore. They are angry at having to piece together what's left of their history while trying to survive in a western dominated world whose influence has corrupted its leaders.

A people lost.

Their sense of place in the world, like the African American, gone, replaced by a construct.

Thethings I've written in the past pale when compared with these subjects. African writers goal is to inform, not just entertain, to be a voice for the people, all people.They've caused me to rethink my goals with my own writing. It must carry more weight.

18 Aug 16 12:29 updates

Well, made it through the summer. Got a B for the writing course, thought it should've been higher.

Still I learned a lot.

First day of class for the fall. Technically it started last night at 6:00 with my research paper class. The plan is th so us step by step how to create a graduate level paper that can be presented for peer review and possible publication. I so need this! My papers have the info but not the format and style needed to please the professors. She wants a 17 page paper for the end of the semester, same with the American lit class I just finished. That in addition to stacks of books and cross reference material. I have this real love/hate thing with school (smile).

Still writing pretty much everyday. Placed my second story for last sememster on wattpad. Now I'm back to working on "Found While Dreaming." About twenty pages into it because of the frequent rewrites. The main character started off so passive. I want a strong black man who shapes his world instead of adapting to the world around him. It's a different type of character for me. 

Talked with my brother the other day who says he's been reading my work online. I nearly fell over! Nobody reads it. He wants more of my Priest story so I plan to chip at it this sememster while on my two hour break between classes. I'm okay mentally is a little darker than usual. Actually it's becoming the norm as I get older. No biggie.

18jun16 changes

Submitted my first story for the writing class. The original plan was to write three stories encompassing my childhood ending up till joining the navy.

Turns out the class is so full only two stories can be submitted this semester. There's also the fact I did a trilogy before. It was kind of limiting and suffered from structure issues when not properly planned out.

So...the first one's on wattpad titled "summer sixty seven" along with the three I did the previous semester under "megans tale"

The next story is about an older man trying to find love but struggling with his preconceptions a out a woman. Shaking my head here. I would prefer it take place on a space station but...

Not literary fiction. Smile.

30May16 Perspective

I've lived in New Orleans almost twenty years now. That's twenty sweltering Summers with me bitching about the heat.

Every year I wonder how people three hundred years ago managed to not only survive but thrive in this place. 

No air conditioning, no indoor plumbing; hell, I'm ready to kill most summers and I have both of those!

Except for today. Circumstances force me to see things from their perspective.

The kitchen sink has been clogged for a few days dispite my best efforts and I'd resolved to get the plumber round tomorrow. The last week or so I've been doing dishes and dumping buckets of water out the back door.

last night the air conditioner started throwin off sparks. It's down for the count, its eighty degrees inside right now.

I guess I'm bitchin, but not really as its not as miserable as it sounds. It even feels survivable. Everybody is still coming over to eat and watch movies and instead of cranky mymood is reflective.

I guess it all comes down to attitude sometimes. You can't change shit do why sweat it? 

I know, puny.

22May16 update

Roughly one more week before class starts. Like I mentioned in the last post It's another fiction writing course, this time online. I'm tryin to get ahead of the game this time by starting my three stories early.

The program frowns on fiction writing of a non literary type so fantasies and science fiction get no traction.

My plan was to continue my Maple Leaf series, an extension of the three I did last semester but sort of a prequel. Wanted to base the stories in the early days of the complex, nineteen fifty five or so.

That led to childhood memories of growing up in rural Ohio. I felt it a more appropriate subject matter for the stories.

Now trying to remember those times is stirring up so many memories. Momma, daddy, my friends; I can't even remember their names anymore. Wild how closing the book on some things mentally an be so effective. Also how emotionally charged those memories still are.

The first story is loosely based on my first experiences with violent death, around age ten or so. I'll post it when finished.

06may16 summer, vacation?

Not this year. Southern fiction writers here I come. Class has been physically over since last Thursday but I mailed in the last final today. Now I get two weeks or so before the summer session.

I bitched all semester long about school but the prospect of having no mission disturbed me. I'm glad I'm going this summer.