I Ain't Said Nothin' But A Word...

“Welcome, baby!” Phillis Wheatley exclaims as Dorothy West wraps her in a warm embrace. “There is a seat for you here,” Lorraine Hansberry calls out from the table where they have all gathered, each holding court when it is her turn. As Zora guides her to a cushioned throne between Audre and Octavia, she smiles her brilliant smile. “Young, gifted, and black,” Lorraine chimes as she leans to pat the back of her hand gently. “Joining us much too soon,” Ann Petry intones. “Not for us to say,” Alice Dunbar-Nelson muses, sipping from a heavenly cup of tea. “But it’s being said none the less,” says Audre. “Where am I?” she asks, in awe of the mothers and daughters who had come before her. They all smile. Zora chuckles softly. “In a room full of free women,” she answers. “Where the beauty of your words will continue to light the stars of heaven,” Octavia adds. “Heaven,” they all chime in unison. “Won’t you share something you’ve written?” Ann asks. “I do believe it’s your turn.” “And introduc

Years ago a close family member was shot at point blank range by her ex-husband. The divorce, which had happened two years earlier, had been amicable. Or so we all thought until that fateful afternoon while preparing her two young sons for their weekly court-ordered visit with daddy that she opened her front door to him holding a small caliber weapon and unloading six shots into her chest. By the good grace of God, she survived, stronger, wiser, and more cautious for the experience. But, so did he. If I remember correctly, the charge of aggravated assault (because he said he really wasn’t trying to kill her) only netted him two years in the state penitentiary. A few months of good behavior saw him released early. Imagine our surprise a year or so later when he showed up for my maternal grandmother’s funeral extending his teary-eyed condolences and a pound cake from the local Piggly Wiggly supermarket. I know I didn’t eat any cake! I can’t tell you why this man snapped but snappe

It’s the early morning hours of Thanksgiving Day and I am thankful to be up and standing, in reasonably good health, and definitely high spirits. I am at this moment doing the second thing in this world that I love most doing. I am lost in the warmth of my kitchen, the delectable aroma of candied yams, cheesecake, macaroni and cheese, and other assorted foods wafting through the air. My son thinks I’m crazy to be cooking a full meal when we will be celebrating the holiday elsewhere. He reminds me that we will be able to pile plates full, wrap them in tin foil, and cart it all home if we want. He does not understand that this has very little to do with the food. I find great comfort in my kitchen when I am whipping egg whites into stiff peaks and folding them gently into a creamed batter. It is especially calming to drizzle melted chocolate atop an iced and layered seven-tier cake. My mind and spirit soar as I knead bread and mix batter or prep the meats and vegetables for a fami

In the name of research I spent a few hours in an ADULTS ONLY store. This establishment has only recently opened and is owned by an outrageous, gregariously funny mother of four. When I first walked in I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights because I was just amazed at all the stuff that lined the walls and shelves. I thought I was playing it off as I maneuvered my way over to the lingerie section to get myself acclimated but I obviously wasn’t doing that good a job. The owner greeted me warmly, then politely said, “The plus sizes are on those three racks over there.” I guess I didn’t look amused because she laughed and then said, “Honey, you’ll never get your girls in any of those things there. I promise you that rack will be way too small for all your stuff.” Now had I been in a different mood I might have walked out but the moment was suddenly too funny and all I could do was laugh with her ‘cause I knew she was right. The 34B lace demi-cupped bra and thong set in my ha

Writing doesn’t pay my bills. Most folks think just because you actually have a book, or two, or seven, published by a major publisher, then you just have to be rolling in dough. Unfortunately, that’s not necessarily so, most especially if the only thing you’re published in is romance and your career is kind of middle-of-the-road. I'm not a newbie, but I haven’t attained superstar status yet. Attaining national, best-selling author status has many a perk, but financial reward has yet to be one of them. Truth be told, my writing doesn’t even come close to supporting me. If I had to depend on my writing to eat, I’d be hungry more times than I’d probably care to count. Depending on how you look at it that might not be a bad thing since I wouldn’t have to go out of my way to diet. Thanks to the husband I eat fairly well. I told him he’d eventually come in handy for something and since I embarked on writing and getting published he’s come in very handy ‘cause the bills still have to be

One year ago today we lost our son, Allan Jr. He died from cancer complications. His young life ended abruptly after an unexpected diagnosis of a rare T-cell lymphoma that had spread too quickly through his body. A few short months of chemotherapy treatment served to aggravate his condition rather than help it. My son knew he was dying. Even while he and his wife were researching treatments and we were all proclaiming that he would beat the cancer and survive, he knew. He knew it before the rest of us could even begin to think about wrapping our minds around the possibility. I didn’t see it back then but I truly believe it today. And I believe that he tried to prepare me so that I could prepare everyone else. He’d kept a journal right after his diagnosis. A private space for him to share his thoughts and reflect on all he was going through. The last day he was admitted to the hospital he gave me that journal and told me to hold onto it. He said that I would know what to do wi