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

I love reading. I get excited when I discover a new author or find an outstanding story. I’m eager to leave reviews and share with others my new finds. When a book or story is lackluster, leaving me less than thrilled, I usually remain silent. I know the effort that an author has put into a story. I know how hurtful a bad review can be. It is not for me to dash anyone else’s dream because what I might not have liked, someone else may have loved. Recently I read books that left me disappointed, and angry. One was an award-winning title, the author gleefully claiming a coveted statue for her efforts. Clearly what I hated, others found award-worthy. And that actually scares me. The story was as well-written as any other in the genre. Its formulaic plot hit all the buttons that her publisher required. But as a woman of color, I found it as insulting and as distasteful as any story I have ever read. The story featured a Native American heroine. She had self-esteem issues, co

Like many families this week, we were having a discussion about the two African-American men, Alton Sterling and Philando Castile who were gunned down by police officers, the despicable acts captured on video and streaming over social media. And then the subsequent act of vigilantism where a young black man allegedly ambushed and shot ten police officers in Dallas, Texas in retaliation. Remembering back when I was a little girl and my father owned a business in the community where he often encountered black boys and young black men, many who had no father, I recalled how he would advise them on how to behave whenever encountering the police. I remember him telling them to always ensure their hands could be seen. To keep their fingers wrapped around the steering wheel if they were in a car. To hold them, palms open, high above their heads if they were on the street. I remember his admonishments to always be respectful, “Yes, sir! No, sir.” To comply with whatever was asked