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

Fifteen years ago, I took a creative writing course where we had to write a series of short tales that could stand alone but then be incorporated as chapters of a longer body of work. These have been gathering dust since forever and I thought I'd finally share them. Enjoy! Musethal Copage The playground sat at the very edge of the cemetary, the sliding board facing the headstone of Paul Patrick, 1889-1959, Beloved Husband and Father. Musethal Copage imagined that if you scooted too far off the end of that old metal sliding board you might well land bottoms down right where she imagined Paul Patrick’s feet rested in peace. She smile faintly at the thought. Pulling herself from the window, she straightened the lace curtains, then glanced quickly over her shoulder at the large grandfather clock in the corner. It was five minutes to one and it was almost time for her stories. At one o’clock she would turn the CLOSED sign outwards and would lock the front door to her antique shop before...

My dog died yesterday. His name was Charlie Brown Eye. He was a “somma” dog – a mixed breed of “somma” this and “somma” that. And he had one bright, baby blue eye that made him look kind of loopy when you looked at him straight on. Charlie had suffered from epileptic seizures for over a year now. Saturday he suffered his last one and was unable to recover from it so we had to put him down to ease his suffering. I’ve been crying for days knowing that Charlie and I had come to the end of our journey together. There are folks who don’t understand my attachment to my pets. For them an animal is just that, an animal. For me, I have yet to meet an animal that I didn’t like. I have met quite a few humans that I can’t stand. I loved Charlie. He was our second dog. We lost our first, a rottweiler named Jaxx, last year on July 19th, 2005. The vet believed Jaxx had been bitten by a snake. He was vibrant and full of life one day, and just a semblance of his self the next. A day lat...

I so believe in the power of prayer. And I believe that prayer can work miracles. I am sending up a whole lot of prayer this week. This week could make or break me. I am praying for my agent and the editors and publishers she will be meeting with. I am praying that my proposals and my manuscripts are on point. I am praying that others will see the same beauty in my words that I see. I am praying that someone will think me worth the risk. And I am praying that my Higher Power is answering his calls this week, that there is nothing wrong with my prayer-filled transmissions. I am praying and I could sure use a few extra prayers on my behalf.

I am reminded of a moment in time when things weren’t going well for me. Not only was I unhappy with life, but life was really unhappy with me. Had I been able to I would have just walked away from it all and never looked back. Unfortunately, there were children who were dependent on me, family with expectations, employers making demands, bill collectors trailing my every move, and there didn’t seem to be an end to it all. Because I couldn’t walk away, I kept smiling, holding all my frustration and unhappiness inside. It was mine and mine alone to contend with and I was determined not to allow it to invade anyone else’s life. I firmly believed that my problems were my problems to deal with by my lonesome. During that time I made some really great choices and probably just as many really bad choices. When desperate times feel like they call for desperate measures it is sometimes difficult to see one’s way straight and I readily admit that I couldn’t begin to see my way clear at all. I h...

Okay. So Oprah had Janet Jackson on to promote her new album 20YO. Girlfriend lost some 60 pounds in four months to get ready. She said she’d blown right up, packing the weight on in the first place to prepare for a movie role that fell through. They introduced her trainer and her nutritionist to confirm that she lost the weight the healthy way, eating right and exercising her butt off. Now I have a nutritionist and trainer too, thanks to my Duke study, and both said yes, it’s very possible but that I shouldn’t expect to go from fat to fabulous the way Janet did, and definitely not in four months. Uh, I’m sorry, but why not? I can wear fabulous. Hell, I’ve been wearing fat just fine so me and fabulous should be a piece of cake, or celery. Someone else said that’s what money can do for a body. I’d agree but I ain’t got no money. And, even if you can afford that trainer and nutritionist, someone telling you to lift that leg one more time isn’t going to get it up off the floor an...

To say that I'm having some issues with my book covers is putting it mildly. I'm having some serious issues with my book covers. Here's the newest for my book, In The Light Of Love , which drops February 2007. Now for starters, my heroine is only 25-years old. Maybe it's me, but this model doesn't embody the image of the 25-year old I had in mind. I mean, she's a beautiful woman but she don't look no 25 in this picture! And the hero I wrote about is bi-racial with blue eyes and shoulder-length hair. Do you see my problem? This isn't the first time I've had an issue with my covers. With the cover for Love In The Lineup , BET had commissioned some incredible artwork. The images were dead on. They couldn't have been more perfect if I'd done them myself. However with the transition to Harlequin, the new powers in charge changed the cover to a photographic image. Neither one of the models came close to looking like my characters. It a...

I have this fascination with foreign films and for the past few days since I’ve been battling a nasty bronchial infection I’ve been lying around “reading” the television set. It’s very much my alone time because I can’t get anyone in my family to watch them with me. My son has proclaimed that if he wanted to “read” he would buy a book; that movies are supposed to be “watched” and that’s why they’re “movies”. Kid doesn’t have a clue what he’s missing. I know that my fascination comes from my love for other cultures. They are like really good books and I can be taken away to an exotic local with a push of the remote for the DVD player. I watched three today. The first was a movie titled Three Times , a Chinese film directed by Hsiao-hsien Hou. Don’t ask me how to pronounce that because I don’t have a clue. I do know that it was a beautiful story. It was a romance, and exceptionally sensual. It was actually three stories set in three times, 1911, 1966 and 2005. Two actors played the two m...

I am pulling my hair out right about now. I have a new proposal that needs to be completed and at this very moment I hate the story. I’m forcing it and it feels contrived and I just don’t want to write this particular book or this particular series. And now that I’ve said it out loud, I’m not going to do it. I can’t. It’s not in me. My agent is expecting revised synopses from me for three manuscripts I’ve written. Writing them feels like I’ve been sentenced to some ungodly punishment for some heinous crime that I didn’t even know I committed. This shouldn’t be so difficult but damn, it feels like the hardest thing in the world for me to do. I don’t want to write these either. But I have to. I really want to see these stories published and since this is what it takes, it has to get done. And my child, bless his mile-high Afro, left a folder of seven college applications on my desk for me to review and comment on. It would seem that he is truly interested in going to college a...

Mr. Ben is well in his early nineties. He is a gregarious old man with quite a scandalous history if you believe even a third of the stories he is known to tell about himself. Mr. Ben was serious eye-candy back in the day because he’s quite dashing now with his snow-white crown of curls, the prettiest chocolate complexion anyone could wish for, and gray eyes that always twinkle. He has this infectious laugh and smile and I imagine that it didn’t take much for the ladies to fall for his very Southern charms. Mr. Ben stops by every so often to chat and this week he came to tell me about his new lady friend. She’s younger, somewhere in her seventies. Last weekend this lady friend invited Mr. Ben to her place for Sunday supper. After an old-fashioned meal, she invited Mr. Ben into the bedroom for dessert -- a little taste of her sugar and sweets. Unfortunately, Mr. Ben had to decline. It would seem that his “johnson” was suddenly diabetic and not UP for the task. He let his friend down gra...

Every writer has experienced his or her share of rejection. I personally believe that over the years I have collected enough rejection letters to wallpaper a large bathroom. Publication is no guarantee that you won’t still suffer from the dreaded “ thanks, but no thanks ” syndrome that writers are frequently afflicted with, and I don’t care how thick one’s skin is, even the most polite “ we don’t want you ” still hurts like hell. I’m published and although I would like to stay published, such isn’t always that easy to maneuver. I got a rejection yesterday and I’ll be damned if it didn’t feel like someone had sucked the life from me as I was being slammed head first into the ground. Although I had liked my proposal, and I think my agent liked my proposal, the publisher didn’t. After I finish rubbing ointment on my bruised ego it’s back to the drawing board. Rejection sucks but it also means I need to refocus and turn this hurt into something more positive. I’ll enjoy this funk for a lit...

Other folks’ drama has just gotten right in my way this past week. I love me some family but that same family has taxed my last nerve. When this happens my mind becomes mush and I can’t write. And this truly pisses me right off. I understand that all families have some degree of drama, at least one member who is drama central, the wealth of all their crap muddying up other folks’ lives. But I swear I have more than my fair share of drama queens blooming on my family tree and I’m about ready to be through with them all because I desperately need to write. The mechanics of how I write don’t necessarily make a whole lot of sense. I have never been able to write an outline for a book or a nice, neat synopsis that details the happenings before I actually write the story. Nor do I have a regular routine of writing a set number of hours everyday. I sometimes envy authors who can. Stories come to me a page here or a paragraph there. They eventually get melded into some cohesive form that just ...

This is the hubby and me on our wedding day. Aren’t we just the cutest! Back then I was just a baby about to be thrust into the real world and I didn’t have a clue what was about to hit me. It was a learning experience that didn’t come with a handbook and all my training was literally on the job. Marriage has been a roller coaster of extreme highs and even lower lows but for all it’s worth we have endured. I will not lie. It has not been an easy feat to accomplish and he and I both will readily admit to moments of wanting to toss up our hands in sheer frustration and call it quits. I don’t know that I could ever explain why we didn’t ‘cause love surely didn’t have a thing to do with it and we have much love for each other. I am a true believer in marriage. I never entered into the relationship thinking that I would end it if the going got tough. In an age where divorce rates have skyrocketed I cannot understand the idea of a disposable relationship. My parents have been married almost ...

I’m on this mission to reclaim my body. Somewhere between having my baby (who’s almost 18!) and now, I lost my Brick House , 36-24-36, figure. I can’t tell you where I lost it to or how, just that it’s been long gone and I have a whole attic of clothing that misses it terribly. I mean, really, this baby fat thing has just gotten way out of control. All my mighty mighty has grown creases and crevices that I didn’t know it was humanly possible to have. I’m sure if I were to check I’d find that certain body parts aren't supposed to be stacked where mine seem to be piling up. I’m recalling this Roseanne episode some years ago where Roseanne has a breast reduction. The closing scene shows her and the hubby about to explore her nether regions for the first time since her operation and she has to guide his hands farther up the launch pad ‘cause the twins were actually sitting much higher on their pedestal than they’d been sitting pre-surgery. The fact that my own girls are dragging so ...

If we have any fear at all, let it be this one. Then let us quickly get over it and shine. "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." The above quote is often credited to Nelson Mandela from his Inauguration Speech in 1994, but I'm told it was actua...

I am creating a new character. Most of my characters embody traits of people I know or want to know. I have a friend who is proving to be the catalyst for my next hero. My friend and I could easily spend hours talking. He is an engaging personality: intelligent, compassionate, spirited, spiritual, funny, and just absolutely adorable. He has presence and I just adore men who have great presence. In another time and another place I would seriously consider maneuvering the schoolgirl crush I have on this man toward something more. Of course, this doesn’t sit well with my significant other, but hey, it keeps the man on his toes! Now, I readily admit to having a crush, or two, or three, and will tell anyone, that if I were looking for a second husband (and I’m not!), my friend would surely be somewhere at the top of the list. Right up there with Tyler Perry, Laurence Fishburne, Dijimon Housou, LL Cool J, Keith Hamilton Cobb, and my FedEx man. Bear in mind now that my list changes as often a...

My father named me. My mother wanted to name me Penny. Daddy wasn’t having it so my birth certificate declares my name to be Deborah Denice Fletcher. As a little girl no one was allowed to call me Debby. My father went absolutely ballistic if they did. I still cringe every time I remember him announcing quite loudly and in a tone that left people quaking in their shoes that “ her name is Deborah, NOT Debby. Deb-or-ah !”. It was particularly embarrassing in grade school at those parent-teacher conferences when he would quickly correct a teacher or another parent, or even worse, one of my peers. Back then I absolutely detested it. I wanted to be called Debby. Debby was cute, and fun, and popular, and when you’re the only little black girl in a sea of white children, you desperately want to be popular. Deborah was stuffy, stuck-up, not liked, and different. She didn’t mesh with the Cindy’s and Kathy's or the Laurie’s and Vivian's. Debby was included in the cliques and clubs. Debor...

I love art! Artwork decorates most walls in my home. I have been blessed to be able to amass a very nice collection of original pieces over the years. A few are particularly endearing. I cannot imagine living in any home where they would not hang. Angel, Angel by visual artist, Olivia Gatewood, is one such piece. It is a painting that literally saved my soul. Many years ago I was ending a relationship. I was severing ties with a business partner and friend who’d occupied a significant part of my daily life and subsequently my heart. We’d come on bad terms through no fault of our own. Life just dealt us a bad hand and we realized that letting go was not only in our own best interest, but in the best interest of our two families as well. Those first few days, with no job to turn to and absolutely nothing to occupy my time, I went searching for some place to assuage the incredible hurt and pain that was crippling my spirit. Olivia had just opened her first gallery and one day I found mys...

I wonder at what point in a woman’s life does she begin to feel that she has full knowledge of herself. Where she is self-assured and confident, knowing her likes and dislikes and she cannot be easily dissuaded from her convictions. I know that such comes with age and maturity, wisdom and life experiences, but I wonder if there is actually a magical moment when it just comes to her, so full and momentous that she has no doubts that she knows herself. When there is a full blessing of contentment. When it just is what it is. I still muddle through much self-doubt. It comes in waves and has on occasion been so debilitating that it has left me wondering whether or not I would ever survive it. I question my purpose in life. Why am I here? What am I meant to be doing? Am I truly fulfilling my destiny? Then I question whether or not I’m being selfish. If my many accomplishments should be enough and if so, why am I so discontented? I follow in the footsteps of my mother, and her mo...

My very best friend became engaged yesterday. Her husband-to-be is an incredibly romantic man who stole her away to Sea Island, Georgia and the infamous Cloister Hotel where he dropped down onto one knee and proposed. This is a man who insured that everything was perfect for the moment, even commanding just the right amount of breeze to cool the summer heat. Okay, so maybe he didn’t actually command the weather, but he did insure he had an incredibly beautiful day for them to remember. The experience which included champagne, a magnificent diamond ring, and the most poetic words of adoration one can imagine, was capped by an overnight stay in a very exclusive, very expensive ($2,000/night), four-room suite at the Cloisters. And, if anyone ever deserved such a beautiful, momentous moment, my best friend did. I get to be a matron-of-honor! I am so happy for the two of them that I can hardly contain myself. Their journey to this moment is what inspires romance novels. It is a love story f...

I’ve got this love/hate thing going on with my hair. Right now I’m not liking it very much. Four years ago I cut it all off. Over-processed, shoulder-length locks were shaved down to the scalp. I was paper-thin at the time as well so I could actually wear the look well. Then along came some excess weight and with my already full face I had this chipmunk look going on. It was not a pretty sight so I let it grow back in. Then came my natural phase. I actually loved my natural texture and after some product testing found just the right combination of conditioners and moisturizers to capture some incredible curls. Then it got longer, and longer, and someone (my mother) commented that I looked like I had a small, matted animal on top of my head. Until that point I hadn’t seen it. Afterward of course, I nicknamed my new pet Wiglet and prayed that it didn’t actually start to grow a tail. By this point my natural was completely out of control and I was ready for a change. Which wa...