fess up friday

the independence day edition…

one of the happenings in the first chapter of my book takes place on independence day. today i will be spending my independence day with my co-pilot. i guess i’m having an independence day of many sorts. the first chapter was finished this week. sent out to readers. got positive feedback. independence from thinking i’m too slow. that my process is wrong. i’m moving forward. this weekend will be full of essence festival goodness, so i probably won’t get any work done on the page, but i will in my head. the book is always working me. i guess i think this little break will be good for me. to prime the pump. i’ll tell kanye you said hello.

saturday 6/28
4.5 hours

sunday 6/29
2 hours: when i realized that i was a day finishing i felt a little ill. no, really ill.

monday 6/30
4 hours: chapter one. done.

tuesday 7/1
0 hours!!! a day off. massage. lunch with honeychild. chillin.

wednesday 6/2
2.5 hours: re-visioning chapter 2. looking @ the book as a whole to see where to go from here.

thursday 6/3
2 hours: new moon

friday 6/4
0 hours. unless you count my time with kanYe….

this week: 15 hours
hours on chapter 1: 150
total to date: 154.5

fess up friday

the it’s not you, it’s me edition…

dear friends,

i know that i have been distracted lately. i have turned down your numerous and generous offers of (dining out, free concerts at tipitinas, shopping, poetry and other goodness). maybe i haven’t returned your call. or returned a call that you didn’t make to me. maybe i started a conversation with you and started mumbling incoherently about the king assassination. it’s not you, it’s me. was i staring out of the coffehouse window when you last saw me? did i act like i didn’t quite know who you were? maybe i only pulled one earphone out and said “i’m doing pretty good as far as geniuses go…” when you asked “how’s it going?”.

i’m not myself. or maybe i am. at the end of a day of noveling i feel almost like a sleepwalker. with dementia patients they call it the sundown effect, where the confusion and disorientation increases as the sun goes down. i’m tired and high-strung and really want to bump around my house, fix dinner have a glass of wine and wind down. don’t hold it against me. if i tried to communicate with you in any way (despite its incoherence) it probably means i think you’re pretty cool. or at least confused you for somebody i thought was cool…

anyway, here’s the business from this week:

saturday 6/7:
o hours

sunday 6/8:
2 hours, but i wrote super-productive! in my notebook

monday 6/9:
3 hours

tuesday 6/10:
3.5 hours

wednesday 6/11:
3 hours

thursday 6/12:
3 hours

friday 6/13:
2.5 hours

this week: 16.5 (that’s kinda sucky, but steady)
total to date: 89.5
average: not exactly sure since i went back to revise an earlier section

kanye is my co-pilot….

image via robcubbon

i dont need writeers…i might bounce ideas, but only I can come up with some shit like this
i done played the underdog my whole career, ive been a very good sport haven’t i this year?
they say he goin crazy and we’ve seen this before, but im doing pretty good as far as geniuses go,
and im doin pretty hood in my pink polo–from barry bonds

happy birthday mr. west!

most mornings i start my writing with something from kanye west’s graduation…a former him put it on my itunes and boy do i owe him for that one…i love this album so much that i’m thinking of re-purchasing it just for the love…

that love was hard to come by. i first saw kanye on a panel at the gwendolyn brooks conference in 2002. kanye, common & talib kweli shared the stage with their mothers who all had PhDs. it was delightful to see such beautiful, brilliant black men with their moms. then kanye’s phone rang. and he answered it. on the stage. and had a conversation (albeit brief). i was appalled and took every opportunity to tell the story of his arrogance.

his music was undeniable though, and like it or not i had to nod my head to it. then storms of 2005 came. i was sitting in my apartment in baton rouge with that same former him as he watched his home battered, then spared, then destroyed when the levees broke. in that moment, as we watched kanye (and the horrified mike myers) say “george bush does not care about black people” he was speaking from the heart, reckless and passionate. a voice for all those things for which we had no words. i could see the angel and the devil struggle on his shoulder. his voice would not be denied. i fell in love.

kanye is a fellow gemini, so i understand the passion that can be mistaken (or taken) as bragging. i understand the complexities of being both sensitive and bold. men, especially black men are taught to push their feelings down, so a man who has full access to his emotions is damn sexy to me–even when it comes out raggedy.

so happy birthday, mr. west. thanks for reminding me every day about the genius that resides within.