Octavia Butler, the author of such novels as The Xenogenesis series, The Parable series and many others, died on February 24th.
This is very sad news, indeed. Octavia Butler was a brilliant writer, with a very dark view of the future which showed throughout her works. I can honestly say that Octavia Butler was and is my all time favorite writer. She wrote prose that was simple and elegant. She wrote stories that would make you reexamine your whole outlook on the world. She was everything I hope to one day be.
God’s speed, Ms Butler. You will be missed.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Standing at the Heels of Greatness and Staring up the Dress of the Statue of Liberty
My husband and I needed to get out of the house. We were tired and needed a break, and this month is our anniversary. So we called up my sister in law to take Hopeless’ kids, dropped my girls off at my mother’s and headed off to New York City.
We had a great time. We stayed right off Broadway in a quaint little hotel, with an equally quaint LITTLE room. Jerome and I stood in the middle of the room, holding hands, side by side, and each touched an opposite wall. I think he could have stretched out on the floor (if the room were big enough), and from toe to fingertip, he may have actually been longer than the room itself. The people in the next room sneezed once, and we thought that we were actually witnessing the first earthquake in New York in a hundred years.
Of course we did all the touristy things. We saw the Statue of Liberty, where my husband proceeded to take a picture staring straight up her dress. I asked him why he’d taken it, and he said “bet not many people can say they have a picture of that.” OK.
On Saturday night we attended Nick Kaufman’s birthday party. It took us somewhere around three hours to get there, but a fun time was had by all. We left about midnight, I think, which was a good thing because we ended up catching the very last train to NJ (where we stayed the 1st night).
We went to Harlem, shopped and saw the famous Apollo Theater. Inside I snapped pictures with some of the best talent the world has ever seen. I stood at the heels of greatness, staring at the camera smiling like and idiot, touching the glass wall which held the pictures and felt humbled. These people chased dreams that most of time seemed impossible and daunting, during a time when they were allowed to perform ON the stage, but couldn’t actually patronize the establishments.
I want to get my book published.
I looked at the pictures of Aretha Franklin, Richard Pryor, Flip Wilson, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and all the others and thought, “Yeah, I can do this.”
I came home Wednesday to an acceptance letter to Dark Dreams III. On Thursday I received a phone call from an agent offering to represent me; comparing my writing to, “It’s like if Toni Morrison were to write Waiting to Exhale...”
Yeah…I can do this.
We had a great time. We stayed right off Broadway in a quaint little hotel, with an equally quaint LITTLE room. Jerome and I stood in the middle of the room, holding hands, side by side, and each touched an opposite wall. I think he could have stretched out on the floor (if the room were big enough), and from toe to fingertip, he may have actually been longer than the room itself. The people in the next room sneezed once, and we thought that we were actually witnessing the first earthquake in New York in a hundred years.
Of course we did all the touristy things. We saw the Statue of Liberty, where my husband proceeded to take a picture staring straight up her dress. I asked him why he’d taken it, and he said “bet not many people can say they have a picture of that.” OK.
On Saturday night we attended Nick Kaufman’s birthday party. It took us somewhere around three hours to get there, but a fun time was had by all. We left about midnight, I think, which was a good thing because we ended up catching the very last train to NJ (where we stayed the 1st night).
We went to Harlem, shopped and saw the famous Apollo Theater. Inside I snapped pictures with some of the best talent the world has ever seen. I stood at the heels of greatness, staring at the camera smiling like and idiot, touching the glass wall which held the pictures and felt humbled. These people chased dreams that most of time seemed impossible and daunting, during a time when they were allowed to perform ON the stage, but couldn’t actually patronize the establishments.
I want to get my book published.
I looked at the pictures of Aretha Franklin, Richard Pryor, Flip Wilson, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and all the others and thought, “Yeah, I can do this.”
I came home Wednesday to an acceptance letter to Dark Dreams III. On Thursday I received a phone call from an agent offering to represent me; comparing my writing to, “It’s like if Toni Morrison were to write Waiting to Exhale...”
Yeah…I can do this.
Friday, February 10, 2006
A Deflated Ego
If you're just joining us, please go here to read "The Beginning of a Nightmare."
Loaded in my truck: me, my husband, and John and Don. We pull up to the house, and right away I know something isn’t right. I hear crying, followed by loud slaps, from skin on skin contact. I turn to look at my husband and he gives me this look like, “I’m gonna kill him.”
The next thing we hear, standing out side that house, looking for all the world like a bunch of would be thieves, is Fool. He’s screaming like a mad man. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but he’s angry and he’s hitting one of the kids.
Don rushes up before we can stop him and throws the door open. Fool’s standing there with the little girl (naked from the waist up) in one hand, his other arm out stretched behind him, getting ready to hit her again. Don screams at him that he better not even think about it— at least I think that’s what he says, because when he speaks, it’s like a mongrel dog has gotten a hold of his tongue and I can’t understand a thing he says.
Fool stands there holding the girl’s arm, looking as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. In a split second, he controls himself, walks over to my husband and sticks his hand out, “What’s up, Jerome, man?”
My husband looks at him, and then down at his offered hand and tells him that we were just there to get the kids. Fool kinda stands there with his hand midair; feeling no doubt embarrassed, and turns his attention to Don and John.
“Where in the hell have you been. Where’s that damn van?”
Don responds, “It ain’t none of your business where that van is, you dumb, stupid motherfucker.” Recap: the van is sitting patiently in my driveway, with stolen tags. Don goes on to say that if he had to, he’d kick Fool’s ass right then and there.
Ok, so right now I’m not in the best of circumstances, with the two boys standing there looking like they could take on a bull, and all 9 of this man’s children watching us, but I had to admit, I could go for seeing Fool get his ass kicked. How ‘bout you?
They are going back and forth talking about everything under the sun, and then the old man runs over to the phone and threatens to call the police. It was like the whole house stood still. Then all of a sudden, Don and John burst out laughing. It seems they knew what I didn’t—Fool has warrants out for HIS arrest.
Instead of Fool acting like the adult he was supposed to be, he continues with his obvious lie, and begins mock dialing the phone, “Hello, yes, I need the police. These boys (guess the police were supposed to already know WHICH boys) stole this van (again, guess they knew about the van too). Come and get them.”
My husband and I just stood there. It was funny and sad and pathetic all at the same time. Then I say, “Come on kids. Get your stuff, let’s go.”
Fool looks at me, “You ain’t taking those kids.” Guess he didn’t hear my husband say it.
“But there’s no food here and Hopeless told us to take them to her mothers. Let’s go, ya’ll.” Suddenly he takes out running for me. I mean you have never seen a grown man, twenty pounds too heavy, run the way this man did.
I honestly can’t say I was scared. I mean, my husband could take him. Also, Don and John were just itching to get their hands on him, so any excuse would do. Before he even reached me, John tripped him. He went down fast and hard, tumbling down the stairs. You could just see his over-inflated balloon of an ego, deflate as he bounced down the stairs one by one, unable to stop himself.
One of the kids laughed in the background. My husband stepped out of the way as he landed at his feet, bent down and whispered to the man. “Look, we’re taking the kids with us. Now don’t make a scene and embarrass yourself in front of your own children.”
He sat there, right on the stairs, while we loaded his children in the car. They grabbed as many clothes as they could and we got the hell out of there. As we drove off, Fool, ran to the door screaming, “You better bring that van back, or so help me God...” I didn’t hear the rest. I now wish I had.
On the way, I had borrowed my mother’s car so that we would have enough room—of course there’s never enough room when you have 11 children and 2 adults in two vehicles. So I loaded up all of the little ones with me. There was the 5 month old baby, a 2 year old, 5 year old, 6 year old, and the 13 year old daughter.
I followed my husband to his mother’s house. No one spoke in the car. I somehow got the impression that this had simply been the norm in that house and none of them thought the wiser of it. That itself saddened me.
When we got there, the 2 year old boy, who was still in diapers, had fallen asleep. My husband and I decided to keep him, too. When Mrs. Debra got out of the hospital, she would not need to be dealing with changing diapers too.
So there would be eight children in my house. We have three bed rooms.
Loaded in my truck: me, my husband, and John and Don. We pull up to the house, and right away I know something isn’t right. I hear crying, followed by loud slaps, from skin on skin contact. I turn to look at my husband and he gives me this look like, “I’m gonna kill him.”
The next thing we hear, standing out side that house, looking for all the world like a bunch of would be thieves, is Fool. He’s screaming like a mad man. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but he’s angry and he’s hitting one of the kids.
Don rushes up before we can stop him and throws the door open. Fool’s standing there with the little girl (naked from the waist up) in one hand, his other arm out stretched behind him, getting ready to hit her again. Don screams at him that he better not even think about it— at least I think that’s what he says, because when he speaks, it’s like a mongrel dog has gotten a hold of his tongue and I can’t understand a thing he says.
Fool stands there holding the girl’s arm, looking as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. In a split second, he controls himself, walks over to my husband and sticks his hand out, “What’s up, Jerome, man?”
My husband looks at him, and then down at his offered hand and tells him that we were just there to get the kids. Fool kinda stands there with his hand midair; feeling no doubt embarrassed, and turns his attention to Don and John.
“Where in the hell have you been. Where’s that damn van?”
Don responds, “It ain’t none of your business where that van is, you dumb, stupid motherfucker.” Recap: the van is sitting patiently in my driveway, with stolen tags. Don goes on to say that if he had to, he’d kick Fool’s ass right then and there.
Ok, so right now I’m not in the best of circumstances, with the two boys standing there looking like they could take on a bull, and all 9 of this man’s children watching us, but I had to admit, I could go for seeing Fool get his ass kicked. How ‘bout you?
They are going back and forth talking about everything under the sun, and then the old man runs over to the phone and threatens to call the police. It was like the whole house stood still. Then all of a sudden, Don and John burst out laughing. It seems they knew what I didn’t—Fool has warrants out for HIS arrest.
Instead of Fool acting like the adult he was supposed to be, he continues with his obvious lie, and begins mock dialing the phone, “Hello, yes, I need the police. These boys (guess the police were supposed to already know WHICH boys) stole this van (again, guess they knew about the van too). Come and get them.”
My husband and I just stood there. It was funny and sad and pathetic all at the same time. Then I say, “Come on kids. Get your stuff, let’s go.”
Fool looks at me, “You ain’t taking those kids.” Guess he didn’t hear my husband say it.
“But there’s no food here and Hopeless told us to take them to her mothers. Let’s go, ya’ll.” Suddenly he takes out running for me. I mean you have never seen a grown man, twenty pounds too heavy, run the way this man did.
I honestly can’t say I was scared. I mean, my husband could take him. Also, Don and John were just itching to get their hands on him, so any excuse would do. Before he even reached me, John tripped him. He went down fast and hard, tumbling down the stairs. You could just see his over-inflated balloon of an ego, deflate as he bounced down the stairs one by one, unable to stop himself.
One of the kids laughed in the background. My husband stepped out of the way as he landed at his feet, bent down and whispered to the man. “Look, we’re taking the kids with us. Now don’t make a scene and embarrass yourself in front of your own children.”
He sat there, right on the stairs, while we loaded his children in the car. They grabbed as many clothes as they could and we got the hell out of there. As we drove off, Fool, ran to the door screaming, “You better bring that van back, or so help me God...” I didn’t hear the rest. I now wish I had.
On the way, I had borrowed my mother’s car so that we would have enough room—of course there’s never enough room when you have 11 children and 2 adults in two vehicles. So I loaded up all of the little ones with me. There was the 5 month old baby, a 2 year old, 5 year old, 6 year old, and the 13 year old daughter.
I followed my husband to his mother’s house. No one spoke in the car. I somehow got the impression that this had simply been the norm in that house and none of them thought the wiser of it. That itself saddened me.
When we got there, the 2 year old boy, who was still in diapers, had fallen asleep. My husband and I decided to keep him, too. When Mrs. Debra got out of the hospital, she would not need to be dealing with changing diapers too.
So there would be eight children in my house. We have three bed rooms.
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