Finding My Voice - Maintaining a Balance

Sometimes, especially in this challenging period that I am presently facing, finding my creative voice can be a real task. What I mean is when LIFE takes over, I  tend to abandon my creativity and thus, start 'losing' my voice. When this happens, I start to 'lose' my pitch, my tone, the personality and the urgency of my voice. In other words,  I get caught up with LIFE and get carried away with all of the external forces out there, which leaves me frustrated. Furthermore, when I feel this 'loss', I feel the essence of my voice seeping away like a damaged IV drip.

As I take on this journey with my writing class and most importantly, with my overall writing, I know that it is important for me to maintain a balance. A balance on keeping hold of my current economic realities and my creative capacities. All in all, I know that I have to keep a studied focus to my creativity, but also keep on being focused with other important areas in my life.

 I feel like right now that I am balancing on one side of a seesaw, and that all my writing is holding on, precariously, at the other end of this seesaw. You get the picture, right?

However, in all of this, I am a spiritual person. I call on Yahweh/Jah at all times to get me through my difficult and challenging days. I talk to my husband who always gives me amazing words, wisdom, strength and unconditional love. I pray, meditate and practice stillness. Ultimately, I know that in order for me not to abandon my writing voice and to keep it relevant, I have to:

•  Keep on writing consistently everyday. This usually is one of the top tips that is recommended to new and advanced storytellers/writers/novelists. I am now understanding that the sheer mass of my writing - regardless if it is good or bad - will become the raw matter in which I will chisel my  burgeoning and nascent voice.
• My writing voice is really the voice in my head. It’s not how I talk aloud, but how I talk to myself, in the noisy cavern of my skull. I listen to myself talk, inside, and that’s the voice I try to get down in writing.Getting that voice from my head to the virtual paper — that’s the trick. It’s not easy, but again,  I try to do it often as I can, and hopefully, I will get proficient at it. I see it as a rewiring of the synapses, so that my head-thoughts shoot down into my fingertips and come out as typing motions, as bits and pixels.   
• Find out what is true. I write a lot, and most of it will be (and is) BS. I have concluded that with  my creativity I cannot filter the BS if I want to find the authentic truth.I sort through the BS until I've learned to recognise the truth, by feel, by emotions, not by any logical criteria. The truth looks remarkably like BS
• Find clarity. Good writing, it’s been often said is clear thinking. If my thinking is muddled, and I feel out of balance, out of synch, then I know that my writing will ultimately suffer. However, I’ve found it’s a matter of simplifying. I am practicing to  remove extraneous ideas and words until I have only what is needed to express a simple thought. Strip all the BS away and be left with the bare bones. With that, I can start writing with a clear and concise voice.  
• Remove the noise. It’s a process of subtraction more than addition. I know that I have ended up with too many words, because I have never subtracted I always want to hold onto things which drag down my writing. If I find that the noise gets in the way of my voice, I am learning to strip it down, trim the noise from the bush until I am  left with the unadulterated  truth.With this process in mind, I  write, edit, and then ultimately, remove the noise. I feel that currently, in society today, that most people have too much distraction and too much noise in their lives to hear their own internal thinking. Too much is going on around them, and online, and they have no time for solitude and for being 'still'. Because of this mass distractions that we have in front of us, we can’t hear our own inner thoughts, our brilliant voices, without solitude. I am also learning to  remove the noise in my own life as well; all those distractions which keep me being unbalanced and out of place with my creativity.
• Use your voice. I know that I am not embarking on a quest for my voice just for the sake of beauty, accolades or a healthy sense of ego; I know that this is not enough; I know that I must use my voice to express myself, to help others, and in some way, change the world.

My writing is starting to come out of a place of authenticity. This is something I touched on with a previous blog post. So if this is my starting point, my reference mark, then my writing will continue to flourish.
Although I do have my days of unbalance and trying my hardest to maintain my balance, I know that in continuing to find my voice is my own odyssey in keeping my balance and remaining focused with my voice and my writing.

Energised By Creating: Now My True Writing Journey Has Begun...

The more I write, the more I feel energised by this surge of creativity that has suddenly come over me like sweet, dripping, melted honey on newly homemade bread. It's like I have a current of electric energy shooting through me, urging me on to just keep on writing and being authentic to my creativity.

Since joining the  'Memoir: Life Writing' class  a few weeks back, I have really started to discover and explore the richness of my family history and how I can integrate it and intertwine it in my novel. I have so much material to work on, that it has finally taken me this time to see what I have before me. Once I was really afraid and fearful, but now, I have this creativity in the palm of my hand, or should that be the tips of my fingers, and I just can't stop writing.

 Within all of this, I have managed to dig deeper into the archives of my mind, shake off my cobwebs and keep on stepping forward in this writing journey. It's been hard, challenging, and at many times, frustrating. However, within all of this, it is helping me to grow stronger on how I express myself in my creativity. I'm becoming more inspired in what I am writing about, thus, I have finally started to shake off the vampire energies of my procrastination that had threatened to starve my writing. I now have some idea why I procrastinated in my writing. Because I didn't believe in me. I didn't believe my own voice. Really, I didn't think I could write. I was scared of my own voice and thus I suppressed it for so long. All of the self doubt voices that I had in my head about my creativity I have completely muted. It doesn't matter how much other folk validate you - and trust me, I've had lots of validation from friends and strangers in the past about my writing - I just was far too scared to let go and really feel my writing and the overall impact it has had on me. I'm not trying to blow my own trumpet, strum my own guitar or sing my own refrain, but I know that I have something worthy to say in the books that I will write and eventually publish someday.

As I read back snippets of what I have written over the last few weeks, I can see my growth. The bones of my writing have now snapped back into place, and the skeleton that I have left behind and been holding up for many years now has meat on it from the words that I am writing and continue to write.

Let me continue to feed my creativity, fatten up on my writing and become genuinely nourished and nurtured once again. Because this hunger that I have for my creativity is truly propelling me and urging me on to continue this sometimes fraught journey and path that I have decided to choose for myself.

This writer refuses to starve...

Writing Life: Keeping the Pandora Box Ajar

See, this is what has been puzzling me over the last couple of weeks.  I recently have joined - against my initial fear perhaps ? - a writing class. There are only two Black people in there - myself and this other woman. Initially, I thought that she was going to be 'standoffish'. Because you know sometimes, when we, as a people gather collectively under other people's gazes, we tend to blank out people who look like us and gravitate towards people who don't look like us. I think you understand where I am coming from! Anyway, suffice to say, and based on my own faulty assumptions (!) she has turned out to be a really warm woman. There is something about her spirit which is really nurturing.

So anyway, I started this class, which is about memoir life writing. I'm only on week two, but I've learnt so much already. I know that a lot will probably expose some still opening wounds for me; but I know that through my writing and my journey of creating and putting my novel together, it will help me to ultimately heal. And that is what I want out of all of this.

During the first week, we had to do this exercise in how we saw ourselves as writers. It was a visualisation exercise, where we had to see where we see ourselves now, and how we see ourselves in the future. This was by doing two separate drawings. I found it interesting that the whole of the class immediately tapped into my visualisation straight away. They got it totally, even though our backgrounds are so apart from each other. The irony!

I completed my homework for that first week, and we had to write a 'close' version of our birth/childhood and only write 2 A4 sides maximum. I wrote about my twin and I. It was cathartic. I read it for the class. They loved the way that I wrote this short piece and encouraged me to expand it. I was floored.

A lot of the times, through my writing, and yes, my journey with my writing, I keep on beating myself up. I have now given myself the permission to just go with the flow. With that I can be authentic with myself and also, with my creativity. I need to shrug out of this sweater of defeat and keep on keeping on. I know that I can do it. I need to stamp and grind fear into the ground so that it just becomes dust ready to blow away and disappear. It's a given for me to travel this sometimes crooked path; to come to the many bends and obstacles but I will continue to navigate them and jump right over them and continue with my writing, and yes, my journey of discovery.

There are still a few things that I have to do, but I am approaching them very carefully. All in all, this life writing course will be my own Pandora's Box.  It will be ajar in the sense of adding authenticity to my writing. And that is what I propose to do at all times from now on.

The Frustrations of Becoming a Writer: Embracing without Fear

Ok. I have decided to blog about my journey on embracing my writing and becoming a writer. So many times I have been afraid to pick up my pen or touch type my keys, as I’ve just been afraid to ‘let go’. I’ve seen others who have taken the leap of faith into their creativity, and I feel that I am just sitting on the side kerb, watching the traffic of my creativity speed past me. Why do I feel so frustrated? Why am I procrastinating and giving up my dreams? Why am I fearing this particular journey? Why do I want to run away from the words that I have been forming  and fermenting in my imagination like a ripe mango, waiting to burst, with all the flavour and juices, but still continually beat myself up and tell myself that I cannot do it? What is my creative block that is stopping me?

Only I myself can answer all of my angst ridden questions.  It seems to me that I am self – sabotaging my words, my creativity. I am  taking my words hostage and refusing to open up the recess of my mind and just… write. I have it all planned; I’ve written a few chapters, and I know how this novel will eventually pan out to be, but yet, I have all of these frustrations and fears of becoming a writer. Maybe this small voice that keeps on echoing in my head, like bad audio feedback, is telling me that I need to stop seeking this pasture of creativity. But see, I have always surrounded myself with words. 

Ever since I was small and was able to read books independently, I wanted to write. I wanted to become a journalist, but my mama just looked at me; her eyes just gave me THAT LOOK, and I knew that this was never going to happen in my lifetime. I thought that I had committed a cardinal sin – in fact I had. She either wanted me to become an accountant – which was never going to happen, as I have dyslexia when it comes to figures. I think it's because when dealing with numbers, statistics and everything arithmetical, you are using your left hand side of the brain. I always was in tune with my right side, so this was just a fantasy for my mama. If I wasn’t going to be an accountant, she wanted me to become a doctor. Well, that realisation for me was never going to happen, as I remember when I was young I kept on having repetitive nosebleeds. The sight of blood to my young eyes scared me beyond beyond! My mama only wanted me to fulfill her dreams so she could brag about my professional status. It wasn’t that I was incapable of doing these particular careers, I just was not interested. So, I rebelled.

I used to write in secret. In my diary – there were no blogs when I was younger, as the information age was just a far away star in the constellation, and I was a young girl just wishing on a star. I wanted  to see my words take print and make sense to other girls, who looked like me, who spoke like me and was possibly going through the same growing pains that I was going through. I wanted my writing to be a filter for my life.

Now, I have come to the stage that I will write. I have my writing wings on and I am ready to fly to the next level; to take my impending novel and carve out my own literal landscape. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t sell; although that would be the icing on the proverbial cake; or if the awards don’t knock down my door ; although a little validation from the world of authors would gently boost my ego; or if it gets repeatedly knocked back  and rejected by publishers; that’s fine with me, I can always self publish it and take my own control, without others dictating to me on how my novel should read. Really, I have to write to survive. That may seem to be a bit dramatic, but it's how I am feeling right now. I feel that this novel that I have deep within me is ready to explode and I  just need to feel the fear, push against my frustration, expel my procrastination and just do it anyway. 

So, everyday, whilst I have the time, I promise to myself that I will at least try to dedicate two to three hours a day to my writing; something that I am guilty of not adhering to. But I will not be beating myself up, as LIFE sometimes takes over and so it may be impossible to do these hours.

One of the things about writing consistently, is that you have to be disciplined. I need to be disciplined in my creativity and also disciplined in writing this novel. I never want to be in a position in my own life and have regrets when it comes to writing this novel. I have made too many regrets on this wondrous journey, however, I have packed them away and placed them in a suitcase and  wheeled them away on an eternal vacation. 

For me, to be disciplined means that I will have the freedom to write authentically, clearly, joyfully, with abundance, freedom and with love. I see discipline in this context differently and this is something that I have to always have in mind when I get out my pen or pound on my keystrokes to take on the oncoming chapters in my novel.

So, yes, my fears and frustrations still present deep within. But what I need to do is turn these negative qualities into just words, where they will, in their own paradoxical way, keep on liberating me and where I can finally cancel out these feelings that are stopping me from fully embracing the real authentic me.

Imagining Words: Still Creating

Sometimes its very difficult for me to separate my writing and my researching. What I mean is that I tend to get sidetracked in the archives of my research, which have become very personal to me as they touch something in me that I thought that I had suppressed years ago. Once I find something fascinating about a particular piece of research which relates to my novel, I then become distracted. And when this happens, my procrastination sets in like an unwanted blemish smack bang in the middle of my forehead. Sometimes, trying to keep on top of solely my writing can be a real test for me; a challenge that I need to really tackle like a star football player doing his best to win a point for his team.

I'm not sure how I can master all of this. However, writing this specific book is in a way, cathartic to me; sometimes I fear of what I have written, then my fear transforms into self censorship, which I do not want at all. If this is the case, then I have to ask myself, what is the whole point of writing this novel? What is the point of writing in general if I am going to put a block on my creativity and my imagination?

  My words are my voice. A voice that I have suppressed like a hostage who has suddenly developed 'Stockholm syndrome'. A voice that I have always used to validate others in their creativity but not my own.  A voice that sometimes regurgitates and can't stop writing and then cancelling it out, because in the back of my mind I say to myself that I am 'not good enough'. I've thought long and hard about joining a writing course. There is a particular course that I want to join, but I'm am slightly hesitant, as I've not had great experiences before with writing classes. I became disillusioned with my writing, starting censoring myself again and basically stopped. My imagination and words became stuck in my throat and my 'voicelessness' started all over again like an unwanted mantra. But I guess now I really need to take a leap of faith and really start believing in me and start putting on my self validation armor.

 I just know that when my novel finally gets published - and who knows when, as I refuse to put a timescale on it - that the disclaimer is read by folk who will fully understand that the novel is a work of fiction and something that has sprung out of my fertile imagination. That it will not be taken personally, and see that my words are an imagination of events and that they come from my creativity which I refuse to stifle and censor.

So, I am still imagining my words and still creating a space for my words. I'm just taking the time to nurture and enjoy this time to read and research and let my imagination catch up with me.

The Knowing: True Realisation

When I looked into his eyes, I saw my past, present and future.

We had such a bond, that I was fearful that the baggage I might have unconsciously carried from past relationships may tip my harmonious feelings into imbalance.

See, it started six years ago. I was at an apex in my life where I knew what I wanted in a relationship. I knew that I wasn’t going to find a spiritual or humble man in the domains of a social setting, where nicotine and alcohol induced fumes were mandatory. Where the pretentious ones gathered like a winding mass of uncertainty and insecure beings, looking for their next fix for one up man ship. I also knew that I had outgrown that scene. I was like a caterpillar who was seeking my own personal metamorphosis, and most importantly, I hadn't sought desperation in a long time solution of finding a man who could complete me. I was already completed. I just wanted to find my other half. Paradoxical, I know, but I felt that something was truly missing in my life. I wasn't looking to compromise at all. I just knew deep within the alcove of my mind what I wanted in a man. A strong man. I am not only talking about strength, but one where we could go the extra mile together, instead of pursuing separate agendas. Somebody who would not feel intimidated about me. Somebody who I could just be ME with; to liberate the mask that I have kept on for so many years in past relationships.

No, I was sure of what I wanted. But how was I to get to the crucial point of manifestation of a stable, spiritual, humble and honest counterpart?

Meditation and prayer sustained me in my elusive search. However, this in the long run did not keep me company - especially when I needed somebody to be my own cheerleading section. Yes, the responses I got from prayer and meditation were satisfying, but I was impatient for the manifestation to take place. I was weary of the hollow echoes that were filling my space. When would it happen? How would it happen? Would it take me by surprise? Or would it be something that be staring at me, right in the pupils of my complacent gaze?

I looked to modern technology, where I decided to become one of the millions of people out there, who utilised the cyber community to elicit a meeting of minds. Ha! Who did I think I was kidding? But I thought I’d give it a try.

Initially, I was fearful, but I kept on telling myself that fear would just leave me in the same position as before; lonely and continually searching for that elusive mate and counterpart Nonetheless, I decided to take the ultimate chance and put myself out there. I felt like the lone woman, you know, who is hanging on the ledge, waiting to take that drop and not knowing what I would see or how I would feel after I took that leap. I was stepping into the realms of the unknown. I had no idea of what type of responses I would elicit, but I decided to embrace my fears and do it anyway.

I was so glad I did.

Our meeting was inevitable. It wasn't even planned. He was my destiny and I was his. As soon as we started communicating together we spoke at union; in one voice. His struggles and challenges became my struggles and challenges. His future and what he wanted became twinned with mine. His lyrical accent reminded me of natural landscapes and his laugh was like a cool bubbling stream; it cleansed away all of the negative baggage that I carried in the past when it came to relationships. It was  around this time that I finally forgave my father for abandoning me. I was able to see the link on how I used to carry around this anger, like the well worn piece of cloth I used to carry as a young child for comfort; my security blanket. The tapestry that I embroidered with my hurt and disappointment with my father started to gradually fade away, and the colours of my threads became brighter and clearer.

His presence was so on. We meshed together like rice and peas. Egusi soup and pounded yam. He is my yin and I am his yan. We balance each other out like well oiled scales. Sometimes the scales tip more towards him and sometimes they tip towards me. We can have misunderstandings and sometimes our communication can be perplexing like a scientist trying out his first formula. But in the end, we are harmony and unity.



Now, six years later, after a lot of struggles, challenges, upheavals, envy from external forces, we will be joining in matrimony. Soon. Very soon. The whisper of our unification will come from spirit; it's gotten louder and our ears have pricked up eagerly to this whisper - but all in good time. We knew when our time would near. We knew to be patient and ask spirit to continually guide us and protect us on this sometimes tumultuous journey. However, the most vital in all of this knowing, he knows, I know, and our celebration will be a joyous occasion, shared with only folk who were there with us, unconditionally. Together with new and wondrous people that I have met recently.
I could say that our love was written in the stars, but that sounds a bit trite. So, let me just say that our evolving status, our undeniable oneness is scribed from the ancients. We knew each other before we even knew each other.



Here's to both of us, when we will be rocking in our identical rocking chairs; hands entwined so that the deep brown lines on our palms match up; soft smiles glowing on our upturned faces; caused by the splendid heat; sipping on our homemade sorrel; on our porch; in our promised land.



That's the knowing; that's the true realisation of what we have been through and how we have gathered strength, like moss on a stone, through all of this we have purified what it means to be with L*O*V*E.

Living without Lack: A Healthy and Positive Choice

When I look back at my life and what I have done, all I can do is widely smile to myself, like a Cheshire cat who is enjoying their top range of milk and cream.  Time and time again, I tell myself that I am living without lack, and instead, I choose to live with joy and abundance in my life.

Yes, I have faced many challenges -  and I am still facing them - but that doesn't make me give up. Instead, it drives me fiercely towards the goals that I share with my loved ones, and thus, making me further determined to achieve and maintain these goals.

The spirit of my creativity is currently a driving force and abundant energy in my life, and as I continue - even with tough challenges - I am still on my continual marathon . I know that sometimes I may become breathless,  but this alternates with a pumping rhythm of adrenalin, pushing me ahead; forcing me towards the finishing line of my destiny, which is definitely within tangible and tenable reach.

Living without lack is a healthy and positive choice for me, which I have started to slowly integrate into my mindset and ultimately, my life.

My mask has finally unglued itself and now I am starting to show my genuine authenticity, where I can be free to be me. With this I am finding that my writing is coming from a true sense of understanding; I'm embracing my writing like a familiar piece of clothing, where my material is becoming soothing, enjoyable and starting to fit and suit me extremely well.  The lack of burden that I now write with has been inspiring, and it has given me a sense of freedom.

The fear of my words no longer hold me hostage and my procrastination with my creativity has released my imaginary insecurities. 

Now, let me go and continue to run my marathon...

When peace is all you need: The inevitable passing of Whitney Houston.

This morning, after my morning meditation, I switched on my laptop. I wanted to check my email. I went to Yahoo.com and I saw the simple words: 'Singer Whitney Houston Found Dead'. I was shocked; I ran downstairs to inform my sis. We switched on Sky News and watched the truth unfold before our stunned and tear laden eyes, just to confirm the headline that I had just read. She was really and truly gone; the light had dimmed.

I'm not a person who star worships or puts 'celebrities' up on pedestals. Don't  get me wrong, I love the odd bit of gossip now and then, but I do not live vicariously through the lives of celebrities. And the cult of celebrity right now seems to be a booming industry, both online and offline, but I do not really pay attention to it at all. However, Whitney, to me, personified my growing years; she was the soundtrack to my mid twenties when I first became a mother, and I guess, responsible for another life. I am the same age as Whitney - she was born in August 1963, I was born in September 1963. Obviously, our lives were completely different, but there was always something about Whitney that I was pulling for; even when allegations that turned into truth about her drug use, I wanted to raise her up and believe in her, regardless of her circumstances. She had such a wonderful talent, but when I used to see pictures of her looking unkempt and bedraggled, coming out of seedy nightclubs - especially the last images I saw of her the other day - I shook my head and my inner voice joined the ongoing cacophony of the choir judging Whitney.

Whitney's voice brings back so many sweet memories for me, and her voice was  extraordinary when she was at the apex of her vocal dexterity.  But the positive always aligns, like the planets,  with the negative when writing about Whitney. It was well documented in the media about her demons, but don't we all have our own internal demons? This is not to excuse or justify what she was doing with herself regarding her drug use, but it seems so sad so tragic, may I say, so inevitable, from what I have read so far, of her dying alone in a hotel room in Hollywood.

I'm sure all of the salacious and scandalous stories will emerge like a cancerous tumour in the aftermath of her passing; the blame pointed squarely at her ex husband, Bobby Brown for leading her down this drug laden path, and other negative variables surrounding her death; the superficial tributes and chatter from her 'friends' and from the very industry that she was part of, that inevitably, was the loss of herself and physical death of Whitney Houston.


But from me, a lover of great music and who appreciated the stellar quality of your amazing vocals, Whitney, your voice was superlative. Period. Nobody in my lifetime, in my opinion, could touch you when you sang.

Whitney, my sweet, blessed sister, you had your raging demons, that were always on display  and broadcast  like venom to the world. We have them as well, but we are fortunate that we can hide them so they are not broadcasted and judged  so viciously.

May you rest in eternal paradise Whitney,  and hopefully you can find peace there where you couldn't here, on earth.

Challenging Times: What to do when you are in that proverbial stuck mode?

The last couple of months have been extremely challenging. No, strike that, the last couple of years have been challenging to the maximum.

I'm now back home in London. I was living, with my husband, in Holland, BUT  it was a soul destroying experience. Not because of my darling husband, but because of the events that occurred out there. I won't go into it, as it is private, but suffice to say, it was an eye opening experience. These life changing events  have taken resident in my psyche and burned into my memory. It will  make for a fantastic novel one day, if I decide to open up the proverbial can of worms which are still wriggling about in that particular environment.But I digress!

You know that adage, ' you don't know what you have got until its gone'? That, in essence is what is resonating with me so much lately. I took a lot of things for granted. I did not appreciate a lot of stuff. Not to beat up on myself here, but leaving London and taking this particular journey was paradoxical for me. In a way. I'm glad that I had the chance and opportunity to travel and live somewhere different. But I wish it was for something else! I made the choice and I am happy I made that choice, because I wouldn't be writing these words today. Most importantly, I would still be in 'exist' mode, thus, no change or dare I say, I would not be facing these difficult challenges.
 
Coming back to London I feel that I have to recreate and reestablish  myself all over again. It seems like a long slog, and it has been extremely challenging and dang right difficult. When you are in the current position that I am in, and being vulnerable to boot, you look to a Higher Power; get all introspective and ultimately, look for tools which will allow you to fly and soar once again. That's what I am doing, but I've taken a few proverbial knocks and my armour has been slightly dented!

My relationship with Spirit has always been consistent, but sometimes, on occasions,  I feel that my voice is just echoing in the wilderness. I feel that I am in the desert, looking for ways for survival; some water for my off and on dry and mute voice, where my words and sometimes actions, are looked upon as a challenge from my loved ones.

Nonetheless, I am a survivor! I have always been a survivor. Reverting to 'victim mode' is not hemmed in by my particular DNA. I will always remain an eternal optimist.

So, what does one do when challenging times slaps them on the side of the head? Well, for me, its needed. Before leaving London, I couldn't 'see the forest through the trees.' I lost sight of the bigger issue and what I had to do with my life. I was just 'existing' and going through the familiar route that we, as humans have been programmed into: to be 'successful'  products of society.

Now, I am gradually seeing the wood, the wonderful forest and all of the beautiful leaves! I see the colours, the smells; my senses have been revitalised. Its funny, in times of challenges how things in your life become finer tuned and dare I say, crystal clear. Its like I was looking at my life through a misty window, and now, albeit at times, I see amazing clarity.

My journey is still challenging and sometimes I do get 'stuck'; I will still face hurdles and barriers in what I know that I have been predestined to undertake before I transition.  However, my journey, my path, though still, at times,are littered with many baggage that I have to bear, seems altogether, lighter.

In closing, my sister has a quote on her fridge, which reads: 'Challenges do not come to small people, they come to great people'. Very valid and true.

I see my current challenges as growth. Sometimes growth can be tiring and painful, but when one reaches their full potential, watch them ascend. Watch me rise.

Some Justice and Peace at Last for Stephen Lawrence

22nd April 1993.

I'm not sure what I was doing on this particular day, but I clearly remember watching the early news about a young black man, an innocent teenager,  who was stabbed to death whilst waiting for a bus in Eltham in SE London.
I also remember that my youngest son was just 6 months old, and my oldest son had just turned 7, and I remember staring into their beautiful ebony eyes and asking  myself how his mother must've felt; knowing that her son was never again to return to her loving embrace... That her son was no longer coming home... That he was no longer able to reach his potential as a young man, and one day, having his own family. That Stephen Lawrence could never fulfill his dream of eventually becoming an architect.

I remember staring into the wistful and innocent gaze of Stephen Lawrence. The ever omnipresent image of Stephen Lawrence, with his striped t shirt on, gazing into the camera lens with a slight smile on his beautiful, cocoa brown face. A smile that held promises of so many things to come in his life. And then he was stabbed relentlessly to death, by virulent  and venomous racists, who chased him down like a runaway slave and  who took away his dreams and evaporated his own destiny..And this made me even more aware that  living within this 'multicultural' society was just a dream. It was not utopia. I had fear.I had an unhealthy, almost pathological  fear for my boys that they would, one day,  end up as a statistic and a blot on this vanilla landscape.

I was politicised before this event. I remember going on the '18 dead, nothing said' marches on the still unsolved mass murders of black teenagers in the New Cross fires in 1981 I remember me, as a young, skinny, afroed young girl, shouting down 'Babylon' on the injustice of being burnt alive, due to the colour of their skin. Where my Africentric posture and words eventually gave me a voice to cathartically  release my frustrations and injustice of living in a society that never saw me. I began writing about my 'invisibility' of being a young black woman, trapped within a society that viewed me with  intolerance and yes, disgust.

I attended the Macpherson Inquiry at Hannibal House in Elephant and Castle in June 1998. I saw the smirk of those white men who casually sauntered away, with blood on their hands and murder on their conscience. I am proud that I was one of the angry spectators that threw eggs at these bastards. I remember,  there was a lot of uprisings on that day; a lot of justified anger. I remember laying in the street in Elephant and Castle and nearly being arrested by the same police force who had let these murderous brutes walk away. How ironic.

After the blunders, the collapse of the private prosecution that the Lawrences brought against the murderers, the out and out racism, no, strike that, INSTITUTIONAL RACISM of the police force, today is a bittersweet day for me I will never forget. It had a huge impact on me, a mother with two young black men.

I cry tears for Stephen Lawrence, and the extent of SOME justice for him; my tears will still flow every now and then until there is a fair completion. Until all of the murderers involved are convicted and sentenced. I pray that they will also be held responsible for Stephen's murder as well. That is why  I have written that SOME justice has been meted out today. Its not complete, but I remain forever optimistic.

I hope to attend the Old Bailey tomorrow morning when these murderers are finally sentenced. My voice will be the loudest and I will be visible.

Finally Stephen Lawrence can rest in paradise and ultimately, peace.

New Eyes: New Year: New Creativities: New Expressions

I realise that I have a book, in fact, several books inside of  me, waiting to verbally regurgitate all of the words that have accumulated in my mind, in my journals, where my words have gathered digital dust on my many hard drives that I have had over the many years. What has kept me procrastinating and stagnating? A four letter word which recklessly reared its ugly head countless times: FEAR. See, I have been AFRAID. I have censored, silenced and self edited my voice, until my voice just became an inner  monotone of  self speak that I always assured myself with when trying to overstand my reluctance towards writing. To be honest though, over the last few years, I haven't had the pure luxury of just sitting still and being IN WRITING, due to a thing called LIFE.. I have made excuses, relayed my thoughts, muted my voice and just 'got on with my life'. But all the time, I saw folk who were my peers - who were not necessarily better creators than me - forge ahead like runaway horses, beating their own finishing lines, and I am still standing and procrastinating at  the starting point.

Yes, its a new year, and no, this is not my new year's resolution, as resolutions are there to be severed, and to be honest, I have never really taken them seriously.. No this is my wake up call to my inner voice. My voice that has always pestered my spirit for creativity. My writing. My life. This is truly. my alarm buzzer moment when I have to write this year. Writing is my existence, my reality and ultimately, my life. Writing to me is healing and therapeutic. And I have had a few moments over the last couple of years where I need to let go. I see this as a prime point to start re-engaging with my creativity.

Now I will be looking and seeing my writing with new eyes. Revitialising my writing as new creativities and enjoying the new expressions that I feel my writing will engender for me in this new year.

Warm Memories of Commonwealth of Dominica 2009 :An Excerpt

In 2009, I had the immense pleasure of visiting Dominica, the homeland of my darling love, Enson.
I had such a wonderful time in Dominica, and looking back on some of my writings when I was there, gives me such wonderful memories and beautiful recollections of this nature island, sandwiched delicately between Guadeloupe and Martinique.

Below is an excerpt from my first week in Dominica. I may share other excerpts in my blog.

Thursday 30^th July 2009

Well, today I am writing after spending one idyllic week in Dominica. Enson, Racheal, Mario and myself are spending it in Salisbury, the village that Enson knows like a worn cardigan. Shouts of ‘Moggy’  - my King's  nickname - usually precede him everywhere he goes… it seems that he knows the entire village and they are very familiar towards him.

There are so much positive superlatives to spout about Dominica. It is a land of beauty, but abject poverty resides by the beauty. I mean that’s the reality unfortunately. However, the land and the people are extremely friendly. There are so many things to write, but permit me first to say that the sheer brilliance of the man built houses, which are literally stuck on the side of this volcanic island is a sight to see… From winding, long narrow roads, with customary potholes, large enough to accommodate a small household cat, to shacks and palatial colonial style, houses squeezed together, like rancid lemon slices, Dominica has it all.

We have washed in the pure sea – sea baths to heal our selves, redeem our souls and wash away our Eurocentric stresses. Dominica’s sea is a brilliant blue and is as clear as a freshly washed windowpane. Pebbles and the dark volcanic sand vie for attention. I must add, it’s a great exfoliater for my weary hardened European soles, and I’ve noticed that my soles, which were very dark, crusty and dry, have now started to look like a newly born baby’s bottom. Thus, to me, it’s a code, an indication telling me that I am slowly healing. I am now detoxing the dead cells that have accumulated since the year of my birth.This land has truly revitalised me. If Enson said to me that we’d be living here for good in a couple of week’s time, I would not reject the notion at all. I have fallen in love with this land. My heart and soul is of this land. I have taken on the mantle of being a Dominican by proxy.

Now off to enjoy this wonderful and brilliant sun as it deepens the melanin content of my skin!

Mid Life Crisis or Mid Life Motivation?

I feel that I'm at the crossroads on the road of my journey. It feels really exciting, but also, sobering at times. Because having a 'mid life crisis' sounds really ominous, and also seems that I have stagnated. Well, I haven't. Although I am in a kind  of reclusive mood, mainly because I am rethinking my strategies and recollecting of what my path in life is all about, I kind of know which direction my path will take me in 2012. I know all of this may seem a bit navel gazing,that that is how I feel right now.

I know that I have procrastinated so much over the years  in terms of my creativity. I guess because there is always this nagging  and irritating voice that constantly drips into my consciousness like a faulty tap, telling me  that I'm 'no good' and it is 'too late' to start writing my novel. I mean, I have undertaken gazillions of research and I have a basic outline of all of my characters - up to a point. However, something keeps on pulling me back into this murky abyss. I keep on telling myself that I have missed the boat and the tide of opportunity  has long gone, but this constant negative self speak  keeps me paralysed and then I just suddenly stop. Then my creativity dries up like a packet of  dessicated coconut. The words that I want to write disappear from the left side of my brain. I become STUCK once again. I become mute with uncertainty and deaf to the words I want to hear that gets my creative juices flowing. And therein is where the vicious cycle continues.

So, now, instead of labeling all of this my mid life crisis, I am going to start to embrace this as my mid life motivation. Aren't  words mighty powerful?

Now, off to scribe and create in my journal.

Young, Gifted and Black: A Badge To Wear With Honour and Pride

The lyrics of the above song still resound within my soul, forty plus years after its release. This song was written by Nina Simone - one of my favourite artistes of all times- however, growing up, I'm familiar with the above version and it brings so much happy memories for me.

The song and the lyrics still make my soul sing and revitiise my spirit. It makes me smile and feel all warm and secure within. It makes my soul hunger to hear  these kind of lyrics again within popular culture. Not because they validate who I am, but they validate in my own personal belief and philosophy of being gifted and black. The young, not so much now! However, let me just interject here, that I say all of this with utter humility, but because I feel this way - it took me a long time to reach this destination - in the past, I have been accused of being  'arrogant', 'aggressive' and 'too confident'. Hmmmmm... sounds familiar! See, when you are Black and a woman ( or a Black man for that matter, but the labels are usually more pernicious), these negative labels remain a burden around your neck and a heavy weight that you have to carry on your back - until you are ready to eject them and, metamorphise into a beautiful butterfly and  feel free, once again.

Earlier on, I was reading an online newspaper The Continued Cyberbullying of Mischa B about Misha B. For folks who are unfamiliar with this beautiful, young, darkskinned, talented young woman, she is a contestant on the UK's X Factor. From the beginning, when I saw this beautiful young woman sing in her auditions, I knew that she'd make it far in the competition, however, since then, when she showed that she was confident, young, gifted and Black, she seemed to have struck a nasty and begrudging  nerve with the UK viewing public. It was made even worse when she was accused of bullying Misha B accused of being a backstage bully Ever since then she has been accused of being 'over confident', 'arrogant', 'having a chip on her shoulder' and other negative descriptions. One only has to see the majority of negative and hurtful comments that have been attached to her.

Why so much venom and hatred? Is it because she shows, in the face of adversity, that like Maya Angelou's poem, that she will 'still rise'? The level of bullying that she has been accused of in the past - and these were just allegations which have never been proven by the way - definitely has some hidden agenda from some of these rabid media outlets, waiting to pluck her bare bones when she is finally voted out of the competition. In fact, the media are guilty of doing the same thing that Misha B has been accused of. Woe betide if she remains a finalist. It will be interesting to analyse the media's reaction then and what their next step will be. She'll probably be accused of being a cannibal or a serial killer. Yes, I know I'm being a bit over the top, but I know I may not be far from the mark.

I know that the two most famous black women in popular culture at the moment are Rhianna and Beyonce, but they seem to be 'safe' and 'non threatening' and dare I say, seen as 'beautiful' and 'desirous'  to the general public. In fact, they are embraced by the majority of people, regardless of race. So why has Misha B, who is just starting her singing journey, singled out with all of this unrepentant hatred? Well, I know, from experience, as I explained at the beginning, why this common, yet, unconscious (or is it conscious?) occurrence always happens. Once you are a black woman - stone me now if you want -  and darkskinned as well, you are meant to 'know your place' and position in society. Your not meant to be 'young, gifted and black'. Because, if you carry these positive labels around with you, expect the venom, hatred and absolute fear from mainstream societies. Yes, I said, FEAR.

I do not have any girls, however,  I have two, fine, young men and I used to sing Young, Gifted and Black to them all the time as a lullaby when they were babies. I really hope that Misha B has somebody strong in her life - and I think she has, as she was brought up by her aunty who instilled a sense of self within her; this is evident ( I know this from the audition I saw of Misha B).

I know that when I watch Misha B this Saturday on TV, I will be cheering her from the sidelines and singing Young, Gifted and Black at the top of my lungs to cheer her on. If she does not win this competition, I know that her star will soar far into the universe, leaving the lukewarm competitors behind in their soon forgotten singing careers. Good luck Misha B, I'm rooting for you!



Young, Gifted and Black


 To be young, gifted and black,
Oh what a lovely precious dream
To be young, gifted and black,
Open your heart to what I mean

In the whole world you know
There's a billion boys and girls
Who are young, gifted and black,
And that’s a fact!

You are young, gifted and black
We must begin to tell our young
There’s a world waiting for you
Yours is the quest that’s just begun

When you feel really low
Yeah, there’s a great truth you should know
When you’re young, gifted and black
Your soul’s intact

Young, gifted and black
How I long to know the truth
There are times when I look back
And I am haunted by my youth

Oh but my joy of today
Is that we can all be proud to say
To be young, gifted and black
Is where it’s at

Rejuvenating and jump starting my creativity: Researching and writing my book

Creative Writing Story Structure - Advanced

After all of this heart heavy work that I have been partaking with self over the last couple of weeks, I have decided to up my ante on researching and finally to start to write my book. I'm going to keep the subject close to my chest for now, because I am excited by the challenge, and most importantly, I have never seen a theme addressed in a fiction book before.

Suffice to say, I need to sweep away all of my procrastination cobwebs, jump aboard the writing train and keep on creating .

I am really excited about this journey, because I have eliminated my fears and self doubts when it comes to my creativity. I guess the reason why I picked at myself and beat myself up was because of a lack of belief in my creativity. The other day I was looking at some of my poetry pieces that I wrote several years ago. They're dang good! I may share some in this blog. The most vital thing for me now is to rejuvenate and jump start my creativity and dive into my pool of creating words and painting scenes within my book pages, so the core audience I am writing for, can ultimately relate to the story that I will be writing.