WIND BENEATH MY WINGS

....no writing since wednesday. work on wednesday and thursday and poetry on friday night. a fine performance by a brother and sister working on a stage piece in honor of their dad -- a teacher, activist, father, lover, brother, barbecuer, hell-raiser, loving-his-kids man. beautiful piece. effective use of call and response. can't wait to see it in production.

....no writing today. spouse and i took the little ones over here for snow tubing and we had a blast. my ass is still hurting from the bumps on the hills. wind whipping my cheeks a rosy red and my little lady hollering "hold on mommy!!!" as we slid at top speed down the mountain. little man stood up in his tube as we were being pulled by the lift so of course they had to stop and get him back in. notta problem. grateful for some fun. time away. time to act like a kid again with the kids. to not think of all there is to do. to feel that wind against my face and open my mouth, taste it, swallow it, just as i used to do when i was a kid flying down warren street on my pink huffy bike. many thoughts today. many good thoughts. and an understanding about getting older in a way i hadn't understood before. clarification articulated during a four hour conversation with a friend that ended at 3:45 in the morning. damn. four hours. haven't done that in a long time. many good thoughts today. adding to that wellspring from which i write.

---a.

GETTING THERE

Three good pages yesterday and two today so far. Thought about keeping track of my progress through word counting but realize that for me, in this re-write stage, I'm more concerned about the quality than the quantity and I can't move on satisfied that I've completed 1,000 words if the 1,000 words are junk. Thinking alot about Toni Morrison and how she describes her writing process and the author of Bel Canto (is it Ann Patchett?) who says she hammers and hammers each page so that when she's finished there is no rewriting necessary.

Winter has set in. It's the hardest time of the year for me. Schools are closed more than they're open and keeping the kids from wringing each other's necks is a challenge. Took little man out yesterday to play in the snow and he is like so allergic to cold weather. Little lady does fine but he starts coughing and his eyes start tearing the moment we get outside. Went to Sunny's Surplus today and brought home a make-shift sled kinda thing, you know, the way we used to slide down hills on garbage can lids? Something like that. Anyhow, asked the little guy if he wants to go outside, he answered emphatically No! So much for that $8.99. Maybe tomorrow.

Writing in the mornings now and stretching out on the couch indulging in either Charlie Rose or PBS or something else by night. Last night, late-commer that I am, I watched Once Upon A Time In Mexico. Three out of five if you ask me. But I love Johnny Depp's commitment to craft, always enjoy looking at Antonio Banderas, and Eva Mendes and Selma Hayek are gorgeous and a nice change from Hollywood's usual pix.

Anyway, wondering how this primary's going to turn out. Not overjoyed about any of the Dem's but if I had to vote today it'd be for Kerry. Vietnam gives him a whole different take on this Iraq situation and being a single father for a number of years doesn't hurt either. Think Dean took too much for granted, Clark doesn't have a platform, Sharpton's brought much to the debates and forced a lot of them to say things that wouldn't have had to discuss had he not been there and the other guy--Edwards?--not quite sure what's up with him or where he's coming from.

Ice, sleet and rain coming tonight. Isn't the Northeast just grand?

ANGEL

PHILLY STYLE

Had a marvelous time in Philly again on Sunday. As Sir Donovan and the Eagles crew were getting ready for the playoff game, I and my sister poets were deep breathing and settling in for our radio show on WURD 900 am. Had a marvelous, marvelous show. Several callers called in about my poem, Lest We Forget which I read in honor of Dr. King. Incidentally, if you didn't catch the documentary, Citizen King, on PBS Monday night, do hop over to PBS and see if you can grab up the DVD. It's a necessary addition to your video library, trust me. (While you're at it, Eyes on the Prize wouldn't hurt either).

But I digress.

It was fantastic to have callers asking me about the poem and inquiring where they can get it. The book will be out in Spring and it will be included in there. We had good conversation and I, once again, learned much about the inner workings of radio as I have always wanted to learn. The energy is good, I tell you, it's good.

The next literary salon is next Friday. Have much to do to get the word around. Emails, etc. With so much activity going on, I'm not anywhere near the level of SAD as I was last year. Didn't even order my paperwhites. I tell ya.....

Switching around my schedule a bit. Waking at four in the morning before the kids and the day ..... trying to get the novel writing done on the front end rather than the back when I am simply exhausted and bereft. It's stunning to watch the sunrise, to inhale my coffee (I know, I know ... it ain't organic, oh well) and settle into the arrival of new words. So far it's working. Trying to find anything to say at 9 o'clock at night has just been futile.

Lastly, the locs are simply beautiful. Why have I waited this long? My Sister-friend-loctician Korigo is hooking a sister up just marvelous. The picture on the main page is old (the only one I could find on disc) but I will, I promise, upload a new picture of me in my locs. My hair has been set on large rollers and swept upward into curled locs. The locs in the back are loosely braided diagonally into an "up-do." I told her yesterday, I fell regal. And isn't this what it's all about? Feeling beautiful. Knowing you look good regardless of what anyone else thinks. People keep asking me "how do you do that?" I say, I just let my stylist experiment. Isn't that what life is all about? Going with the flow.

Just back in from an all day field trip with my oldest and her class. National Aquarium.
Epsom salt here I come. Feet don't fail me now.

Be good,
Angel

REVELATIONS


......So anyway, here I am, sixteen days into the New Year and the energy is moving so well. Good to come back to my blog for a minute. Always good to come home to myself, to think my thoughts in quiet space, to examine what I've learned, where I'm going, where I've come from.

And so the news of the day for anyone who doesn't already know is that the book is done.

As in finished.

As in completed.

As in ..... there ain't no more

Twenty six poems and three short stories ..... indeed more than I initially planned but in honest it is a reflection of who I am, who I once was, who I am becoming. It is the reflection of what I've learned about both my craft and myself over these past two decades. Indeed, a reflection.

Where I initially cringed at the idea that the children would be home all day long for two weeks over the Christmas/Kwanzaa Holiday, it only took a day to settle in and accept the natural flow of my life, to not fight against it, to see what I could do and what I couldn't. The best part of my life as a writer is that I don't just write poems and I don't just write novels --- I am literally all over the place in my thoughts and I allow them to be birthed in the manner they choose. So if my thoughts want to express themselves as poems, good. If what I need to say is best said in an essay, fine. I'm open. And so I decided that rather than try to be creative amidst all that busy-ness and going and coming and lighting of kinaras and explaining zawadi --- I would simply complete those activities that required minimal effort. Alas, there is always editing to do. With red pen in hand I took to my poems. I lay them out upon the floor, spread inches apart, examining the order in which I want them to appear. I took to my stories, settled in with them and searched for their hearts. I wrote my Introduction, collected the Preface from my mentor/friend, received the blurbs for the back. I carried this project with my to bed, to the store, in the car --- wherever I went. And after much sincere and honest analysis, I found my way.
All that remains now, is the final cover from the graphics folks. Not 100% satisfied with the original cover, I asked for a re-do and so now I wait. Patiently. Quietly. Thankfully.
Hopefully we'll be on the shelves by Spring. As the Creator wills it to be, so it will be. I'm open and just so thankful to have a body of work -- collected body of work -- to give to my children; a reflection of my deepest thoughts, musings, frustrations, hopes for them and for myself.

Where I had thought at the beginning of this writing/motherhood journey that the two would be horribly incongrous I am seeing more and more that it is all ONE path, roles complimenting each other. When I am with the children, when they demand my creative self, there is other work to be done and hence, progress. When they are away at school I can climb back into my solitude and find those words I need, those images and metaphors. And I find that they are more easily found when I have had the chance to play, be silly, goof off so to speak.

The other thing I've noticed is that I am a very different person when I'm working on poems. Over the holiday I read my poetry on the radio up in Philly and then at a gathering at an artist's home nearby. It was a gathering of artists, poets, musicians, etc. I was also reading at the coffee shop too. I felt so alive, so passionate, so.......out there. I found myself thinking poetically (if that makes any sense at all) with a sincere desire to immerse myself in the city, amongst the poets and the people. I wanted to listen to issues and discuss them, hold them under the scope and examine them. I wanted to evaluate, talk, debate, listen .... then come back to my page and write a poem about it. But now, as the book is done (really it is, there is not one more word I can muscle into this work) I turn my attention back to my novel and I settle into my other Self: the novelist.

As the novelist, I need silence. I need to talk less and certainly do not want to debate any matters. I want to be alone and I don't want to hear anyone's troubles. If I run into someone I know, I will not say, "How are you?" not because I don't care but simply because it is usually an invitation to which people too readily accept. I find myself clenching my teeth, distracted, as the person moans and groans about something changeable in there life that they are unwilling to change. After all, we all have choices don't we? I can only think of my novel and all of the imagery and metaphor I am sure will escape once I get home. My mind will be too filled with the dung of someone else's life. As the novelist, I discovered that my work is at it's best when I crawl back into my hole; whereas my poems demand I be out, about and amidst.

Isn't that odd?

But true. I cannot write on the days that I work. The slate is bare. But when I am home, after the children are off to school and I can stand in front of the sink and lower my hands into the dishwater and look out the window as I swirl my sponge in and out of their empty oatmeal bowls, I hear the words. They come. They arrive beautifully, needing little, if any, revision. Just me and the dishwater and the swaying of the trees out back; the sun casting long bands of light across the floor, the ducks heading south, the crows searching the grass for worms after a cool, light rain. It's a beautiful time. Being alone with one's thoughts is a prayer.

And so, knowing what I need, I let those I love know that I will not be available during certain hours. Goal of all goals is to finish the novel before the turn of 2005. We shall see. As the Creator wills it to be, so it will be.

Anyhow, if you haven't already picked it up, do skip over to Amazon and consider buying The Creative Habit by choreographer Twyla Tharp. It's a great read, applicable to all artists. Not your, "how to write a damn good novel" type of book, but an examination of the habits of creative people, particularly those who carve out successful careers. Of course, I heard about it on my favorite NPR segment, The Tavis Smiley show. Tonight is poetry and work was last night. Time to give my brain a rest. Will post some of the poems on my sample page soon.

Be Good. More when time permits,

ANGEL

TICKING

So much happening. So very, very much. No time to blog just yet but trust that I am well and that the energy has definately changed since 2003. Good flow. Good, good flow.

Will be back as soon as Soon comes 'round here and please check out the Upcoming Events section to your right, there may be something coming up on your side of the planet.

Wishing you peace,
ANGEL