About Me

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I am not the person I was five years ago. I hope I will not be this person five years from now. For that I am continually thankful!

Monday, August 30, 2010

Read My Book!

"She may not be pretty to look at...in this kingdom of the blind." (James Baldwin)

The old addage, "Don't judge a book by it's cover," is more than just an insightful, wise saying that should be applied to more than books. It's an act of courage that forces us to look at ourselves first.

Dust jackets are for those who read  books but need to be attracted by the provocative. That's their purpose - to persuade us to dig deeper because we are, obviously, in need of motivation to go forward without ease of  an"all clear" warning, especially when it comes to reading. Dust jackets are supposed to provoke a certain feeling in a potential reader. Attractive, colorful, and splashed with titles that promise a different side of life, subconsciously enciting excitement. Beneath the cover, however, there's one thing quite clear about all books - they're all books. MOST require effort.

We are visual beings, aren't we? Anything that looks good, from food to the opposite sex, we make up our minds to pursue. Different things are attractive to different people. Variety is, after all, the best part of life, but what about really varied outliers? If we are honest, we'd admit that it's okay for people to be different as long as "different" fits into available categories. Whatever we misunderstand we classify into categories we understand...but don't want to understand.

The emotionally illiterate read seedy titles with sexy pictures, believing all female protagonists want to be the damsel in distress or need their attractiveness or sexiness validated through typical comments like, "Hey, Sexy," "You gotta boyfriend?" and my favorite, "Can I be your friend?" (while committing eye-rape). Most women handle this with social grace - they don't like it, but they brush it off with a smile or kind look. Any outliers earn hasty, negative titles and are dismissed with no further thought. I'm an outlier.

I have accepted that, to the emotionally illiterate, I'm "scary."  "Scary" is a judgement call on my dust jacket, which I honestly don't put much thought into. I'm far too busy writing the book. My title is, "Me...Uncensored." I claim no pseudonyms. I'm no artist, so I don't paint my face or nails. I guess the cover art suffers even further because I don't concentrate on showing my teeth to every person who crosses my path (or showing them just in case someone crosses my path). I think a lot. Perhaps, I think too much, but I have accepted my story for what it is...a damn good piece of literature that isn't for those who don't like a challenging read.

You can't buy me; I'm not for sale. You can't bid on me; I'm not on e-bay item. I'm not cheap; Amazon didn't farm me out to discount sellers. In fact, I'm out of print and only available in hard back.

I guess all this is to say we sometimes put our feelings about ourselves and what makes us comfortable on others, placing a value judgement on the covers of others because we don't really understand what we're looking at. If she doesn't smile, she may be pensive instead of mean. If' he's tatted up, he may be a man of conviction and commitment, inking whatever he holds dearly in his skin to connect him to it. Open the book. Flip through the pages.

Reading is still fundamental. It teaches us about ourselves. It makes us examine the writer. It feeds us. Eat heartily...

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Started as a Tweet...Evolved into a Movement

(This entry is based on actual tweets...)

I'm not sure if this is appropriate or not, but I just saw someone shout out AAliyah in a trending topic named for her.  My first thought was news flash...she can't hear you... But then I started to to wonder why Black people do strange things like "shout out" dead entertainers on Twitter or make obscure statements about dead entertainers with no explanation (someone on my timeline retweeted, "Aaliyah was to young girls what Tupac was to young men. RIP Aaliyah.") What was Tupac to young men? He was in his early 20s when he died; he was a young man himself, so all he could be to them was what Wayne is to them now (and I'm not sure what that is either). Tupac was just trying to find his way through. At times he was profound; at others, he was volitile. In other words, he was human, so let's not canonize him (The Book of ThugLife).

I've got a point here, and it isn't to mock the questionable words of people on social networking sites (although that's fun too). I guess I just wish if we were going to "shout out the dead," we would shout out the dead who really weren't even "shouted out" (I don't think it's "shout outted") when they were alive.

Here's my installment:

Shout out to MLK for all the marching! I appreciate it man! I'm a dreamer too!

And while I'm at it...shout out to James Baldwin for contributing to the academia of American culture that all the "Wayne-iacs" ignore.

Can't forget my girl, Zora. When Janie watched God, so did I.

And Ralph E. - You're still invisible to the masses, but no one could ever mass produce you. Can't say that for a lot of "novelists" these days.

Sojourner - you really are the truth.

L. Hughey - I'm what happens to a dream deferred. Thanks for the motivation.

Oh, and I can't forget Mark Twain - the Eminem of the game. I heard what you were saying to us, even if you used their words and rules to say it.

That's all for now GOOD PEOPLE. BE EASY...

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Echocardiogram (A story in 89 words)

“…Hyper trophy…”

“Which means?” I know I sounded rude, but I was afraid.

“The muscles are enlarged,” she said casually. I understood she was used to this process of delivery results, but I wasn’t receiving. I didn’t take her nonchalance personally.

“Okay…have you ever seen this before?”

“Honestly, no. I have never seen the left side of the heart enlarged in anyone your age. Are you stressed? Are you worried about something?”

“No. No stress. No worries,” I lied.

The left side of my heart must have been yours.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Hollywood (A story in 94 words)

From all the muffled expressions of excitement I’d heard for months, I expected bright lights and celebrity – life. I was ready for it all. Out of nowhere…

I was duped, however. I got darkness and a smack on the bottom. That’s when an overwhelming wave of clarity washed over me. And, out of nowhere, I wasn’t ready for it all. I screamed.

If this is the “epitome of it all,” there’s no place to go but down.

“It’s a girl,” he said.

But not a leading lady, I thought. There’s always another star waiting to be born.

Friday, July 2, 2010

The Tweet Life of Ghostwriteme

So...against my better judgement, and at the prompting of an avid "tweeter," I opened a Twitter account. After the account-setup rigmarole, I looked at my "timeline" and tried to figure out  how it all worked. It was explained to me that I needed "followers" and to "follow" others if I wanted to make the most of my Twitter experience. Now, of course those are my words, but that was the gist of the tutorial, and there was emphasis placed on the process of following and being followed. The goal was to be interesting enough to stalk and be stalked. I have a sarcastic tone (most times), so I really like to dialogue with people to see if I'm not the only weirdo on the planet who allows sarcasm to steer her social ships. On to the Twitter frontier!

My 1st tweet: "You probably think this tweet is about you...don't you?" I thought it was a pretty good start...but I received no response. I figured if I keep the natural me rolling, I should have no problems being a virtual social butterfly. People will follow me. I will follow others. Smashing fun!

My 15th tweet: "Why would Usher make a song called 'Daddy's Home' when most Black women have 'Daddy issues'? Trust me...u don't want me 2 call u that dude!" I thought this was ingenious, but once again, cyber-silence.  Capricorns are stubborn goats, however, so I wasn't giving up.

My 20th tweet, which was in response to a "trending topic""#idontappreciate People soaking up my sunshine!" I thought that would surely get some conversation going...or at the very least a stereotypical "sister-girl" snap in the air. Nothing. Then I got frustrated and started searching for people with interesting thoughts. Maybe they would want to follow me...or I would want to follow them.

And then I had a religious experience; I found someone with the Twitter name "Jesus," and this person was hilarious. His version of tweeting was to offer the side of "Jesus" that most people refuse to believe really ever existed - the human side. Though most people would have found this sacrilegious, I found it an interesting commentary or the classic question, "What Would Jesus Do?" or more specifically, "What Would Jesus Do with a Twitter Account?" The answer - "be followed." He or she has over 100,000 followers, yet followed no one. Okay. Now I get it.

A lot of people just want someone to pay attention to the (often mundane) details of their existence. It's understandable. It's human nature to want each individual experience to be interesting and unique, but relevant. But what does it take for me, an aspiring writer, to help draw attention to my words? Who will talk or listen to me if I just want to be funny, profound, or start intellectual dialogue? Sure, someone like "Jesus" can get people to follow him/her and enjoy and anticipate the next utterances that leave his/her lips, but I'm no Jesus. Hell, I'm not even Twitter Jesus.

So...I've realized that the Tweet life ain't so sweet for someone like me. I'd love someone to take enough interest in my thoughts to follow my links and dive deeply into the things in my head. But maybe I can't peak any one's interest because the observations I make about life are far more important to me than all my twitter fame coming from telling cyberspace about my day without purpose or prompting. Not judging anyone. Just trying to get some understanding for people like me...and I'm going to keep trying.

My 114th tweet: "Most teenagers I've encountered in class would rather take a stab at making it through the Middle Passage than to read a text of merit."

*crickets chirping - tumbleweed rolling - awkward looks all around*

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Falling...

God sat atop a cliff, surveying creation, watching Adam perform his daily routine below, and playing with Adam’s rib. The decision to take it during the previous night was a quick one, and because God never makes mistakes, improvements are also part of the plan. God found Adam a bore, and something needed to be done about it. He obeyed, and that pleased God. Adam relied on God for everything, and God loved that as well. And when they walked Eden’s grounds together, naming creation and spending quality time, the world was at its best because God loved Adam like all creators love their first creations. Adam was the prototype of God’s true ingenuity. Man had the capability of higher order thinking, procreation, invention, problem-solving, love, compassion, charity, and intellectual wonder, among many other things. Therefore, God loved him simply for the possibilities Adam had within, but GOD BEING GOD didn’t expect Adam to actualize any of these possibilities. Expectations aren’t for those who know; they’re for those who hope and believe in the potential they see in others. Those who have the patience to deal with the time necessary for growth. God is growth and knowing, so nothing was expected from Adam. It was clear...Adam had reached his limit.

That’s where the rib came in. Adam had been given everything rendering him a complacent creature, the biggest threat to God’s glory. And God couldn’t allow that. Complacent creatures don’t reach for anything; they strive only to keep their comfort, and God has no majesty in mediocrity, so being omniscient God took from Adam what he’d surely miss…eventually.

God rubbed the curve of Adam’s rib, admiring the smoothness and strength. This bone was both delicate and robust, a true testament to intelligent design. "Protect the heart. Stand at his side. Be attractive and attracted to him. Hmm…be both fragile and strong.”

After thinking it over, God found a quiet place in Eden to work. There the rib was fashioned into a mate for Adam. And she was fine. God knew Adam wasn’t going to listen to just anyone; he was a visual creature.

“Hey, Woman.”

“Hey, God.”

“So you know who I am.”

“Of course I do, God. I was inside Adam. I paid attention.”

God smiled. “Of course you did. You got any questions?”

Woman looked down at her body, and after careful examination, she cupped her breasts and asked, “What are these?”
God laughed. “They’re breasts. You’ll find out their many purposes in due time.”

“Well, what do you use yours for?” she asked, pointing to God’s chest beneath the white cloth draped over what appeared to be breasts.

“It’s complicated. I don’t really have breasts, or a body for that matter. I appear in the manner that best appeals to the person looking. So to you I look like you, so you can see how truly beautiful you are, and to Adam…well…I look like you…because he’s been waiting for you.” Woman looked confused. “I know you don’t understand, and I know you want to, but in order for that to happen, I’m really going to need a lot from you.”

“Sure, God. Anything for you,” Woman said, still closely examining her new body.

“Stop looking at yourself,” God said with a smile.

“But this body is so interesting, God. I mean…WOW! Will Adam like this?”

“Oh, yeah,” God said. “He’s been walking around creation looking at animals and trees and birds and he’s been pretty happy doing what I tell him to do, but he has no home of his own. No one to walk the earth with him. He didn’t say it, but I know he will appreciate you.”

“So he didn’t ask for me?”

“Woman…he didn’t ask for anything. He doesn’t know to ask for anything. Why do you think I had to put him to sleep to remove you? He would never have given you up willingly. He would have only seen the loss of a body part. I need you to open his eyes.”

“Okay, God. Where do you want me to go?”

“Well, I will present you to Adam. He will accept you as his mate, but he won’t understand the concept of partnership until you make him disobey me.”

“What?”

“Trust me, Woman. The world…you…man…everything will be better when he disobeys me. This will force him to look at what he’s been given, look at what he’s lost, and push this whole life I’ve given him to a new level of achievement.”

“I don’t understand, God.”

“But you will.”

“But if I separate you from Adam, he’ll blame me for everything else that comes afterwards.”

“True.”

“But he’ll be upset with me.”

“Also true, but only temporarily.”

“God, I don’t want to do this…”

“I know you don’t, but I don’t see any other way of pushing life forward. You are strong enough to handle every reward and consequence for this. And I promise you…you will understand it all…just not right now.”

Woman stood there in the middle of Eden’s beauty perplexed. She had not even had a day of simplicity in Eden before God told her she would have to be the cause of losing it all. God read her thoughts.

“No, you’re not cursed, Woman. You and I actually have a closer bond than Adam and I do. You’ll feel life growing inside you; Adam never will. You’ll understand what it means to be truly connected to Adam in a way he’ll need to be taught because I’ve spoiled him so much. As a matter of fact, man is going to name you, like he did all my other creations, but he won’t know the real reason behind the name he’ll choose.

“My name isn’t ‘Woman’?”

“Well of course not. How can Adam have a name without you having one? Your name is Eve because Eden Veils Everything, so man needs you to open his eyes to reality. Everything isn’t perfect. I never meant it to be.”

“Because a perfect world doesn’t need a God…”

God smiled. “I think you’re ready.”

Elsewhere in Eden, Adam woke up feeling a little “strange.” He didn’t exactly have a word for this feeling because he only had one emotion – happy – and he didn’t even know that word. God gave him charge over all things, he had a great body, and everything he needed was at his fingertips. Who wouldn’t be “happy”? That day, however, he woke up feeling (what he would later call) aimless, so he called on God.

“Excuse me, God,” he called, “you have a minute?” No answer. “God?” Silence. So he began his daily routine, hoping the new feeling would go away. He admired his body, found a quiet spot to urinate, tended to all the animals, and fed himself once all his work was done. “This is usually enough for me,” he said to himself. And with that, he fell asleep beneath an apple tree.

The next time he woke up, there was woman, walking among the trees in Adam’s favorite orchard. In all her long-legged wonder she strolled from tree to tree, examining the fruit with the expected curiosity of new creature.

“Thank…you…God," was all Adam could muster at the sight of Woman. He thoroughly examined every inch of her. For first time, he didn’t notice God enter the area.

“You’re welcome, Adam.”

“Oh, God! What did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing. Adam, this is "Woman," your mate. Your equal and opposite in every way. I want you to…”

“What are those?” Adam interrupted.

God laughed. “They’re breasts.”

“What are they for?”

Seeing that the plan was working (not that there was a doubt), God abandoned the formal introduction and said, “You’ll find out in due time…get to know each other. Oh and Adam, remember what I said. Show her the grounds, and teach her the rules.”

“Okay, God,” Adam replied, not taking his eyes off "Woman."

God turned and watched "Woman" until their eyes met and winked at her. She was doing an excellent job functioning as an object – looked at, talked about, but not included in the conversation. That was the first consequence of this mission she was learning to accept. "Woman" took a deep breath and walked toward God and Adam.

“Hey, Adam, why don’t you show me around? What have you named all this?”

“I’ll leave you to it,” were the last words in a kind tone they ever heard from God. Adam, of course, thought that comment was for him; "Woman" knew it was really for her.

“What’s the rush? We’ve got plenty of time for that, “Adam said. “Let’s get to know each other…”

“Sure,” she agreed. “I really want to try one of these…these…these?

“Apples,” Adam offered. “God called these Chinese apples. This whole place is full of apples and other fruits.”

“How do they taste?”

“They’re pretty good. I’ve tasted them all, except for this one tree over in the corner that God told me not to touch,” Adam said, still checking out his mate's frame.

“Really? Show it to me…” she said, innocently. “I really want to make sure I know all God wants us to do here.” And with that, "Woman" went forth on her mission, hoping it would - one day - all be worthwhile.





Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Ms. Bruce - The Radical

I'm tired of accepting the general idea that eduacation is meant to fail, so I wrote the following letter to the Superintendent of Prince George's County Public Schools:

March 19, 2010

Dear Dr. Hite:

I was educated in the era of summer reading; that has made a significant difference in the choices I’ve made in life. As corny as it sounds, summer reading offered me the opportunity to think for myself by opening a book with no direction and making it important to me. My analytical skills were tested; I began to understand that I wasn’t just any student. Anything I took away from a book was my own and that presented me with a rare gift – control over my education. I learned the extent of my intellect; it has been the one thing that no one has been able to take away from me and has taken me places that my individual circumstances could never dictate. I became a teacher to empower students in this direction; I wanted them all to understand their role in their own education and, in turn, the outcome of their lives.

Times have changed since I was an eleventh grader reading Baldwin for the first time. In this technologically-driven world, innovation trumps imagination. The easier and quicker gadgets make life for us, the less we feel obligated to do for ourselves. In every other area of our children’s lives, innovation could be considered a fantastic thing, but in education, it only eliminates the need for hard work. We’ve become enamored with the technology of SMARTboards and lost the quest for smart students. Too afraid to compete with the technology of Facebook, we’ve given up on the art of class discussion and bringing everyday life into the classroom. Most secondary schools are no longer training grounds for the imagination. They have become protocol factories where teachers are held accountable for two grades per week (whether or not the students have actually learned anything) and schools celebrate AYP, although adequate seems as dangerous an adjective as mediocre.

Although it’s a long shot, perhaps all of this is a result of the death of summer reading. We’ve taken an important challenge away from our children and replaced it with a sense of entitlement. Presently, many parents and officials in Prince George’s County believe it’s too much work to ask a child to pick up a book of literary merit, read it, and figure out why someone would bother to write it and what relevance it has in the world while on their summer vacations. However, they expect students to return from vacation and perform. I understand many people do not share my views, and there is nothing I can do to convince parents to encourage guided analysis instead of giving their children ipods and expensive cell phones. In spite of this, I try my best every day to re-ignite the brains of my students. More than anything, I want them to be lifelong learners with more options than obligations in life.

I teach Research/Term Paper, a class that helps fulfill the SAT Prep credit at Laurel High School. Students have the option to take this class for the first time in 11th grade, the most important level in high school. It’s the first grade in the county where they are not preparing for the HSA and when their post secondary options are moving into their everyday lives. When I first started teaching the class in the 2006-2007 school year, I had no idea it would become such an important part of my students’ lives. It became a route to merge English, writing, and constructive analysis into each school day; I’m proud to say most students enjoy my class.

This letter is not about my work, however. There are many teachers in this county who do great work in educating students. This letter is about the children who benefit from a class that attempts to open their minds, challenge pre-conceived notions, and promote goal-setting (which helps them discover what they enjoy and what they want to pursue after high school). If Prince George’s County really desires to promote lifelong learning, it must put effort into developing a sound writing curriculum that begins in the 10th grade and is implemented in its own class. Writing deserves its own space; expecting fluent writing and analysis within the content level English curriculum is absurd. Literary conventions take so much precedence in content level English classes that writing strategies fall by the wayside. Teachers of 9th and 10th grade English have prescribed pacing guides and objectives, and writing is not at the forefront of either curriculum. If Prince George’s County expects most of its students to graduate and be successful in college, writing must transcend the occasional descriptive or comparison essay.

As proof of the effectiveness of this idea, I am enclosing letters from members of my first semester research class. I asked them to write down their thoughts about what Research class has done for them. I think you will find that most students were positively affected and truly embraced the space and opportunity to shape their opinions, organize them, and present them to their peers in written form. If you should find grammatical/spelling errors, I ask that you view them as a reason to invest more time and energy into a writing curriculum instead of using them as proof of the Research class’s ineffectiveness. I have not read or edited any of these letters, as I found it time my students were allowed to speak for themselves.

If you would like to discuss this matter, feel free to contact me. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,

Tyauna A. Bruce
College Summit/Research Teacher

Sometimes...you've got to say what you feel, no matter the consequences. What's life without the limb?