Michelle L. Smith - The Ebony Quill, LLC

As promised, I'm going to reveal a juicy nugget from my recent conversation with my aunt. I spoke with her as part of the research I'm doing for my memoir. In recent posts, I stated that I had only snippets of memories to go on. I've since read articles on memoir writing and was heartened to learn that it's fine to jump around a bit and go back and forth with the timeline. This seems to work well with what I'm laying out and affords a bit of reprieve to some of my more heavy-duty scenes.

But before I reveal that golden nugget with which I plan to open my memoir, I'm plugging an essay of mine that just appeared in an online publication called Blended Future Project. The piece is titled "Person of Color" and provides a snapshot into my contemplation of race from an early age. To read it, click here.

Now, back to my memoir project. I recently spoke with my aunt for the first time in years. She started our two-and-a-half conversation with a recollection of when she and her younger sister (both teenagers and younger than my mother at the time) were on their way to my home to babysit me and my younger sister. I was about five, but I have no memory of being babysat by them. Anyway, my aunt began this way: "I knew something was wrong when I saw you sitting on the curb two blocks from your home. I said, 'Look at the baby! Why is she sitting by herself in the street?'" My aunt then proceeded to begin another story without elucidating what was "wrong" in my home. Though I had a pretty good idea, I stopped her in her tracks and asked her to expand. I wanted objective confirmation of my suspicion.

When I subsequently sat down to write the opening chapter of my memoir, I called upon the old adage that a good story starts in medias res—in the middle of the action. I ended up using what is undoubtedly the most poignant of my childhood memories—my separation from my mother. My aunt's moving tidbit about finding me on a street curb also fits the bill, but I'm using it later in the first chapter (yes, I've already written several chapters).

I was once told by a writing instructor that I'm a master at creating tension. I'm sure there was some hyperbole involved there, but I like to think he was on to something. In the interest of keeping you hanging, that's all I'm disclosing at this point. But please don't hate on me! I've certainly opened Pandora's box, so let this be an indication of how much suspense you can expect in my memoir. This won't be easy, but I'm going to push through this journey of reliving heartache and pain with the goal of coming through transformed for the better. That journey and transformation will, hopefully, also be had by my readers.

Meanwhile, I'll give myself a bit of sage advice: Take deep breaths, and then get on with it...

My comments for this third installment of my "True Confessions" posts focuses on the memoir I'm developing, which I alluded to at the beginning and end of installment number two.

The beginning and end. For my memoir-in-progress, I have an idea where to begin, and I have multiple options for its conclusion. However, if I'm going to be honest, I haven't yet figured out a through line, although my goal is to inspire others seeking survival and triumph amid adversity. As previously mentioned, I've written snippets or mini chapters of my recollections to get my thoughts down on paper. However, I need to tie them together with a connecting theme so I can provide the reader with a satisfying story.

I made an inroad since last month's blog post by contacting an aunt with whom I've had little interaction over the years. I informed her of my desire to know more about my upbringing and possibly gain insights into how I survived a highly dysfunctional environment. Surprisingly, she agreed to answer all my questions. We set a date, and I made the phone call, not knowing what to expect. My aunt opened the conversation by apologizing for anything she did or did not do to help my siblings and me during our struggles, which indicated that this discussion would be cathartic for her. Thankful for her willingness to have this conversation, I told her that no apology was necessary. She then gave an effluent monologue of the first 20 or so years of her life.

My aunt hardly took a breath between words as she recounted details of those years, confirming that the little I do remember of those tumultuous times is factual and not post-traumatic figments of my imagination. Then, I filled in details of which she wasn't aware but were consistent with her knowledge. It was the only time she was dead-silent. I could hear the proverbial pin drop on the other side of the phone line.

After nearly two and a half hours of back-and-forth and notetaking on my part, we agreed to resume our discussion at a later time. It's been three weeks now, and I've yet to pore through my notes, annotate, and write follow-up questions in preparation for our next talk. But I'm getting there.

The moral of this blog post? You never know who's willing to talk unless you ask!

Note - This third blog installment turned out to be longer than anticipated (sound familiar?), so I'm ending here and saving a juicy nugget of a revelation from the aforementioned discussion for next month in what should be my final post in my "True Confessions" series. To think that I initially anticipated only one or two installments—I might need a fifth, but I don't intend to write my memoir here!

As promised, here is the second of three installments of my "True Confessions" posts.

So, the novel is set aside for now, and I plan to resume writing a memoir—though you may ask, How can you tackle something of that length when you just shelved the novel because its length hampered progress with your other projects? The answer is that I'm writing the memoir in snippet format. That is, as ideas come to me, I write an essay-length piece and file it away. When I'm ready for the next "chapter," I sit down to produce another contribution, which may not necessarily connect in linear fashion with the last piece. While each chapter stands on its own, I do intend to pull a unifying thread through.

I will also continue drafting personal essays for submission to contests, newspapers, etc. In the meantime, I've learned of my 1st place win in the 2021 SouthWest Writers Contest for a humor piece I submitted! This win is incredibly gratifying; however, some of you who sense that I'm more of a serious-minded individual may wonder when I first entertained the concept of being a humorist. Indeed, I take any work I do seriously and give it my all. However, I must admit that I've posed this question to myself more than once. I must also confess that I'm not entirely certain of the answer.

I have a couple of theories about the development of my humor voice. For one, I've long been able to see the comedic side of ordinary life situations with which most of us identify and commiserate. As an ardent golfer, I often come across scenarios rife with fodder for humor prose—although I don't always see humor in a golf round and end up telling myself that I should never have gotten out of bed! I plan to create a collection of these anecdotes (some of which have already been published) in book form that would, hopefully, find a home at golf clubs or in retail golf shops.

The second theory I'll share is that as dark as my memoir will likely turn out to be, and as dark as the novel is, for that matter, humor may have become a form of respite for my writing brain to protect it from being mired in the abyss too long. Whatever the case, some time had passed before I understood that others appreciate my quick wit and one-liners as much as I enjoy producing them. Whether my humor represents some sort of coping skill or raw talent, or both, at least others find my work funny. I confess that appreciating my humor means a lot to me!

See you next month for installment number three of "True Confessions."

For the last several years, I've worked on multiple iterations and rewrites of my novel, Hide and Seek. I just completed another revision, but the truth of the matter is that the time-consuming nature of this process is hampering my progress with other projects that I'm anxious to pursue. While I'm not throwing in the towel, I'm going to shelve my novel for a bit to make time for shorter nonfiction pieces.

As I slogged through novel revisions, I learned a lot about myself as a writer, including that I have difficulty focusing on a project of that length for long stretches of time. That same struggle with focus has also prevented me from being an ardent reader, which is something I've been reluctant to admit. If you've read my earlier blogs, you may recall that I attributed these impediments to dyslexia. Looking back over several decades, I better understand why my class studies were more difficult than they should have been and why I heavily relied upon memorization to pass my exams, which I often struggled to complete in the allotted time.

Typing sometimes frustrates me to the point that I curse my hands or pound my fist onto my desk because of my inability to get through a single paragraph without transposing "f" with "g" or "v" with "b" or "x" with "z" or entire words, even. The same goes for handwriting. I reread and correct my work ad nauseam, which bodes well for revisions of my writing projects that I patiently carry out until I can read through an entire manuscript without cringing. As a result, my work is fairly "clean" upon submission. But perseveration often interferes with my narrative flow, particularly in a long piece of fiction, which is why I find writing nonfiction more gratifying. The words seem to pour onto the pages. And, oh my, have I got a lot to say...

(At the first writing of this blog post, my thoughts and feelings flowed out of my fingertips like a gushing waterfall, and I soon realized that it was going to be much longer than prior posts. Lest you become disenchanted with too long of a read here, I've parceled this tome into three segments. So stay tuned for next month's installment (#2) of "True Confessions.")

In 1933 under Nazi Germany, an infamous public book burning took place as a radical display of censorship and intolerance. Blacklisted works by literary and political figures, including Ernest Hemingway, were targeted for the flames. After the destruction of these books, the Nazi regime raided libraries, bookstores, and publishers' warehouses to destroy other works it deemed un-German (cited from Holocaust Encyclopedia, U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum).

Because the veracity of science is increasingly questioned these days, preservation of truth and science-based facts remains paramount. As disinformation spreads falsehoods in alarming and detrimental fashion, we must remain vigilant and discerning of what we consume from social and television media. We must be wary of those who would stifle our attempts to impart knowledge that discounts such disinformation.

In fiction writing, it's rather ordinary to make stuff up. Fantasy and magical realism are popular among readers, and some writers claim both fiction and non-fiction as their genres. Surrealism may be juxtaposed or conflated with realism. In the end, no matter your genre, protagonist, or writing style, the goal is to impart information to a receptive audience.

Thankfully, we still retain the protection of our First Amendment right. However, some political leaders have made attempts to squelch that right when it comes to accurate representation of historical facts that are sometimes unpleasant at best. For example, they'd rather we not know the truly treacherous nature of the enslavement of African Americans.

Suppression of knowledge by elected officials is antithetical to our Constitution's First Amendment. Surely, none of us wants to revisit an era where free thought and expression of ideas is inappropriately suppressed for any reason, let alone political ones. Going down that rabbit hole is not likely to generate an ending wherein all parties live "happily ever after."

Our nation recently celebrated the anniversary of its declaration of independence from Great Britain. During a televised Capitol Fourth of July celebration also held in commemoration of Juneteenth (the anniversary of the final emancipation of all enslaved African Americans), I listened to a performance of the song "Lift Every Voice and Sing." To my recollection, this song was dubbed the "Black National Anthem." A quick Google search confirmed my suspicion; however, I also learned that the anthem not only contains prose specific to the struggles of enslaved Blacks, but it was also written to celebrate the anniversary of President Lincoln's birthday in 1905.

During this nation's recent period of heightened racial awareness and reckoning, suppressed African American history like that of the Tulsa, Oklahoma Massacre (of which I previously had no knowledge) has come to the fore. Sadly, public acknowledgement of the brutality of our nation's past has become mired in heated political divisiveness. Some Americans see an accurate historical accounting as a personal affront to their sensibilities. I can assure you that they are not alone in their feelings of reproach. The legacy of slavery is as painful for Black Americans as is the wholesale discounting of their ancestors' contributions to the development of our nation.

The amount of discord over a fair and accurate rendering of African American history reflects the impact of a pervasive whitewashing of said history. No matter how sanitized our tools of education, however, the reality of our past cannot be erased. Other atrocities like plagues, wars, and genocides have been visited upon civilizations since the beginning of time. As painful as that history is, we have learned from it.

When did we decide that it was proper to teach only that history which does not offend the feelings of one segment of our population, particularly given that its long-term ramifications serve as its reminder day in and day out? To reconcile the discord and animus that now run rampant, we must acknowledge our history in all its shortcomings and glory. And we need more freedom to expose and write about that history. We can't be in the business of penalizing educators for speaking truth.

We're all in this together. Armed with factual knowledge, maybe we can declare our independence from hatred and learn to love again!

It took me a while to get down to writing this month's blog post, as I had difficulty coming up with a topic. Technically, I don't consider that conundrum a form of procrastination. Being the task-minded person that I am, and given how much I enjoy writing, however, I'm loath to admit that I sometimes find it difficult to launch a writing session. My main excuse is a need to clear my head, which means I invariably check emails and text messages before addressing the keyboard. Once I'm at it, though, I'm good to go until fatigue sets in.

After ridding my head of distractions, I silence my phone and reread prior work before resuming the project. Yet even my own review process can get in the way as I linger on something problematic. A slow start often leads to frustration about not getting as much accomplished as I intended, and sometimes I pay for that underperformance by waking up at three in the morning with a guilty conscience. I've been known to jump out of bed and burn the midnight oil during the wee hours of the night to make up for lost productivity. Admittedly, some fault lies with me being that driven person with the to-do list that won't quit. But that's another digression!

One solution to procrastination that works for me is a deadline, which reinforces discipline. My goal is to publish this blog on the 15th of each month. Although I got a late start this time around, at least I met my deadline.

In this climate of conspiracy theories and alternative facts, the line between reality and surrealism can become blurred at times, which is often the case in magical realism writing.

Magical realism differs from fantasy in that the latter contains a unique, fantastical environment or world in which its characters exist. Magical realism, on the other hand, drops a fantastical element into the midst of an otherwise ordinary, real world. A successful magical realism writer must coax her readers into suspending disbelief so that the story doesn't seem silly.

Some authors open their stories with a magical element to ground the reader in the genre up front. I'm more a fan of the gradual introduction of magic. For me, that makes the "twist" even more intriguing when it first appears. I'm hooked when I'm given pause to ponder whether what I just read is what the author intended me to understand. I'm motivated to keep reading to see how this bit of intrigue will play out. Either way, I find the genre enthralling.

In recent months, I've repeatedly heard, "You can't make this stuff up." I imagine there are lots of Hollywood scriptwriters and producers foaming at the mouth about plotlines and miniseries with themes based in our current political environment. While those headlines don't necessarily implicate magic, there is a sense of surrealism from time to time that might stir the creative mind to consider, What if?

This time of year must be writing contest season. I've received a ton of notices about submission opportunities in just about every genre from poetry to memoir, short story to creative non-fiction, novel excerpt to literary journal piece. The word count requirements are just as varied.

It feels good to be at a point in my writing where I'm confident enough to submit material for judging. Yet as I strive to meet deadlines, I realize that most, if not all, responses to my submissions will be rejections. But my efforts are not wasted, as there is always room for learning. As needed, I refer to notes from classes or conferences I've attended and review salient advice for the revision process. I proceed accordingly, sharpening my revision and editing skills with each pass. Some contests even inspire me to create new work. Social isolation during the Covid-19 pandemic has also provided more opportunity for me to hone my skills with fewer distractions. In fact, I'm not entirely sure I look forward to a return of all those external sources of diversion!

Spring has arrived, however, and so has the season of showcasing one's talent. Not only am I proceeding full steam ahead with my craft, I also may have discovered a flair for photography. I seem to have an eye for photographic composition and plan to submit one or two images for competition.

As my vegetable and flower gardens flourish, birds awaken, and temperatures rise, so, too, does my creative energy. I hope yours is also roused and that you dare to share your work with others!

I recently started another revision of my novel, Hide and Seek, a magical realism story about a 12-year-old girl with a special gift that she must properly embrace if she is to help her deceased brother cross over to "the other side." Though the intended audience is adults, I have attempted to write it from the perspective of a 12-year-old narrator. I've been advised by experts in the publishing industry that such an endeavor would be hard to pull off. Indeed, it's been difficult to find other stories written this way. The few that I did find tend to take liberty with the child's capacity for an advanced vocabulary, which did not bother me so much. However, I recognized the same in my own work and had made several notations about correcting the language in a future revision—admittedly, a daunting task.

Well, this go-around, after being satisfied that I'd composed the storyline I wanted, I began another revision. At the second chapter in, something "clicked," and I realized that the mature vocabulary of an adult gives me more freedom of voice. So, I changed the narrator to that of a young adult looking back.

The timing of this epiphany was perfect, as I'd contemplated submitting the first 15 pages of my novel to a couple of fellowship-type programs designed to guide writers through a professional revision process. I immediately went back to my opening chapter and made appropriate changes. My deadlines are in a couple of days, so I've been devoting most of my writing time to the novel revision.

As the saying goes, "Timing is everything."

During Black History Month, recommendations for creative works by African American authors and playwrights have ticked up, including W.E.B. DuBois' "The Souls of Black Folk." The day before I sat down to write this post, I realized that the other reason this book was on my mind was my recollection of taking my father's copy with me when I left home for college some decades ago.

I never read the book in its entirety, and I was moved to search for it among my collection. At first, I was unable to locate it amid the stacks of paperbacks and hardcovers jammed into my bookshelves, some of which perpetually await the opening of legitimate shelf space. As I gave a final sigh and started to turn away from the sagging shelves, the weathered yellow paperback suddenly "jumped out" at me from its resting place atop the uppermost shelf.

Copyrighted in 1953, this version of "The Souls of Black Folk" was published in 1961. Its pages, which look like they're about to free themselves from the book spine, are almost as yellow as the cover. Thankfully, the strange odor of decay seems to be fading.

The book obviously belonged to someone other than my father as it is filled with annotations in handwriting that is not his. Did he loan it to another person? Did someone give it to him? The elusive answer to this person's identity is as intriguing as the fact that I was able to lay my hands on the book.

I find it amazing that DuBois' historic work, considered a controversial but highly touted read back in the day, is being referenced in discussions about racism in 2021, exactly 50 years after the release of this version. In my estimation, I've stumbled upon something worthy of enshrinement. Though the font is painfully small and dense, I plan to gingerly read it from cover to cover and, hopefully, experience some sort of spiritual awakening as I do.

But, oh, how I wish I knew whose handwriting and underscoring grace its pages!

Paraphrasing Spanish philosopher George Santayana, Winston Churchill wrote, "Those who failed to learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

Writing serves a purposeful role in the transmission of information, including the preservation of past and present events for future consideration. During this past pandemic-stricken, democracy-threatening year, I've relied upon the skills of respected journalists to keep me abreast of the staggering pace of evolution of this Nation's history. While in no way diminishing the exceedingly difficult conditions under which health care workers, grocery store clerks, law enforcement members, mass transit workers, garbage handlers, truck drivers, postal workers, and others have toiled to keep us safe and functioning with a minimal degree of normality, journalists also became front-line workers, as they often risked their lives to take us into the heart of developing critical situations and, in most cases, attempt to objectively present what we may not personally experience.

As writers, we are unified in our goal to impart information to others. Written words and speech are powerful tools of communication that can be as inciteful as they are enlightening. While journalists have been demonized by those who would prefer to camouflage the truth with "alternative facts," they have persevered at great peril to keep us informed during these tumultuous times. In the hopefully waning era of "fake news," I am thankful that journalistic integrity reliably informed me.

Let us celebrate our esteemed colleagues by taking a moment to acknowledge those who make it their mission to convey truth through the power of words.

Most would agree that 2020 has been a year of many firsts, heartaches, dreams gone bust, and precious little good in between. So many twists and turns that we thought we'd never see or experience. Lots of unique stories found their genesis in the Covid-19 pandemic. Empty store shelves early on set the stage for dark suspense. I imagine that we'll see more than a few creative works incorporating this unfortunate chapter in our history.

Although many stories have been written about natural disasters, there's something sacrilegious about exploiting the pandemic theme at this time, mainly because we're still in the throes of something akin to Armageddon, the Plague, or the Second Coming of Christ. While there are numerous plot lines, dastardly characters, and an abundance of tense drama to pull from 2020, we would still need to determine what it is our protagonist must achieve by the end of our story. Of course, you'd need a good antagonist to foil her quest to achieve that goal.

As we come to the end of this nightmare of a year, we might envision that nightmare ending on a positive note like any good read. Indeed, there are already signs of light at the end of a long and winding tunnel. But we need to stay tuned in, be focused and vigilant, and keep turning the pages of this hellish narrative to reach that satisfying conclusion.

On a brighter holiday season note: While contemplating alternate means to celebrate the spirit of the season with family and friends, consider bringing joy into the life of a stranger by doing something kind and unexpected. It will mean the world to them—and to yourself!

As the close of 2020 nears, I find myself contemplating the sense of renewal that accompanies the start of a New Year, particularly in light of the recent presidential election. Whatever your desired outcome, the results signal the advent of change.

Over the last several years, I've repeatedly heard it said, "This isn't who we are" in reference to overt racist acts and the pervasive divisiveness that has infected our nation as well as the lack of empathy and humanity on the part of many of our leaders. I've also heard the retort, "This is exactly who we are." I agree with both statements.

While it has been upsetting to witness some of the ugliest aspects of human nature and see that behavior sanctioned by very powerful people, I look forward to a collective raising of our consciousness that will, hopefully, reunite us all as Americans.

In the spirit of renewal, this might be a good time to step outside your comfort zone and walk for a bit in a different pair of shoes, contemplating what can be done to heal this country and bring light to darkness. It might also be a good time to bring a piece of writing out from under the pile of set-asides and breathe life back into it. Or you might want to start an entirely new project, maybe even tackle a subject in which you are not well-versed, but one in which you've maintained a latent interest. The latter means doing some research, but it's never a bad thing to broaden one's repertoire of knowledge.

While expanding one's horizons should be a wonderful jumpstart to inspire creativity, renewed contemplation might also help unify this nation. May you and your loved ones stay safe this holiday season and find your hearts filled with grace and gratitude.

2020 is a year unlike any other. My stress level has constantly risen as I take in devastating headlines that play across our computer monitors, TV screens, smart phones, tablets, and on and on and on. It's enough to make you throw everything out the window—Oh my! Even after turning off my digital information banks, my worry about the future of our democracy compels me to turn something back on for a brief update, which quickly turns into an extended one. Then I'm back into the cycle of ingesting (with indigestion) more dire news.

I recently found that writing helped defuse my angst about what is occurring outside my four walls when I was compelled to change the theme of my blog posts in response to the video of George Floyd's death. I started writing personal essays about my experiences navigating daily life as a woman of color. I also confronted the fact that much of my sentiments about those experiences is consciously and subconsciously suppressed so as not to make uncomfortable those around me who prefer to avoid acknowledging the existence of racism. The essays have been pouring out—I can't write them fast enough! Although I had planned to start a memoir soon, a collection of these snapshots of the larger project may end up replacing it.

If you find yourself overcome with negative emotions about the current political, financial, and public health crises, try writing about their impact on you even if you don't intend to publish the material. We must do what we can to preserve our sanities during this difficult time and, as writers, we have a precious opportunity to relieve tension through our creativity. Although a large portion of those who read about my truth will find it entirely different from their own, grappling with it has been downright liberating for me. Fortunately, I don't foresee having writers' block for the rest of this year, or the next.

And, consider this: Though we are a nation spawned from an ambitious yet horrific and storied beginning, the fact that we were resourceful enough to carry off this great American experiment and build a brand-new world, and resilient enough to rebuild after 9/11, surely means we can weather yet another storm!

We are living in rough times, to put it mildly. I can't recall when I've ever known such chaos on so many fronts. We're seeing internal and external interference in our democratic election process in the midst of a divisive presidential election season; an unrelenting deadly coronavirus pandemic with its attendant record unemployment; and ongoing civic protest against longstanding racial injustices. How much more can we take?

As writers, we may wonder what we can do to help assuage the negative impact of these dire forces. Turning off the television might help, but we are surrounded by media on which we tend to rely not only for current events but also for information about our industry. So I have another timely idea that syncs with the upcoming National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in which writers are challenged to produce 50,000 words of a brand-new novel during November.

For an escape from the madness, I suggest a writing prompt that goes something like this: Create and write about your ideal fantasyland to which you can get away whenever you need a respite. Your destination can be as fanciful and colorful as one of your more vivid fantastical dreams set in a foreign land, or as serene and meditative as hiding out in an austere hut at a faraway beach in the most tropical of locations where the sun reliably shines and the breeze always calms.

Good fiction contains a relatable protagonist—you; a strong plot line; conflict (maybe not so much for this exercise!); powerful dialogue (internal monologue will do well here), and a wonderfully detailed setting. All of these aspects of storytelling needn't be present for this short exercise, but try including those you've previously found troublesome. This exercise can also apply to nonfiction writers who want to spruce up their works with a touch of creativity.

The point is to write a short story about a destination to which you can periodically venture and nurture your mental health. Only you can create the ideal escape, because only you know what best tickles your fantasy. No one will criticize your work—except you, of course!

So go ahead, and dream big. Though we still have to deal with reality, maybe this exercise will help us reemerge from this nightmare with our sanities intact.

As mentioned in last month's blog post, I participated in a Zoom videoconference by reading a personal essay on racism in which I incorporated a tragic vignette about a long-deceased ancestor. In this post, I'm sharing my unexpected emotional reaction at the conclusion of that reading, which I believe demonstrates the importance of strong character development in writing fiction.

The discovery of a bounty notice posted by my White third great-grandfather (confirmed by DNA) advertising a cash reward for the capture of my Mulatto third great-grandmother and her husband (not genetically related to me) was simultaneously shocking and intriguing. Eager to learn more, I explored the discovery from the perspective of an objective investigator hunting for data. I wanted to know what life must have been like back then for this couple. What were their circumstances at the time they fled?

Although the presentation of my discovery was rather matter-of-fact, the vignette elicited gasps from the audience. It wasn't until the subsequent question-and-answer session that I was forced to confront the intimate connection I'd unwittingly made with my "character."

The first question asked of me was, "What would you say to your great-grandmother if she were alive today?" Suddenly, I was struck with the reality that this woman was my flesh and blood. I'd engaged in a fact-finding search about the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, but I'd also traveled back into her soul as if I'd run off with her. Contemplating an answer to that initial question, I was overcome with emotion and unable to speak.

Strong character development establishes an emotional bond with the reader that elicits a range of feelings, including empathy. I want to inspire my readers to journey into the heads and hearts of my fictional characters where they can linger and develop a connection as profound as that which I experienced. If I can make my readers gasp, then I'll know I've done a decent job!

Since my last blog post, I've been reflecting on the ramifications of systemic racism. Yesterday, I presented a personal essay via videoconference to a group of Mills College alumnae and their guests after enhancing my June post with details I recently learned through genealogy research. I provided a historical context to my comments on racism by incorporating a brief story about a Reward notice posted in a local paper back in 1837 for a runaway "Negro" male and his supposedly free "Mulatto" wife.

DNA technology confirmed the runaway woman to be my third great-grandmother. That same technology confirmed the White "owner" who posted the notice to be my third great-grandfather. Upon further exploration, I found additional White grandfathers of mine with multiple families, some with their White wives, and others with an enslaved Black (described as Mulatto) woman.

As I transported myself back to this painful time in history, I tried to imagine what the struggle of day-to-day existence might have looked like for my ancestors. I came up with multiple scenarios that undoubtedly have some basis in fact. I extended that wonder to imagining the methods enslaved people used to cope with their plight.

Folklore passed down from my ancestors can be found in the traditions of Louisiana Creoles. While the genesis of that lore is as grim as it is powerful, I've since incorporated it into my current novel-in-progress, much as I had done with my expanded blog post referenced above.

The opportunity to enrich my storytelling has also lit a fire beneath my smoldering desire to write my memoirs. Maybe, by presenting their tales through mine, I can do justice to the legacy of my ancestors.

As I considered my next blog topic, I found it difficult to think about anything other than our current political, cultural, and public health crises. More than 115,000 Americans are confirmed to have lost their lives to the Covid-19 pandemic. We witnessed, in broad daylight, life slowly drain from an unarmed, handcuffed African American man who was murdered beneath the knee of a White police officer while begging for his life and deceased mother. Our government saw fit to send armed active duty military forces to intimidate Americans peacefully exercising their First Amendment right. How can we not be affected?

The families of George P. Floyd and many others have suffered immeasurable grief at the killing of their loved ones by those entrusted to protect and serve the American people. In the wake of this latest tragedy, widespread peaceful protests against police brutality have taken place against a backdrop of mourning and civil unrest as portrayed day after day on social media and across our TV screens. Amid the devastation of the Covid-19 pandemic and the lack of a coherent national strategy to address this health crisis, the perfect storm was brewing.

As a woman of color who navigates day in, day out the landscape of institutionalized racism, I know firsthand what it feels like to get up in the morning and step out of my home, sporting a coat of melanin beneath my clothes. Whether I'm escorted out of a Cal Berkeley fraternity house by two White males who advised that Blacks weren't allowed (to the surprise of my fellow White freshwomen) or attempting to board a plane with other first class passengers and being questioned by an airline employee about the validity of my presence in that section (unlike the White woman ahead of me), I don't exhale until I step back inside my home.

Around the second day of protests, however, I noticed something strikingly different from other protests against racism and police brutality: the presence of multiracial crowds pushing for the same cause. A week ago, I saw a White woman standing on a busy street corner of a predominantly White neighborhood, waving a large sign that read, "#BLM Black Lives Matter." The horns of several passing cars blared in support. Email notices from businesses and corporations that usually tout merchandise discounts or privacy policy updates have focused, instead, on what can be done to improve the lives of African Americans who've suffered institutionalized racism for as long as we've had institutions. Additionally, some of my writers organizations have asked members to document their sentiments in light of massive and unrelenting protests against injustice, whether for posterity, venting, or both.

It's unfortunate that it took another brutal killing to catalyze a movement yearning for enduring resolutions to injustices that stem from centuries of deep-rooted overt, covert, and systemic racism perpetuated by the silence of those who tolerate it. I am hopeful that change is coming and that Mr. Floyd's death and the deaths of countless other victims of police brutality did not happen in vain.

We are weary.

We are humans.

We are Americans.

In my last post (April 15), I suggested that, as writers, we might encourage others to take up the craft during this time of social distancing. We all know someone who's been "dying" to write a book about something. I think those sentiments are earnest for the most part but hampered, in many cases, by the inability to get past go. I suggested a good start would be to read about the craft of writing.

Of course, that recommendation applies to other avenues of creation. And there are plenty of online resources out there for the novice in just about any subject one can imagine. How about learning the basics of watercolor painting, or going after that degree you've been planning to pursue or complete? Personally, I've been experimenting with low-calorie, low-carb baking, and I've referred to online video instruction to learn how to "twist" my hair into a BIG curly look that is all the rage these days.

More recently, I participated in two Zoom video conferences, the first led by a guest speaker organized by one of my writers organizations. The other was a reading session with six authors arranged by my alma mater's alumnae association. I finally understand how folks have virtual cocktail parties, concerts, and simultaneous movie screenings. The process was fun and efficient.

We are an innovative society. We can pretty much accomplish anything if we put our minds to it. If you write regularly but are looking for a stimulating diversion, why not make the most of your stay-at-home mandate by exploring what it is you've "always wanted to do" (besides write)? No better time than the current one to make it happen!