Uncover Your Light | A Creative Wish for 2019

In the ’80s, my mom took night classes at Bronx Community College. She wanted to be a paralegal, and sometimes she could focus on it, but mostly her mania made it hard for her to pick one thing and see it through. But when she was present for her career ambitions, I went with her to class because she couldn’t afford child care.
Night classes at the college level were pretty boring, even as a nerdy kid. After being in school all day, by the time evening came, I’d have finished my homework. I was gifted, but my brain wasn’t that interested in case-law in second grade. It was obvious to everyone, including one of Mom’s classmates, who must have been a mom. She opened up a page in her loose leaf notebook after watching my eyes glaze over for about 20 minutes and said, “Wanna learn how to draw a doll?”
Now, in this era, I was obsessed with Rainbow Brite and Cabbage Patch dolls. Of course I wanted to learn! I nodded eagerly, quietly and sat, rapt with attention, as she drew a simple figure with a blouse and a skirt with a blue Bic ballpoint pen. She had a fashion magazine, too, and she let me borrow it so I could practice drawing what I saw.
It was the most fun I’d had in my life, drawing what I saw. Until then, I had only taken in the fast-moving world around me. I had not tried to interpret it in any way. This was my beginning as an artist, though I didn’t have language or confidence to claim that title. It felt distant. It felt white. Not mine.
MotherhoodSketchIn the years to come, I sketched on the margins of paper and of my life. When I came of age, the fashion designer Byron Lars was hot and the Village Voice was a plump pulp product I flipped through every Wednesday as soon as it was folded neatly and flat in the red plastic bins that seemed to appear on every Manhattan street corner. One week, I saw that Lars would be greeting people at Bloomingdale’s. It was my first real life meeting with someone Black who was living one of my dreams. I hopped the turnstiles from the Bronx and made the sojourn to shake his hand, to laugh shyly when he greeted me and encouraged me to keep drawing.
Sometimes, all our creativity needs is a cracked door. The door doesn’t need to open all the way, we don’t need to be flooded with light. You just need a sliver, like a plant. More light is better, usually, but really you just need to not be completely shrouded in your own darkness. Some part of the real you that needs feeding and nurturing — that needs the light.
I was thinking about this when I started drawing again at the end of last year with intention and sharing my work online, because I simply love it. I’ve always had a meditation practice (when I am disciplined) and a writing practice/discipline, which I center my life around. But taken together, these are all creative practices, like singing and dancing.
It took me decades to get back to that second-grade-self, the one who drew like no one was watching. I’ve spent the first couple of months of this year sorting out how to convey the importance, to myself and others, of holding on to that light energy, the feeling of creating something beautiful for the sake of creating it. Not to win fans or followers. Not to augment your brand, though these things are nice. But creating for the sake of feeding your soul, letting the light in: This is my wish for myself this year — and for those of you who make things, beautiful or in progress, or rough drafts or things that feel hard to get right — this is also my creative wish for you.

 

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A drawing of my beautiful sister. I haven’t seen a lot of art featuring people with Vitiligo, but hope to see more!
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I draw regularly in a book called “Draw Every Day Draw Every Way: Sketch Paint & Doodle Through One Creative Year” by Jennifer Orkin Lewis. It’s so freeing.

Vote for my SXSW 2019 Panel, “Content is a Dirty Word: Rebranding Creatives”

Hello from the land of working while most people are on vacation or trying to avoid the heat or some combination of both (or is this my imagination?)

It’s been five years since I presented at South by Southwest Interactive with my late mentor and friend, Dori Maynard about the business imperative for diversity — which happened the same year I gave the TED Talk embedded in the link to my new proposal for a 2019 SXSW Panel, Content is a Dirty Word.

I’d love your vote to send me back to Austin, home away from home, to offer up some tips on how storytellers, journalists and writers can support themselves through the seismic changes in the traditional & digital landscape, and some strategies for positioning oneself sustainably in the confusing and low-paying content eco-system. You can vote for the panel at this link.

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Thank you in advance for your help! Spread the word!

 

My Writing Process: Forget what you hear about writing

Nicole D. Collier, one of my favorite members of my virtual writing tribe, asked me to participate in the blog tour. Since I love to read and write about writing (in lieu, sometimes, of actually writing) and I’ve noted that some other writers I admire and respect, including Tananarive Due, Tayari Jones and Daniel Jose Older have all participated, I thought I’d add my humble thoughts and impressions to the mix.

1) What are you working on?

I am working on a book about how racism and sexism have contributed to the demise of traditional journalism and how people of color (and organizations, websites and companies that recognize their value) are changing the media landscape in important but often unacknowledged ways. I have also written a memoir in progress (excerpts have appeared in Huizache, Gawker and TED, among other publications) and every now and then, the poetry that I love comes back. I have worked for years on a short story that turned into a novella about the daughter of a train conductor and the graffiti artist she loves in the Bronx that I know will be published in some form someday.
2) How does your work differ from others’ work in the same genre?

This is an interesting question and frankly, not one that I think too much about. I am willing to admit that not thinking much about it might work to my detriment. Because there are so few people of color who are published and promoted well for work that is for people of color, in that we are the main audience and about people of color that also includes class diversity and is concentrated on the African-American experience, my creative writing and poetry are different from others’ in the sense that I am tacitly aware of internal and external geographies, their impact on how and when and where we tell our stories and how those stories are positioned or excluded from mainstream and popular cultural narratives about people of color — specifically black women. I hope that my reverence, appreciation and empathy for the intersections of my experience are reflected in the work.

The same is true for nonfiction. The main difference in my nonfiction writing is that I am fully aware of the power of the truth, or a truth, to change a life because it is how I was shaped as a young reader who dreamed of being a writer. I love that saying that the creative adult is the child who survived — that is the internal location or spiritual location I write from.

It helps that I have a wealth of traditional newspaper reporting experience, which gives me the power of knowing how to completely own a deadline and the discipline of structure while also giving me the confidence that comes with having failed and made mistakes and learned that failure, or whatever is subjectively considered failure is not the end of the world. There is always something more to write. I think my nonfiction is different from others’ who write memoir, essays and other nonfiction in that I seek to offer information for others to investigate or parse through instead of as a definitive statement or argument.I try to be authoritative without being obstinate and lyrical without trying too hard. I also try not to be too hard on myself when I fail at either of those.
3) Why do you write what you do?

One of the things that brought me a lot of comfort and joy as a young woman and a budding writer was reading elegant, beautiful and clear work about people of color who are traditionally not given models of ourselves in literature that have these elements. I write about women, women of color, the poor and working class and other people of color so that I can be a part of creating the beauty in the world that is otherwise missing when it comes to these groups. Perhaps because of postracial and postfeminist rhetoric, to some people it seems to be redundant and outdated to state and restate how important it is to be committed to writing about black women, especially those who are the least visible in classical or predominantly white canons, but I know how significant it was for me to read Alice Walker’s In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens, for instance, while I was self-parenting and supporting my mother in ways that were beyond my young years or to read bell hooks and Cornel West in seventh grade before I understood what they were even talking about in Breaking Bread. The same can be said of the multi-volume memoirs of Maya Angelou who showed me that while it took courage, confidence and grace to be a Renaissance woman (she was a tall black woman, too, like me — and Octavia Butler!) it was possible to overcome a lot of internal and external resistance to do so.
4) How does your writing process work?

I have multiple processes and I think all creatives do. I write all the time. I write on my phone. I write little notes in a notebook that I usually carry around with me. I prefer to write longhand, which is slower than typing, and to transcribe. I love to write longhand when something is particularly meaningful to me or requires the kind of granular detail that I need to retain. (The most recent example of one piece I did this with is this blog about leaving Austin.)

I don’t necessarily write everyday anymore but I used to, faithfully, for many years. I think you build writing time into your life in a way that is completely natural for you. Do it in a way that doesn’t make it feel like so much work. I actually love work and am addicted to work, so for me, working doesn’t carry a negative connotation in the same way that say, relaxation does (No pun intended, I am working on that. I realize that I ain’t like everybody that way.) But the main problem new and/or young writers seem to face related to process is that they associate writing with work. I say do whatever you need to do to get rid of that mentality and get out of your own way in whatever way you need to to go from being a person who has always wanted to write to being a writer…because writers write. I value my work and the luxury and privilege I have to do it so much that I approach the page as a way to share the gifts that were bestowed upon me and to honor the many different people I’ve known who wished that they had the luxury of sitting down at a page to write.

Writers write but they should also read. I read everything, which is a significant part of my writing process. I believe heartily in taking notes. For nonfiction, I take copious notes. Everywhere — in the book, in a separate notebook, on Post-Its.

I write at all hours, but my best writing gets done when I have the least distractions which is either early in the morning or in the middle of the night. I try mightily to get every last bit of doubt or concern about anything else out of my head while I’m writing a draft and then go back to it when I have some sense and some energy and I can revise. Revision is the heart of my work and the most enjoyable and the most irritating part of being a writer. I revise most things I write a half-dozen times — even blogs — before I am satisfied with word choice and structure and order. Outlines can be really helpful for big projects, but I am not wedded to them.

On June 9th, two of my favorite writers and favorite women are going to post on their blogs about their writing process. Both of these ladies are two of the sweetest people I’ve ever met and their support has helped to keep me writing during some of my lowest points. I hope you’ll read and share their work widely.

Jo Scott-Coe is a fantastic nonfiction author, fellow tall woman and excellent teacher.

Juanita Mantz and I met at VONA in 2012 and her work has been published at xoJane and elsewhere.