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Stuff I love about Writing.

I could also title this, “The Sad Barbaric Yawp of the Sweaty angry Writer”.

Shouts for help from the author.

  1. Apparently when I’m working on something that feels right, I just start sweating. Awesome. It would be fine if I was working at home I could just take my clothes off (I am pretty sure Jerry Stahl said something about writing at 4 am fucked up and naked) but I am at my dayjob and I can’t just take my pants off.
  2. I almost got in a fight with an older White dude on my way to work today because he didn’t approve of my conversation with a young Black Poet about #blackpoetsspeak and how vital it is that he a.) write that shit and b.) hustle that shit.
  3. I am 99% sure nobody told him ever that his voice, his hood voice matters. Even though he couldn’t get my phone number i gave him ideas and resources. I told him explicitly that he has to work, write and grind. That it is possible to do this without being educated or fancy. I told him HE FUCKING MATTERS and some piece of shit crusty ass old White dude tried to start a fight with me about it. He had that look in his eye and I’m pretty sure if I didn’t look fucking insane (I was going to hit him in the face with my phone gripped in my fist) he would have swung on me.
  4. I almost yelled “the fucking bell is tolling for you asshole” but I restrained myself to just saying “fuck you, fuck your feelings and keep your racist views to yourself”.

What else?

Aside from sweating while writing I’m sweating while reading some tasty things.

I’m just a bit past the middle of The New Black: A Neo-Noir Anthology.

First impressions. It is a strong collection. I’m familiar with a lot of the authors already. The writing is across the board so far tight and great. The intro bits were very endearing.

I’m enjoying it a lot and yet I’m yearning for some hood in the noir.

I keep wondering as I read more neo noir, am I really the only person thinking about/writing noir in the hood?

We know I feel the same way about horror and most everything.

Now I’m not talking Hood Lit. That is a whole other thing.

I’m hungry for stories that are yes well written and yes dark as fuck and yes are firmly rooted in the Hood.

This is the same hunger I always have.

I’m pretty sure I need to accept that I will always have this hunger unless I stop reading so widely and that just isn’t gonna happen.

I do write the stories as much as I can but that does not satisfy.

Part of the problem is also that because I have this need that is not satisfied ever, I find I have a disconnect with the lit world at large that I am unwilling to quite let go of.

Above the education of White people I need to keep myself, okay enough to make my own art.

That has been something I’ve struggled with a lot in the past year.  My self care related work has been really a huge part of me figuring out how to balance the gut wrenching bloody things with the not so bloody things.

I’m not all the way there. Sometimes I write things that fuck me up for days and I can’t write anything else.

What else?

I’m still struggling with myself to put up my crocheted shawls (in spite of a LOT of interest) and having the confidence to do art related things without shame or bad feelings.

Shit y’all that bit is hard. As hard as I find it to call myself a poet with seriousness.

Okay I have shit to do and I’m starving.

Another new thing is that writing does shit to my body lately. I’ll talk about that in a whole other post.

Tomorrow I am doing something super special and going out for a fancy super fancy dinner with Milcah and my partner. We are going to be a trio of romantic hot ass looking mother fuckers up in there.

I’m writing about it after.

That’s all for now.


Write like a motherfucker forever.

Since I have been digging myself out of my shit filled emotional hole I’ve been writing a lot.

I’ve also done a couple of things I’ve never done before. On some issues I have a mean sense of humour and I’ve been interested in using that to write up some non fiction.

I wrote a satire thing, very angry, mean. And I sat on it for a while because I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Then the other day I was organizing my work and decided to just do a thing with it. So I put it up on Medium and I’m kinda proud of myself.

I’ve also been toying with some horror ideas. Some classic horror tropes with the Whiteness removed.

What else do I want to do?

I want to press my own boundaries more. I want to try writing SF/F the way I want to rather than trying to write to fit in the genres. I feel like my desire not to stray so far out of the boundaries of the genres that nobody wants my shit.

I also probably need to try to not keep such close tabs on the industry at large. I’m too sensitive about some of the gross shit I see.

So yeah.

Really if the world was my oyster all I’d do is write, get tattooed, have the energy to create my own little pretend office and make art.

So yeah.

Right now I’m also working on letting myself do art. Beyond crocheting but some visual art. I’m also thinking about the art I want to do involving self shot photos that have words to go with them and things. Maybe a little experimental video performance art. I don’t know.

I don’t know how to engage with these desires and make them happen and figure out what I need to get to do them.

I’m uncertain, these aren’t things I’ve felt I had access to or the ability to do before so I want to work it out.

That’s all for right now. I have shit to do.


So hey.

Apparently I’m still a writer.

I have a new thing at Xojane. More self care and stuff.

Lately I’ve had what you could call a mega crisis of faith in myself and stuff. I fell down the deepest of “every word I write sucks” holes and have had a bit of a hard time pulling out of it.

Not to say that I’m not writing because I am. In fact I’m working on some pretty exciting to me stuff and yet, I’m feeilng some type of way about showing people I don’t know my work.

I go through this every now and then. It’s a combo of losing faith in my own work and losing faith in everything else.

Not quite a deep depression but more of a let ALL my demons just start cage fighting in my brain and see what happens.

Interestingly, in the past when I’ve hit the I’m going to be the biggest asshole to myself/become a whirling panicky anxiety ball of fuck- I stopped writing entirely.

Granted most of what I’ve been writing is angry and dark as fuck but you know, gotta write through the shit.

I’m not dong nanowrimo for the first time in years. I was just not really moved to do it right now.

What else?

I’ve reached saturation with a few things.

I figured out that part of my issue with freelancing in a heavier way is that a lot of the places people suggest to me (and mind you I am thankful people care enough to want to help) I would have to navigate being the lone woman of color or the only Black woman talking about things that are not pop culture or generally light/funny and that shit is really fucking hard on me.

The fact is, emotionally I think I can handle it and then I just really can’t. It’s just too hard and frankly I’m not famous enough to be paid well for it.

So there’s that angst.

Not that I’m not writing those things, I am. I just don’t really know what to do with them that wouldn’t make me feel uh, icky.

Check that out, icky. I’m a mother fucking wordsmith.

So I’m working on shit.

Trying to not fall into a bigger asshole to myself pit.

Feeling semi successful.

With that in mind I’m singing this song all day every day.

See also:

Knuck if you Buck

John the Revelator

Throw in a little old school Sepultura and some Thelonious Monk and my brain is getting a little right.

Okay here is a taste of one of the non fiction pieces I’ve been working on about how people hate my face:

On occasion someone feels the need to speak up. I have endured lectures from people I don’t know about how unemployable, updateable and unfuckable I have been at any one time.

“You know,”

The man speaking to me was not someone I had ever seen before but he had some tips for me.

“Men don’t find metal in the faces of women attractive and your make up is a little heavy. You should let your natural beauty shine through.”

Yes, I have a good sized piece of steel right in the middle of my face in my big lower lip. Yes, I like to wear a lot of makeup. I am very full aware of these things, they are all things I have chosen on purpose.

So there’s that.

I’ve also discovered that I am still not great at doing fluffy non fiction. If I’m doing it apparently I’m just going to go for the jugular. Even if it is my own.

That’s all for right now. I’m very tired and I need to get ready to go home.


Welcome To Bordertown the review.

I finished (sorry this is an affiliate link, I know it sucks, but I like extra book money) Welcome to Bordertown.

Okay so the short version is I enjoyed it for the most part. Good stories, I like the world of Bordertown.

Now okay here is the deeper longer thing.

For extra background see here, the history of Bordertown.

And okay.

So immediately within two stories, I realized a couple of things were going to be a problem for me as a reader. First thing, did you know Elves are White?

Honestly through most of the book there is that hammer of Whiteness that is magical creatures. I had to put it down fairly often while rolling my eyes. I get booted right out of the story and needed a lot of time outs.

As a reader I am really pretty done with lore that is still so rooted firmly in Whiteness. This is another urban fantasy that I kept feeling booted out of. I can’t suspend my disbelief that there are only silvery skinned White elves, or as they are known as True Bloods (the last story addressed this and I’ll get to that) silvery skinned White golden/silver eyed, dreadlocked tall thing and oh yeah, they are white….it is tedious.

So there was that. Just like in about every other genre book/story I’ve read in the past two years.

This book came out in 2011.

And I see such a hugely missed opportunity to actually do diversity beyond inclusion of some POC friendly/written by stories.

If the lore itself is still the same, by the way the True bloods, they are white, I’m just going to glaze over as a reader. If I was a kid reading this, by the way I would have been super into the whole idea until the Whiteness made me put down the book, why is there no magic for the brown kids?

As we know, I find this tiring.

Now in terms of some of the stories in the book specifically.

The audiobook version had a “rap” in it.

Um. All I want to say is that rapping is more than rhythmic talking and I made a terrible face of distaste and sped ahead.

The whole reason I got interested in Bordertown was Nalo Hopkinson’s piece Ours is The Prettiest. Maybe hearing/reading this piece first was a mistake on my part. This story was that moment of me squeeing like a super hyped up kid because HOLY SHIT MAGICKY BROWN PEOPLE AWW YISS.

That story had enough of an impact on me. On re-reading/listening I still just love that story so damn much.

The other huge standout to me was Charles de Lint’s story A Tangle of Green Men. I think you can read a bit of it here. What a beautiful story. I really really love the end of the story. It was perfect to me. I particularly loved the mention of True Blood feeling icky to a brown person, I really appreciated that.

Overall given that I don’t read a lot of YA I think this anthology works both YA and adult. A lot of the stories deal with some really heavy stuff, immigration, domestic violence, drug use and lots of stuff.

On the flipside though, if I had been reading it when I was a teenager I wouldn’t have gotten to Nalo or Charles’ stories because I would have put it down.

I suppose part of my disappointment is that as happens in almost every piece of genre fiction I read, the lore and the myth stays rooted in European myth and Whiteness as the cultural literary norm. And it’s boring.

Readers and lovers of fantasy who are also POC are just unsafe.

Even someone like Ursula K. Le Guin isn’t safe from the whitewashing. Remember this?

Or this?

See also this article.

Shit like this?

I guess I am at that point where my hopefulness that some of these issues that turned me away from SF/F/H in general were not going to hurt me as much as they did when I was  a kidlet.

it is so much worse now.

Now I know that the talent it out there.

Now I know that it is possible and amazing to engage in mythos while yes knowing/remembering where it came from but expanding it.

Now I know that mother fucking elves can be Black.

It is so beyond frustrating to be a reader with this hope and a burning desire to see other talented people wriggle out of the Whiteness and it being such a struggle to find.

It’s infuriating because as I mentioned before, all the recommendations for stuff to read tends to be a smallish list.

I will probably not read any SF/F/H for a while after this. I’ve got some non fiction, an anthology to read and Nalo Hopkinson’s book to savor.

So overall yes, pretty good collection. Interesting world. But don’t go in expecting diversity break throughs.

Don’t be me.


Books and things.

I’m almost done with the Borderlands Anthology.

I’ll review it when I’m done. Essentially (thank you for clarifying for me Nalo  H.) I was mistaken about the stories being more interactive with each other. So that disappointment is kind of whatever. The rest. Well yeah. It’s been a struggle.

It is the same struggle I have with 90% of the genre reading I do and yeah I’m gonna talk about it more.

What else?

Um there’s more bullshit happening regarding Alt lit and it’s pretty fucking awful and I think I’m just yeah. First read this. TW for sexual harassment and assault.

Link 1.

Then read this response (note how the comments are closed) on HTMLGIANT.

This comes after they posted (now deleted) yet another fuck list type thing. This is the cached version.

Previously there’s been a lot of discussion about sexism in both Alt Lit and at HTMLGIANT and frankly, who the fuck is driving the bus here?

As i keep seeing more lit micocosms exploding because men can’t behave like civilized human beings when they are criticized (I am referring to horror stories I’ve been hearing from female writers who have had the audacity to post less than glowing reviews or not fuck indie darling boys) or in the name of art, or because OMG FREE SPEECH, it exhausts me.

As for HTMLGIANT in particular there have been times when as a sort of community member (as in I used to comment fairly often) I felt unwelcome because female, Black, opinions. I got over that sort of but as this shit keeps happening I’m just exhausted and sad. I love so many of the book reviews. I’ve been introduced to some stellar work but it’s not worth the uh, well shit i feel like I wait every time I visit to see some bullshit so that’s another lit site that I have run out of can with.

I know it was discussed that changes would be made or something but yeah.

My personal literary world citizenship is important to me and as I’ve gotten older I really enjoy meeting and interacting with other writers who write stuff I don’t or that I wouldn’t be aware of if it wasn’t for spaces like HTMLGIANT but, the constancy of the emotional danger is not okay for me.

I think it’s the time of year to clean out my lit links folder and find some new shit to read.

What else?

Two Jenny’s I know have two awesome pieces up. First Jenny Haye’s piece here. Fuck go read it. Just…just read it. Then go read this tiny beautiful piece by Jenny Forrester. 

I’m still doing the Ink Node like a real poet. I’ve started posting the first in a series I’m calling Thots. Find them here.

I picked up a copy of Burnt Tongues and as expected it is pretty dude heavy. I couldn’t resist though.

Speaking of Nalo Hopkinson (ALSO  NH I am sorry i am probably doing something weird to your google alerts of you get them, I’m creepy sorry) I finally dug into Midnight Robber. I read the first ten pages twice because the writing is just so pretty and makes me rally happy.

I think that’s all for right now. I’m still feeilng some type of way about my decision regarding freelancing. It’s a weird combo of guilt, inadequacy and failure.

Processing is a mother fucker y’all.

Okay now I have work to do and hopefully I will get my shit together to do a big ole link round up of awesome stuff I want to show you. I’ve just had not enough focus to get it done.


Well I’m just not good for that thing.

I had the most wonderful beautiful conversation with my friend and publisher Milcah.

My decision to partner with her and become a Self Caring couple of boss ass bitches power couple was definitely sound.

I feel like I can say this now but quite a while back I had some nibbles of interest from more mainstream outlets and frankly, what they wanted was the generic watered down Shannon and I said no. I’m so glad.

This is what’s right.

After our conversation I laid in bed and ate a sandwich and thought more about some stuff our convo stirred up.

One of the things that I have been tussling with is trying to do more freelance work. Insert heaved sigh of sadness here.

Thing is, I just don’t work in that way. I feel some type of way about that. I have this pressure I’m putting on myself to do the thing, but I don’t particularly like doing the thing.

I felt like I really wanted to be fancy and do a lot of freelance work but the whole process just makes me miserable.

I find these times where I am evaluating what I want as a writer/growing pain things not super cool.

I do still feel a little uh, failure flavored in that I think I could bring in some more freelance income but at what cost? I can do things I hate well but feel miserable doing them.

I realize I’m nowhere near famous enough for this to be a big deal for anybody but me but, it feels like a good moment. Realizing that I’m not good at this type of writing/to or on spec etc is freeing. Frustrating but ultimately it will serve me.

I can’t write when I’m so stressed out about not being able to do the thing I’m trying to do.

Now that I have that somewhat off of the table/my consciousness I can concentrate more on what I do well and what I enjoy.

Also I have more to say about urban fantasy/genre fiction in general. Beyond the fairly limited list of authors and magazines I’ve been recommended and have already been reading I’m going to try to search out stuff that essentially doesn’t make me want to put it down every two minutes to wash the Whiteness out of my eyes.

To be honest I feel like that is a bigger task than I can actually accomplish. And going through the tons and TONS AND TONS of things while feeling like a let down frustrated reader/little kid who can’t go to Narnia will also be taxing.

What else?

My dear friend Sarah Katherine Lewis has put out her book on being in rehab and you can check out Rehab A Go Go right here on scribd. I seriously suggest picking it up, she’s a fantastic writer and I love her.

That is about it for right now. I’ve got stuff to write and rejections to get.

What’s new for y’all?


Because sometimes it just comes out.

For reference I’m going to talk about this essay of mine that is up at Nailed Magazine right now. It’s small and intense so go ahead and read it.

I wrote the above essay a few weeks ago in the middle of having fallen down a hole reading about Black victims of various crimes.

As difficult as I find writing the tear your heart out shit, sometimes it just happens. What’s on my mind right now is the fact that I felt such a strong need to write that. Also that as opposed to say five years ago, I would have maybe submitted it somewhere obscure gotten rejected and tucked it away.

Not because of the subject matter but because that is my fucking heart right there.

I bled to say that.

I cried and shat myself stupid.

It hurt while I was writing it, it hurt to edit it it hurt to get it ready for submission.

Today I’m pretty okay. I am proud of my work. I am happy to share my heart, bleeding and raw with the world.

But y’all, this shit right here is hard as fuck.

It really is.

Thanks for reading.


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