Monday, April 18, 2005

I'll be posting a new photo one day this week (crossing my fingers). Please prepare yourself for a shock. The photo I've been using till now was taken prior to my cancer treatment. I chose the one you see now because it has me without any family members.

I decided to have a new photo taken because I'm slated to be the featured author of one of my favorite literary magazines. Since I'll be going to a writers' conference in June and meeting the editor in person, I figured I'd better come up with a face she could recognize!

Been busy working on my nonfiction, self-help book. I'm scheduled to meet with an agent (Jeff Herman) at the writers' conference. Need to have my synopsis to him before May 10th, so I've been pecking my fingers to the bone.

Sponsored a Flash-A-Thon in my office over on Zoetrope Online Workshop for the month of April. It's been exciting to see the energy and ideas pour forth from everyone. Here's a little something I wrote today:

The Who’s on the Bus

A girl-child sat on the bus reading “Horton Hears A Who.” Seated next to her was a well-dressed woman. A crippled elderly black man painfully pulled himself up the steps, then made his way down the aisle. The little girl looked at the man, and glanced around the full bus. There was nowhere for the old man to sit. Her hazel eyes twinkled and she sprung from her seat. “Here, mister. Take my seat.”

Her mother jerked the girl’s pigtail, nearly pulling the girl off her feet. “Sit down!”

The girl sensed a conflict and felt confused. “But Momma, you always told me to offer grown-ups my seat when the bus is full.” The mother hissed through clenched teeth, under her breath, “I didn’t mean colored folks!”

Chewing at her lip, the girl thought for a moment. In a tone of voice clearly intended to project the length of the bus she said, “Don’t colored folks get as tired as white folks, Momma? He sure looks tired to me.” The old gentleman flashed the child a glimmer of gratitude before casting his eyes to his own shoes. A second woman picked up her packages and scooted over, inviting the girl’s mother to sit beside her.

The mother moved to share the bench with the other woman, digging her fingernails into the child’s arm as she pulled her along. The dark man seated himself on the empty seat.

The little girl rubbed her wrist and smiled warmly at the old man. She knew she’d be punished when she got home, but she felt happy. “Dr. Seuss says a Who is a Who, no matter how small… or how old, or how dark too, I’ll bet.”