“You dasn’t say nuttin’ back, boy. Remember dat if you wanna live.” Big Momma jerked James’ head to the left. Her nimble fingers worked magic on the teen’s nappy head. Half of his soft hair was neatly restrained in cornrows and shiny from the grease Big Momma smoothed into it. The other half was wild and free, dull black and natural. James wanted to wear his hair natural, in an Afro like the other boys at school, but his grandmother wouldn’t hear of it. “Them niggers just be callin’ atten-shun to theyselves,” she’d said. “Ain’t no good come of it, you mark Big Momma’s word.”
Big Momma had strong fingers, strong hands. She was a strong woman. James was glad he had a hard head. He wondered how many of those other boys could sit through Big Momma’s braiding their hair without crying out. “You think this hurt?” she’d asked once, when he’d complained. “You ain’t seen nuttin’, boy. I once seen yo’ granddaddy chained to a tree by the Ku Kluxers. They poured gasoline all over him, laughed at him, told him what they was gonna do to his woman, yo’ great grandmomma. I’s hid up in a tree like Daddy told me to. He told me ‘If the Kluxers come and they’s trouble, you git up in a tall tree and dasn’t say a word. Don’t make a noise, no matter what you see or hear.’ Them Kluxers lit him on fire and he ain’t never said a word. Wouldn’t give ‘em the satisfact-shun. The flesh fell from yo’ granddaddy’s bones and he still never made a sound. I could smell it, James. I smelled my own daddy cooked alive, and I ain’t never made a peep – and I lived. You gotta be strong, James Henry. You gotta stand tall and keep yo’ mouf shut.”
Big Momma smoothed the excess grease along James’ face where it had slid down off his hair. “There now. You a re-spect’ble young Negro. You remember who you are when you out they in the world.”
“Yes’m, Big Momma.” James wrapped a lard biscuit in wax paper soft from being used and re-used, and left for school. He wondered where he fit in, in the world. At home, he lived in Big Momma’s world – a world where the white folks ruled and there was no justice for blacks, a world where you just kept your mouth shut and hoped for grace from God.
On the way to school, it was a mixture between Big Momma’s world and school – each situation demanded careful observation. The right word said in the wrong way could still earn him a death sentence. The world in between Big Momma’s house and school was the jungle, but it was a jungle without hard and fast rules. Sometimes a lion was a lion; sometimes a lion was really an antelope. You just never knew till you were bit or not. Some white folks had changed, and that made all the rules crazy. You had to play it by ear, every time. Say something or say nothing. Smile back or ignore ‘em. Lower your head or keep your head high, or maybe raise your head higher. Either way, Big Momma’s words scream in your head and flop sweat trickles down between your shoulder blades. Your heart pumps up in your throat and your head pounds. “Dasn’t say nuttin’ back, boy. Remember dat if yo’ wanna live.”
James Henry hurried on to school. As long as he was in class, the rules were understood. Home and class, he was mostly safe. It was the long walk in between that was dangerous.
He was due to graduate in another year. Then he’d be thrown out into the jungle, naked and helpless, for the rest of his life. He wasn’t angry any more – Big Momma had beat the anger out of him with her hickory stick. “You gonna get yo’self kilt sure as I’m standing here, James Henry, if you raise your voice or your hand in anger! I ain’t gonna lose another man in dis fam’ly over anger! I can’t!” She’d beat him till he was a bruised, quivering, sniveling mess. Then she’d steamed comfrey and lovingly applied compresses to his battered body. “Hush, hush, chile,” she’d cooed. “Better Big Momma do it, Big Momma who loves you, than them Kluxers. Jes’ you hush now.”
James’ teacher, Miss Proctor, greeted him with a huge smile. “Good morning, James Henry. I have wonderful news for you. I wrote to my friend up in Charleston about your potential. He wrote back that they’re willing to give you free room and board and waive your tuition. You can finish your high school work over the summer and go right into college classes this fall! It’s a tremendous opportunity, James Henry. I’m so happy for you.”
James’ heart beat faster in his chest. Leave everything he knew to go to Charleston? A chance to go to college, to be somebody. Then a dark memory bubbled up. “Did you say Charleston, Miss Proctor? Isn’t that where those two boys –“
“Oh, that was an isolated incident, James Henry. Don’t you fret over that none. Charleston is a progressive town. You can’t be thinking of letting this opportunity pass you by?”
James Henry stood wide-eyed before Miss Proctor. Sweat ran down the sides of his shiny coffee-colored face. Jungle drums beat inside his chest. He smelled gasoline. Big Momma looked down on him from a tall tree. He heard the Ku Kluxers laughing. Big Momma’s voice whispered down to him, “You dasn’t say nuttin’ back, boy. Not if yo’ wanna live.”
“Well, James? What do you say?”
____
© 2005 Ginger Hamilton Caudill
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Tongue Firmly Planted, In Cheek
From the Sunday Portland Oregonian:
"Other than telling us how to live, think, marry, pray, vote, invest, educate our children and, now, die, I think the Republicans have done a fine job of getting government out of our personal lives."
~Craig Carter
"Other than telling us how to live, think, marry, pray, vote, invest, educate our children and, now, die, I think the Republicans have done a fine job of getting government out of our personal lives."
~Craig Carter
Monday, April 18, 2005
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.”
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.”
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
The First Time
It’s a universal process – women experience it every day. In fact, most women go through it more than once. Her muscles tensed; her back ached and she prayed it would soon be over. Eloise felt the band encircling her tighten mercilessly. Breathe. I just need to breathe. They said taking deep breaths will help me to relax.
She glanced down, intending a brief peek, and found herself enthralled by the drama. A bulge appeared, parting the hairs. It grew larger. The band felt tighter. What if I have to pee? I feel trapped. The nurse was poking around with her finger now. Eloise gasped.
“Sorry about that. I know it’s uncomfortable. It’s almost over now. Just take a deep breath. You’re doing fine.”
There was a push, another push -- a sudden sharp spark of pain followed by a flash of blood. More blood. Eloise felt faint. The band loosened. Immediately, the pain ceased. It was over.
The nurse smiled as she taped a cotton ball to Eloise’s arm. “Your doctor will have the results of your bloodwork by this afternoon, Mrs. Jakowski. Wait till about three o’clock and give the office a call.”
* * *
(c) 2005 Ginger Hamilton Caudill
She glanced down, intending a brief peek, and found herself enthralled by the drama. A bulge appeared, parting the hairs. It grew larger. The band felt tighter. What if I have to pee? I feel trapped. The nurse was poking around with her finger now. Eloise gasped.
“Sorry about that. I know it’s uncomfortable. It’s almost over now. Just take a deep breath. You’re doing fine.”
There was a push, another push -- a sudden sharp spark of pain followed by a flash of blood. More blood. Eloise felt faint. The band loosened. Immediately, the pain ceased. It was over.
The nurse smiled as she taped a cotton ball to Eloise’s arm. “Your doctor will have the results of your bloodwork by this afternoon, Mrs. Jakowski. Wait till about three o’clock and give the office a call.”
(c) 2005 Ginger Hamilton Caudill
Friday, April 08, 2005
10 Tips on Writing Effective Dialogue © Marg McAlister
1. BECOME AN EAVESDROPPER.
Listen carefully to the way people REALLY talk. They tend to talk in sentence fragments. They interrupt others. They repeat themselves. Try to get your dialogue to reflect authentic speech, but be careful not to become dull (real speech is OFTEN dull!)
2. TRAIN YOURSELF TO NOTICE
Observe the ways that people give away their social, economic and ethnic backgrounds by the way they talk. Use this knowledge when you create dialogue.
3. DON'T OVERDO THE DIALECT.
Readers very quickly become tired of trying to 'interpret' speech that is represented phonetically, or with apostrophes everywhere to reflect dropped letters. The trick is to choose one or two words/phrases that will give a taste of what the person is like to others. A little bit goes a long way.
4. TRY TAPING PEOPLE'S CONVERSATIONS.
(Be careful with this!You may not be popular if you do it without permission and others find out - or if you use it unwisely.) Listen carefully when you play it back. Often you'll hear inflections and habits that you miss when you're absorbed in a conversation first -hand.
5. WRITE FIRST, EDIT LATER.
Don't be tempted to edit too much as you write - it's better to let it flow, then give yourself some distance from the work and go back and edit later.
6. READ THE DIALOGUE OUT LOUD.
This is an excellent test for dialogue. Better still, get someone else to read your words. It's even easier that way to hear sentences that don't ring true, or that sound too stilted. Edit the work right away, while the problems are fresh in your mind.
7. LEARN TO PUNCTUATE DIALOGUE EFFECTIVELY.
Good punctuation can make a huge difference to the effect of what you write. When you read the work out loud, decide whether the pauses are long or short (does the speaker just 'run on'; does the dialogue require a comma, or should it be a semi-colon or a colon?) Don't forget that when people trail off uncertainly, you represent this with an ellipsis (row of dots); when they are interrupted, you show it with a dash.
8. MAKE SURE EACH CHARACTER DOESN'T SOUND THE SAME.
Some people speak in clear, well-formed sentences with perfect grammar; others make constant grammatical errors and stumble over words. Some people are bright and lively and their words and tone reflect this; others are slow and thoughtful. Dialogue should reflect all of these things. Most of all, make sure that each character is not just a reflection of YOU!
9. USE QUOTATION MARKS FOR SPEECH, NOT FOR THOUGHTS.
Your reader can become confused if you use quotation marks for both speech and thoughts. Thoughts are expressed in other ways - usually with a tag like 'he thought' or by using italics if they are expressed in the third person. (But that's a whole other tipsheet...)
10. DON'T 'SANDWICH' DIRECT SPEECH BETWEEN ACTIONS.
When you write dialogue, make sure that the viewpoint character's thoughts, actions and reactions are woven into the dialogue. Don't have half a page of direct speech with the occasional 'she said' and 'he said' to indicate who is speaking, then have a paragraph to describe the viewpoint character's thoughts or actions. Dialogue should be a smooth blend of speech, actions, thoughts and emotions.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
This article may be reproduced in your ezine or on your website provided that the text is unchanged and copyright details are left intact, and the following resource box is included in its entirety.
==================================================
Get this free tipsheet at www.writing4success.com - and then visit www.writing-for-success-online.com to sign on for Writing To Win on the Web, an information-packed free monthly ezine designed to help you achieve success online.
==================================================
Listen carefully to the way people REALLY talk. They tend to talk in sentence fragments. They interrupt others. They repeat themselves. Try to get your dialogue to reflect authentic speech, but be careful not to become dull (real speech is OFTEN dull!)
2. TRAIN YOURSELF TO NOTICE
Observe the ways that people give away their social, economic and ethnic backgrounds by the way they talk. Use this knowledge when you create dialogue.
3. DON'T OVERDO THE DIALECT.
Readers very quickly become tired of trying to 'interpret' speech that is represented phonetically, or with apostrophes everywhere to reflect dropped letters. The trick is to choose one or two words/phrases that will give a taste of what the person is like to others. A little bit goes a long way.
4. TRY TAPING PEOPLE'S CONVERSATIONS.
(Be careful with this!You may not be popular if you do it without permission and others find out - or if you use it unwisely.) Listen carefully when you play it back. Often you'll hear inflections and habits that you miss when you're absorbed in a conversation first -hand.
5. WRITE FIRST, EDIT LATER.
Don't be tempted to edit too much as you write - it's better to let it flow, then give yourself some distance from the work and go back and edit later.
6. READ THE DIALOGUE OUT LOUD.
This is an excellent test for dialogue. Better still, get someone else to read your words. It's even easier that way to hear sentences that don't ring true, or that sound too stilted. Edit the work right away, while the problems are fresh in your mind.
7. LEARN TO PUNCTUATE DIALOGUE EFFECTIVELY.
Good punctuation can make a huge difference to the effect of what you write. When you read the work out loud, decide whether the pauses are long or short (does the speaker just 'run on'; does the dialogue require a comma, or should it be a semi-colon or a colon?) Don't forget that when people trail off uncertainly, you represent this with an ellipsis (row of dots); when they are interrupted, you show it with a dash.
8. MAKE SURE EACH CHARACTER DOESN'T SOUND THE SAME.
Some people speak in clear, well-formed sentences with perfect grammar; others make constant grammatical errors and stumble over words. Some people are bright and lively and their words and tone reflect this; others are slow and thoughtful. Dialogue should reflect all of these things. Most of all, make sure that each character is not just a reflection of YOU!
9. USE QUOTATION MARKS FOR SPEECH, NOT FOR THOUGHTS.
Your reader can become confused if you use quotation marks for both speech and thoughts. Thoughts are expressed in other ways - usually with a tag like 'he thought' or by using italics if they are expressed in the third person. (But that's a whole other tipsheet...)
10. DON'T 'SANDWICH' DIRECT SPEECH BETWEEN ACTIONS.
When you write dialogue, make sure that the viewpoint character's thoughts, actions and reactions are woven into the dialogue. Don't have half a page of direct speech with the occasional 'she said' and 'he said' to indicate who is speaking, then have a paragraph to describe the viewpoint character's thoughts or actions. Dialogue should be a smooth blend of speech, actions, thoughts and emotions.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
This article may be reproduced in your ezine or on your website provided that the text is unchanged and copyright details are left intact, and the following resource box is included in its entirety.
==================================================
Get this free tipsheet at www.writing4success.com - and then visit www.writing-for-success-online.com to sign on for Writing To Win on the Web, an information-packed free monthly ezine designed to help you achieve success online.
==================================================
Sunlight On A Pond
I was sunlight on a pond, echoed in ripples and shimmers. Divided into bright uneven fragments. Yin met yang. My brilliance multiplied into protracted flashes of reflected colors. I glimmered and twinkled.
I was sunlight, on a pond, and I was warm.
I was sunlight, on a pond, and I was warm.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Chapter One - Decision
Jay didn’t talk to strangers. They said things or laughed in ways that made him feel uneasy. This was different though; the man asked Jay for help. A white news van had pulled up alongside him, raising a cloud of dust that clung to the side of his sno-cone. A heavy-set man stepped out and approached Jay.
“Excuse me, sir. I’m Fred Jennings with the State News Journal. Can I ask you a few questions about what happened here?” Grandma would say Fred Jennings had Dunlap’s disease. His belly had “done lapped” over his belt. Jay drank the soupy remains of the sno-cone and chewed on its mushy wrapper.
Jennings’ hard gaze belied his roundness. He ain’t one of those fat, jolly souls Grandma speaks about. No, Jennings looks like a cat about to have her way with a mouse, Jay thought. Maybe that’s how he got so round, eating mice like me for lunch every day. Jay thought about the faintly grape-flavored remnants in his mouth. Even after the flavor was gone, the paper would still be purple no matter how long he chewed it. Jay knew that for sure. He’d experimented with it for years now. Once the paper’s stained, it stays stained. If I can just keep quiet, maybe he’ll go away. ‘Cause sure as shootin’ once I open my big mouth, I can’t go back to being quiet again.
Jay hunched into a ball and turned invisible. When he went to town, sometimes he pretended he was invisible. He’d hunch his head down into his shoulders and look at the ground as he walked. This made him invisible to most people. Every once in a while someone still made him out and they’d holler “Hi, Jay.” When that happened, he pulled the shirt up over his head and completed the cloak of invisibility. It always worked -- except with Grandma. Grandma’s powers of discernment were second only to God’s. Jay never could hide anything from her all-knowing eyes.
The reporter cleared his throat and dug around under his ball cap with a pencil. The pressure of a decision was unbearable. Jay looked for a sign to steer him right. He found it right above the brim on the man’s cap. It read, “Just do it.”
Jennings shifted his weight and repeated, “Could I ask you some questions about what’s happening around here, son?” Jay reckoned it’d be rude to refuse the big man – and besides, God had provided a sign -- so he nodded.
“Excuse me, sir. I’m Fred Jennings with the State News Journal. Can I ask you a few questions about what happened here?” Grandma would say Fred Jennings had Dunlap’s disease. His belly had “done lapped” over his belt. Jay drank the soupy remains of the sno-cone and chewed on its mushy wrapper.
Jennings’ hard gaze belied his roundness. He ain’t one of those fat, jolly souls Grandma speaks about. No, Jennings looks like a cat about to have her way with a mouse, Jay thought. Maybe that’s how he got so round, eating mice like me for lunch every day. Jay thought about the faintly grape-flavored remnants in his mouth. Even after the flavor was gone, the paper would still be purple no matter how long he chewed it. Jay knew that for sure. He’d experimented with it for years now. Once the paper’s stained, it stays stained. If I can just keep quiet, maybe he’ll go away. ‘Cause sure as shootin’ once I open my big mouth, I can’t go back to being quiet again.
Jay hunched into a ball and turned invisible. When he went to town, sometimes he pretended he was invisible. He’d hunch his head down into his shoulders and look at the ground as he walked. This made him invisible to most people. Every once in a while someone still made him out and they’d holler “Hi, Jay.” When that happened, he pulled the shirt up over his head and completed the cloak of invisibility. It always worked -- except with Grandma. Grandma’s powers of discernment were second only to God’s. Jay never could hide anything from her all-knowing eyes.
The reporter cleared his throat and dug around under his ball cap with a pencil. The pressure of a decision was unbearable. Jay looked for a sign to steer him right. He found it right above the brim on the man’s cap. It read, “Just do it.”
Jennings shifted his weight and repeated, “Could I ask you some questions about what’s happening around here, son?” Jay reckoned it’d be rude to refuse the big man – and besides, God had provided a sign -- so he nodded.
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