I'm gonna get published...damnit!

2007-01-24T06:45:00.000-06:00

For those of you who are tuning in as a results of viewing my website thanks for comming to the blog! If you have the ebook and have read it please feel free to post your comments here. If you don't have the ebook you can obtain a free advanced copy. email publicity@lfgoodwyn.com and get the details. If you havent visited the website the address is www.lfgoodwyn.com. I will hotst an online chat about the book sometime next month!

Just dropping in

2007-01-04T13:03:00.000-06:00

Hello everybody! I'm just dropping in to give my website info:www.lfgoodwyn.com
The ebook is available on Mobipocket.com Title: An Aspirin for a Heartache. It will be available for purchase jan 15th.

Workin' Workin' workin'!

2006-12-08T05:34:00.000-06:00

I have been into everything lately. Since I posted last I read, What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day. This book was really good. I liked general direction of the story. It is a very important story about a woman with HIV and what I love most is the way the story was told... and it was a love story...I love those, but not romance novels...at least I think I don't. I read one about a 50-something wannabe half virgin. That was a turn off.
Also I went to FLorida to celebrate a good friend of mines birthday, everyone had to take shots of RedRum to get in the door of her home and it was so fun and by the end of the night we ended up in getting inked at a nearby tattoo shop...I won't say where I got mine.
On another note I have decided to epublish An Aspirin for a Heartache before the release date, which has changed a lot in the past. I think I am going to make it available before Christmas and release the paperback in Febuary. I hope that I can sell an ebook. I was looking at a copy of it this morning and thinking that this would be good to read at the office. I could download it at the computer and read away. But on another note I like to read in the bathtub. How would I be able to do that? I could buy a PDA but what if it falls in the tub? They are handy though because when you travel you can put several titles in a PDA and it's definately a space saver...And how many black folk own a PDA? This is another challenge, but you know what I thought? I Was thinking that this would be a good thing for a book club, because downloading an ebook would be something fun to do..wouldn't it? I'd download an ebook if I were in a book club and everybody else was doin it. SO I hope that they would. So that's it! That's the plan. I am going to target Black book clubs to download the ebook and I am goin to make it cheap. I think about $6.95 does that sound good? I'd download an ebook for six dollars and some change. I'll put a link here in a few days so that all of you can check it out. I also think that I will host an online chat about the book in a few weeks. Take care. And pass it on...

Good riddance!

2006-10-05T10:29:00.000-06:00

I don’t think I ever told y’all about this client that I had. He was a pain in the you-know-what from the very start. I typeset his manuscript for him….yes, a man! So you know where I am going with this…male ego!
Well, after reading his manuscript I had formed my opinion of him. Big buckets of his chauvinistic views were splashed across each and every page. But I didn’t let it get to me because this was a job, and I had a job to do. But first let me give you an example of this chauvinism: This was a Christian self-help book, and needless to say the only person who ever needed help was a woman—the man was always the one lending an ear! Also seems like he only had women doing work for him with his book, which may not seem strange but the lady who did his web site, I guess hadn’t been in touch with him, and after my experience with him I can only imagine why, but he tells me that he doesn’t know what’s wrong with her and that maybe she just needs to get some!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well, after changes, on top of changes, on top of changes, he decides that he wants a copy of the MS in its original form. Now for those of you who don’t know: I use a software for desktop publishing, so unless a client has this software, which they usually don’t, which is why they come to me, they have to view any changes made in a PDF format. Well he didn’t like the PDF format because he couldn’t make changes. So after telling him over and over again that he wouldn’t be able to view the changes unless I put them in PDF, and that I’d be happy to make as many changes as were necessary, I went ahead and sent it to him…what the hell, right? So immediately he emailed me back asking what program I used. And I told him. Now, mind you that all of this is taking place over a course of about 9months.
In this nine months I have worked with him endlessly on this project. He has gone from being employed to un-employed, to employed, and then unemployed again. And you might ask: How old is he? And I will tell you that the man is at least 50! And while reading this book I found that he has had numerous jobs, including a different job while he was writing his book. What does this have to do with anything? I’m building my case. Well the entire nine months he has been trying to raise money to self publish, he also wanted to pay me to market his book. Alright now let’s zip forward. I didn’t hear from him for about two months, and when I did he tells me that he has been in the hospital and in the same sentence he tells me that the details aren’t necessary…as if I asked him! Then he tells me to just send him the MS in its original format. Well after he realizes he can’t view it, like I told him. He emails back and says, “lets work on this together. My problem was that, in the past, it seemed to take you a really long time to get stuff back to me.” This was a total and complete lie! I think that he didn’t raise the money and was too embarrassed to say so. You see if he had total control over the MS, he wouldn’t have to let me know he didn’t raise the money, he could just never email again. But with me having the MS, he would have to stay in touch. He could have to complete MS, in a PDF format but he has a compulsive need to change it… but if you’re a writer you know how that is, but ain’t no need to take me down that road…I’ve got my own road to travel!
So basically I told him that I have decided to terminate our work relationship. Thank God! And Good riddance!

unpaid parking tickets, no car insurance, and suspended drivers license

2006-08-25T04:51:00.000-06:00

I was driving down the street blasting Lionel Ritchie and I noticed some lights behind me...flashing. I pulled over to the slow lane to let the police man pass me but he got behind me. Usually I have a cow when I get pulled over because for the past few years I have had bad luck with unpaid tickets, suspended drivers license, and no insurance. Well this day was different... I had two out of three. Meaning that my liscense were good, I had no unpaid tickest, oh, and did I mention that my tags and inspection sticker was good too? The only thing was the damn car insurance. I hadn't switched it over yet from the old car. I veared to the shoulder and ran through my mind what I was going to say. "Im going to switch the insurance over today, officer." He tells me that I was going 63 in a 50. I was shocked because I haven't sped in years. He said that he was going to run my info. He came back and said, "Ma'am, I'm going to give you a warning," yippee! "You need to slow down.."
"No problem officer."
"Oh, and Mrs. Goodwyn"
"Yes"
"your dress is caught in the door."
I could have died!

Where should I start?

2006-07-31T19:04:00.000-06:00

Austin was nice. I went there to train like I mentioned before. It was really great meeting people who had similar interest as me. I found a brillian young man (Katrina survivor) who is going to do help me with my web site. I had a bomb ass roomate who ironed my clothes for me (I'm challenged in that area)and I brewed the coffee. We talked about poverty and the causes of poverty and the discussions were intelligent and deep and throught-provoking.
So I returned that friday and went to my volunteer post that following Monday. (this is a volunteer position if I didn't mention). So far it's been good. Everyone in the office are conservative and I am the only liberal, at least I thought I was...there is this old white lady, I mean she's not really old, maybe 60, but she's a liberal, and not only is she a liberal but she marched for civil rights, for women's rights, and she's a fan of Castro! We talked and she is going to sign the petition for Assata Shakur! She lived in California and met the Black Panthers. I was surprised because In East Texas this is rare. I live around Big Time Bush supporters, who support the war.
What else... oh,I went to a get together over the weekend at my sister-n-law's house and it was for her husband's birthday and we were all drinking and playing dominoes and there was just one other couple there besides me and my husband, and the woman is slutty and I knew this, but check this out, this bitch had the audacity to lick her tongue at my husband when I wasn't looking (he told me). Dig that one! We were all sitting at the table. Me, my husband, her husband, her, my husband's sister, and her husband. So this is my thing: okay, it's okay for her to be attracted to him, and it might be okay for her to lick her tongue out at him (providing I was dead), but it Ain't okay for her to do SHIT while I'm sitting at the table! And the killing part about it is I know her. It isn't like this was our first time meeting. Then she had the nerve to invite me to her party week after next. So to make a long story short, I didn't go off on her at the party (I try to be mature these days) but will wait for her call about the party and when she does I'm going to light into her ass.

2006-07-18T04:10:00.000-06:00

I just got back from Houston, visiting family, actually I went up there to meet my father, from New Orleans, to get my kids. I visited my cousins in Houston and my uncle, who is back from Africa and bought me some artifacts. I hate Houston--it's big and hot and spread out. My cousins kept telling me: right down the street and right down the street would be like a 15 or 20 minute drive. When I lived in Memphis it took me twenty minutes to communte from the suburbs to the city! After a full day of down the streets I was smelling like a man, hot as it was.
So I'm back from Houston as of Sunday but today, this morning infact, I am headed to Austin for 4 days. I'll be training for my new part-time job.
But since I've been back from New Orleans a lot has happened. The day I got back, and I should have known this was going to happen, my car started acting up. Everytime I rent a car my car gets jealous, I guess, and starts acting up. Well, before I left for out of town my husband asked me to put a little oil in the car. Well, I went out and bought some but when I got home I realized that we already had a half of quart so I put that in instead. He came in and out the entire quart that I had bought, and I watched him without telling him I put a half a quart in there(I forgot). The next day the car is smoking, oil is spilling. I took it to the oil change place because it was due and they told me that there was too much oil in the car ( I knew that). They changed the oil, got the level right and sent me on my way. SO I went out of town and came back, turned in my rental, turned the ignition of my car on--nothing. I had the battery checked and it was perfect, the alternator...nothing wrong there. Nobody knew what was wrong with the stupid car. It did have 137,000 miles on it, and the dealer said if the tires had any skin on them at all he would take it...so I traded it in...for a new car....and boy does it feel nice.
Now I guess my computer missed me as well because It started tripping when I got back home and all of my work was on there and if something happened to my work I would cry, cry, cry, so I had the work backed up and traded that puppy in for a new one as well.
That's all for now. Oh, I can't spell check this for some reason so bear with me...I am the worst speller.

Big feet little feet?

2006-07-06T07:21:00.000-06:00

About two months ago my father called me and said he'd be having this big 4th of July thing in honor of my cousin, who ended up not showing up. Anyhow I was up to about 6 or 7 miles per day before I left so I was looking hot! I showered and put on my white Marlyn Monroe dress, it was all white except for a few tan beads around the waist. I set it off with some tan sandals with a medium heel. Well, it had rained before so my heels were sinking into the soft dirt with every step I took so I changed into my birkenstock like sandals. They're comfortable, but unflattering. After a few hours of mingling my aunt-tee walked up to me and said,"Girl, I know you're apart of this family--cause you got big feet," I swallowed and looked down at her feet which were spread over her birkenstock sandals like two loaves of bread with toes and said, "Well, I'm damn near six feet tall, I'd look crazy with small feet," which is what I always say. I have big feet, and I will always have big feet, I've come to accept it. But I find it ridiculous when people expect me to have smaller feet. Black folk have big feet on average anyway....Then I started to think. I once read about a tribe in Mexico who would flatten their noses breaking the bones. Generation after generation they did this until somehow it became part of their genetic makeup. After a while their children were born with these flat noses and now they can be identified by these noses. Okay now, I was thinking about slavery. The feet of slaves had to be big and unsightly because they were always barefoot, and before slavery they were in tribes where they were also barefoot. So my question is: are black folks feet, on average bigger, because of the conditions of our ancestors?When I first sat down to write today I was going to take the diva route and talk about how good I looked, but it seems like everybody wants to be a diva these days. Shit, I've been there and done that and done it so well, and besides my big feet don't fit into those shoes any more.

2006-06-21T06:32:00.000-06:00

Yippee! I finally have had 100 visitors! I remember when I had three. I was so excited. I couldn't believe anyone wanted to read about my life. But then again as nosy as I am, surewly their are others as nosy as me. I am very nosy.
I'm sitting here watching Good Morning America, drinking coffee, contemplating my next move. I have been so busy lately.I fell asleep on the Miami Dallas game last night, right at half-time. I was soooo tired. If I had known that they were going to win the Championship I would have forced my eyes open. For my 100th visitor celebration I am going to post another excerpt of the book for everyone to read.
This is Page- thirty-something ex-pagent girl, friend to Essence, Kyra and Jakie.

Even his breath smells good.

We approach a white limo spread over four parking spaces, under a glowing moon in the midnight sky.
"So what's on the agenda?" I lace and unlace my fingers—lace and un-lace, lace and un-lace. I swallow, but the intense nicotine craving lodges itself in my airways. I can tell he doesn't smoke. Doesn't have any of the characteristics; fingernails are clear.
I'm not gonna smoke either; I'll wait until the end of the date. It won't be that bad.
"Oh I don't know. I thought we'd swing by some friends of mine, if that's okay?"
"That's fine." I hope I can wait.
As withdrawal claws at the base of my lungs, the limo turns into the medical district, the trendy part of town. Swank cocktail lounges, daiquiri bars and boutique shops line the narrow streets in tight brick bunches. The faded bricks look to the neon signs for exposure, while the neon signs lure in customers with their fluorescent smiles. Weirdoes, lie snugly between the bricks like cement, draped in newspapers or tucked under worn cardboard boxes.
We stop in front of a building nestled in the shadows of Becham Street. The remaining beige paint on the building crawls toward the sidewalk. All but a few lights are off, and they look orange through the lifeless window panes.
“Are we here?” I hope not.
“This is it,” he does that thing where his lip curls up.

Locks and afros ranging small to out-of-this-world and from black to apple red or platinum blonde float through the room like the air itself. Slim black-frame eyeglasses. Plastic arm bracelets. Incense smoke sifts through the air, to the palpating of the bongo drums, carrying the sweet smell of sandalwood.
I wish someone in here was smoking a cigarette.

Everyone knows Talib, and he graciously introduces me.
I feel overdressed.
As we circulate through the crowd of friendly smiles and warm gestures, the bunion on my left toe decides, and fights for its place in my new shoe. Every step I take it pushes the virgin leather and the leather pushes back.
Talib stops at an ottoman near the wall where he sits then pulls me between his legs. I squirm for the first few minutes, while appreciatively taking the pressure off of the burning pulsating in my shoe. I sit, back straight. He pulls me to him and his forehead taps the back of my head. I shift my body easing back to my stick position. He lays his chin on my collarbone and pulls my body back into his where the awkwardness melts into the laced air.
"Do you wanna take off your shoes?"
"What?"
"Your shoes. I felt you limping when we walked in. Do they hurt?"
"I'm fine, thank you." Limping? I can strut my stuff with the best of them. I've got hours of walking, dancing or whatever he wants to do, left in these shoes!

"Are you hungry?" He whispers.
"Aren't we going to dinner?"
"If you want, we can go to dinner."
"Dinner wasn't a part of the evening?" Most dates usually start with dinner.
"I really hadn't planned the evening. I thought we'd just play it by ear. Why get caught up in planning things? I just like to go as the day takes me. As far is dinner is concerned either you're hungry or you're not, no planning necessary."
I really need a smoke, and no one here is smoking.
"Yeah, let’s get something to eat." I funnel the tension through a sexy half-smile.

"What are you in the mood for?"
"I don't know." If name an expensive restaurant, he might think I'm a gold-digger.
"How about Wings -n- Things?"
"Um yeah," I stumble, "That sounds good," Wings-n-Things? That's strike one.
He looks deep into my eyes and very calmly says, "I was just kidding. How about Flora's, the new gourmet soul food restaurant down town?"
This nicotine-fit has declared war against my willpower. What will he think if I smoke just one cigarette?
I force, "Sounds terrific," through teeth clamped into a jagged smile.
I look out of the black windshield and count— one, two, three, four— the dim street lights, while drumming my fingertips on my knee— six, seven, eight, — he touches my arm, my muscles tighten—nine, ten, eleven....
"Page, is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine, just fine," another smile, “You know what? Could we just stop by the supermarket? I need to run in and get something?"
"Sure." He motions the driver to pull into the parking lot of a local grocery store.
"Thanks."
The wheels roll over the loose gravel. Their moan, as they re-situate, under the grooved rubber stabs at the tip of my nerves... They stop rolling, the gravel is still. I break.
"Wait Page, I'll come with..."
"No,” from over my shoulder, “No, that's okay. I've got it."
My ankles wobble over the un-even pavement but I maneuver through the two automatic doors in a poised shuffle to approach a walnut brown haired man with deep lines in his face who seems like he’s existing only in spurts behind the pharmacy counter.
His body has a subtle loose shaking, which probably runs a close second to my own body, in it’s shaking, as I gasp for the last oxygen on the planet, with a maniacal look on my face.
I tap my tangerine acrylic nails on the counter twice, "Nicotine patches?"
He shakes his head no, like a bobble head, but says, “What?"
"Nicotine patches!"
He unlocks a glass case containing several different varieties. Maybe his movements are involuntary.
"Do you want CQ, or EX?" Bobble, bobble, bobble.
"Which is the best one?"
"A lot of people buy CQ," bobble.
"How long before it takes effect?"
"Not sure," bobble, bobble...
“Gimme that one!" At this point, I don't need that much persuasion. I slide into the restroom with urgency, spinning around the first corner on the tips of my toes, then turn my heels in the same angle that little boys skid the back tires of bikes, while bringing them to a stop, and bringing me to a stop. Nobody can tell me I can't work a pair of high heels.
I slap two patches on my butt and throw the box in the trash on my way out. I hope there's enough meat back there to absorb the nicotine, I don't have any tail.
Outside Talib is leaning against the Limo trading stories with the chauffeur. Their laughter spreads in a deep rangy pitch, over the hood of the car. As I get closer his eyes, glazed with patience and sincerity, touch softly in my direction.
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Yes, thank you," I say, waiting for the driver to open the door for us, but Talib opens our door instead.
I'll bet he's got his game face on.
"Alright man, take us over to Flora's."
"You two seem close; you've known each other long?"
"Naw, we just met. Pretty cool brotha. He's got his stuff together."
"Well it can't be too much together— he's a chauffeur," I flip my hair and look out the side window with the cigarette craving still tugging at my emotions.
"What's wrong with being a chauffeur? The man could be committing a crime. You see, I'm levelheaded; I don't like getting above myself. If you get too high up in the air, you can't see what's underneath you. And you can't fully have it all together, if you don't know what you're dealing with. And you can't know what you're dealing with if you can't see it coming."
"So what are you saying?"
"Get off your high horse."
"Oh," surprised at his directness, "Okay."
I sit back in the seat and press any further words between my lips. No one's ever said that to me, well Jakie says it all the time, but I don't pay that woman any mind.
———
The restaurant is really classy, rich rust-orange walls with that ragging technique everyone is doing. The tables are intimate black shiny circles that flow as even as polka-dots from wall-to-wall. Its dimness and the trickling waterfall create an ambiance.
"This is nice. I've never been here before. You?" I don't know, guess when I think Black-owned, I think raggedy.
"I've been here a couple of times."

The hostess leads us to a remote area lush with tropical plants, and the best lighting I've ever seen. Talib has his hand on the small of my back and I tower over him walking strong and owning every step, establishing my presence.
"Did I tell you how amazing you look?"
I counter with a smile, wide and pretty.
"Oh look! They have a vegetarian menu. Smothered Southern Cakes. Wonder what that is?"
"It says it's texturized soy protein patties, smothered in onions, mushrooms and gravy."
"Sounds good."
"Whatever. I never understood why people simulate eating meat. Either you eat meat or you don't."
"You know that makes a lot of sense. I never thought about it that way." Even though where we just left, I didn't see slabs of beef going around.
Remember to sit pretty, Page, I hear my mother say, so I roll my shoulders back.

In the middle of dinner, I look up and notice him studying me. I feel his fiery eyes tracing the shape of my face and the outline of my lips, counting the eyelashes on my eyelids. He looks at my hands as if he were counting the creases on my fingers. I feel naked. Not in the sense that I'm not wearing any clothes, but naked in the sense that he can see me without the eight-hundred-dollar hair weave or my designer dress. I feel like I'm wearing sneakers and a T-shirt, (which, by the way, I don't even own a pair) and yet I feel comfortable.
"You have firm smooth skin."
"You think so?" I look down at the scar, still there from the burn I suffered from the curling iron, and try to stare it into non-existence. I wish he was looking at my other hand. There's nothing wrong with that one.
I meet his almond eyes over the table top. A long look at his creamy peanut butter complexion and those beautiful locks, and my stomach is full.
"So why did you bid on me?"
"I felt your energy." He takes my hand and draws it to his lips, grazing them softly. His full chocolate lips are smooth. I wonder what it must be like to kiss them, and if the women that have kissed them are anything like me.
A rumbling in my stomach pushes my thoughts to the side and take center stage. Nausea pushes its way up and my head feels as thin as the tissue that holds it together. Surely his presence doesn't make me feel nauseous? Maybe it was dinner? But I don't think I would be getting sick this soon.
I push the queasiness back, "So what do you look for in a woman?"
"I look for someone who has a good heart. I can get past almost any hang-ups people might have as long as they have a good heart. I don't like connivers. I try not to have them in my life."
"Yeah, I don't like conniving people either. For that reason, I don't really have that many new friends. The few friends I do have, I've had for nearly twenty years."
"What about you?" he asks, "What do you look for in a man?"
I want a rich man who can take care of me. "I want a man who is genuine and sincere. One who has an open mind. One who likes to have fun. One who doesn't mind my shopping habit." We chuckle.
"What's the one thing you will not tolerate?" he asks.
That's funny, I never really thought about what I won't tolerate, which is crazy at this point in my life. Um, I don't know. Why don't I know? But, I can't say I don't know, he's gonna think I have no direction in my life. Okay, it's coming to me. Oh, I know… "I won't tolerate selfishness," I say. Yeah, selfishness, that's a good answer. I don't want another selfish man in my life.
"What won't you tolerate?" You try sitting in the hot seat.
"A cheater,” just as quick and as clear as the air surrounding it. “When I'm in a relationship I'm totally committed. Relationships don't scare me. I like being committed. It may seem kind of old fashioned, but I expect the same thing out of my mate. You know, being totally committed."
"No you're not being old fashioned. That's probably on my list right up there with being selfish. I'm also a very committed person."
"What do you like to do in your spare time?"
"Shop."
"No, what do you really like to do? When you're done shopping?"
"I like movies."
"Really, what type of movies?"
"All kinds. Mainly I like dramas and suspense thrillers."
"I love movies too. I like to watch black and whites from back-in-the-day."
"Oh my gosh! I love black and whites. I was gonna say I love black and white movies, but I didn't want you to think I was crazy for watching those types of movies."
"What's crazy about watching black and white movies?" He asks, as the conversation takes a shift to a more serious note.
"Nothing..." I sit upright in my seat.
He says, with a huge grin that takes his eyes from almond to northly pointed angles with pupils, "Well, I guess we're both crazy! Have you seen Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?"
"Only a hundred times!"
The waitress places the ticket, tucked in the pocket of a small leather envelope on the table. He eyes it closely. I drum my fingertips on the table. Right about now Alex would be telling me to cough it up, but this is our first date, but the way he is looking at it makes me think he may in the future, though.
It's hard to sit pretty when nervousness is rowing in a stream of queasiness up your esophagus, and there’s a small patch of fire on your left butt cheek. I glance down at the floor and notice my foot.
It's right next to his.
And it's bigger than his.
Sizably!
I slide it underneath the table.
I hope he didn't see it.
This is why I wear stilettos, they cut the size of your foot in half, but sometimes you just have to pick your poison, being taller than a damn skyscraper or having feet the size of the Titanic. Wearing a bigger uglier more comfortable shoe, or squeezing your foot into a cute shoe. Then you can't wear sandals in the summer because your feet have taken a beating all winter, corns every which way.
"So did you enjoy your dinner?" He won’t even look up, and all I have is a credit card and it’s maxed-out.
"Uh huh," he says, eyes fixed on the ticket.
"Excuse me, Tina, could you come here for a second?" he calls to our waitress. "You over charged me by three dollars. I didn't order this," he points out her mistake on the ticket while giving her a friendly smile. I am so embarrassed.
As she walks off to make the correction on the ticket he places his eyes back on me.
"You know her?"
"No."
"How did you know her name?"
“It’s on her badge."
Now I feel stupid. "I never thought to look at someone's badge. I usually say excuse me or whatever..."
"That's what it's there for. I always try to use common courtesy. Everyone deserves it."
He pays and we leave.
During the car’s steady movement the walls of my stomach touch. Salty saliva fills up my mouth coupled with a pulling underneath my chin.

"Pull the car over. I think I'm going to be sic—."
Big chunks of smothered southern cakes fly out of my mouth with all of the strength of a half-evening’s warning. Sticks to the leather seats and drains on thread paths to the floor, where the rest soaks into the carpet.
The empty jerking of my stomach leaves me gagging at the scene. Tongue hanging out, eyes bloodshot red, veins flexing in my neck, snot dripping from my nose. Talib rubbing my back.
"You alright?"
"I think so." I'm mortified.

I go straight inside of the convenience store bathroom and peel the patches from my butt. My makeup has taken a shape of its own, mascara is smudged around my eyes and the tangerine lipstick has fled to the outer edges of my lips leaving crust in the center.
I rinse my mouth even though I know I can forget about a good night kiss, powder my face and reapply my tangerine lipstick. My head is still spiraling when I get back outside.

Posting with nothing to talk about

2006-06-13T06:10:00.000-06:00

I said I was going to try to post once a week, I guess I'll have to get back on it. I told you guys that I started taking a creative writing class and that's going good. I'm taking it online. Still haven't submitted the rest of the MS to the agent, but will hopefully in a few more weeks, I want to use some of what I've learned in class to it before I send it off. It's been so hot down here, almost too hot to drink coffee. I have to get up earlier if I want to run, which has been going okay for the past two days. I get up around 7:00am now that school is out but should get up around 5:45am. I have to turn the air conditioner just to drink coffee.
something new: I got a job! It's really a volunteer type job working with low income families, helping them to gain skills needed, but it pays enough for me to take care of a few things. Most of all I'll have my own money! Which I don't know why I said that because that's one thing I can say about my husband, he usually doesn't question my spending. I think I'll like it. So this is just an update. Hopefully next time I'll have something to talk about. I hate posting when there's nothing to talk about. I've noticed that I've had nearly 100 visitors, I should plan a blog party! My first 100 visitors! Except no one is commenting. Please feel free to comment, I'd love to hear from you.
lfgoodwyn

I'll keep you all posted

2006-06-02T06:03:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I started my creative writing class a couple of days ago. Seems to be going fine. I like it. I am now feeling like getting back in the grove of writing which is much needed. AN agent asked for the rest of the MS. I sent her the first 50 pages seems like back in Jan. I hope it doesn't take her 4 months to read the rest. It could take her longer... But hell, it isn't like I don't have time. One of the things I've always heard writers say that I never wanted to acknowledge it that you have to be patient. I am not a patient person... I'm now semi-patient. When I saw her email I immediately thought she was unfortunately going to have to pass. But she asked to see the rest if it is still available. This is the first time an agent has asked to see more, I think, yet I don't feel excited. Does this mean that she will read the rest quicker than she read the first? Obviously this separates my work from the influx of sample chapters. But then if she does accept the MS, is she the right person? She is a new agent. I think she's a sista, which means it's going to hard for her. She's a sista and she's new and I'm new and it's going to be a challenge-- if she takes me on. I'll keep you all posted.

What I'm reading

2006-05-23T06:29:00.000-06:00

Just thought I'd drop in to talk about what I'm reading and have read. I haven't talked about this since January when I went on a Maya Angelou craze. I am reading Invisible life by E Lynn Harris. First off, I love him as a writer, and I've read most of his stuff but I didn't think I was going to get through the first 80 pages because of his graphic description of man on man. But before long I got really involved with the story. Invisible life is his debut novel I'm about halfway through it and I'll be finished tomorrow, but so far really good. Has anybody read or started his new novel? I'm thinking about reading it next.
NOW, what I did read a while ago but didn't mention to you all is The Women of Brewster Place. MY God. If you haven't read this you must. When I finished this book I was like, "Are you kidding me?" Not only is she a magnificent writer the story of Teresa and Lorraine will keep you up many nights after you finish.
And of course I'm always talking about The Color Purple. The Color Purple was the first book that I felt privledged to read. And obviously I'm not a lesbian but The love affair she painted between Shug and Celie made me understand. I understood the love Celie had for Shug--it was so beautiful. It's sad that the movie couldn't portray their love affair in that way, because it was the most touching part of the story. So, even if you've seen the movie you must pick it up.
Has anyone read Chasing Destiny by Eric Jerome Dickey?

So this is what I'm reading. Let me know what you're reading.
-LF Goodwyn

What next?

2006-05-17T09:15:00.000-06:00

My coffee maker is officially broken, my dog has a terrible rash, my husband didn't get the position he went up for, school is almost out, and we are off budget, which means as of right now, we aren't approved to close on the house! I am near tears. I want to ask "what next?" but I'm afraid of the answer.

A slap on the wrist...If you're white!

2006-05-08T07:15:00.000-06:00

I know this blog is supposed to be about my journey through self-publishing but sometimes I can't help talking about other things. This morning I am watching Good Morning America and I got not really upset but bothered. There was a story on a woman they called her a socialite, who was addicted to shoplifting. She had a familyroom full of stolen furniture, clothes, everything. So she was on TV crying saying that she was addicted to shoplifting and it stemmed from her childhood and her father and how she couldn't cope. I'm thinking if this was a Sister, number one it wouldn't make the news and number two she'd be in jail. That woman had more than enough stuff to be charged with a felony! But because of her difficult childhood, they say, she gets a slap on the hand. Now, mind you this woman is every bit of forty, and they are putting young black youth who have never had anything; during a time in their life when the latest gear is crucial, during a time where if you wear off brand sneakers you can be isolated from groups, who are too young to realize that stuff doesn't matter, who have seen more in their young life than that forty year old her seen in all of her years, would I'm sure love to have the childhood that she is crying about, being put in jail! But they take this grown ass woman, who is already wealthy, definitely knows better and gives her a spot on GMA.
Not only is this an important lesson about race it is an important lesson about class. Is it okay to steal as long as you can afford to pay for it?

What if I wasn't?

2006-05-04T09:52:00.000-06:00

Upon examination I have figured out that I eat when I'm upset. When people first started identifying with this years ago I was like: I just like food! But I recently I realized that I eat when I'm upset. Take today for instance, me and my husband had to go to the land to mark the spots that we want cleared. Well, on the way there we stopped at Wal-mart to get some water and tape to mark the spot and I got a box of Crunch -n- Munch, for later.
On the way back home after we'd marked the land we were having a disagreement, and so I opened the box of crunch -n- munch. I started shoveling handfuls into my mouth, which I didn't even get to enjoy because I was eating out of nervousness. Before I knew it the box was almost gone-- I finished it off when I got home. And yesterday I was irritated about something and I completely blew my diet.
I had already suspected that I had this problem. I guess I related to it about three or four months ago. I just started paying attention to my eating habits. But I couldn't stop myself from eating the fattening sugar coated popcorn.
When I was soaking in the bath last night I was remembering when I was a little girl. I had gone fishing with my grandpa like I did every summer. Well, this particular time there was a bad storm. First let me explain to you my grandfather. He was hard and stern and kind and sweet, but there were two time in life when you didn't want any parts of him and that was on a fishing trip pitching the tent or rather building a tent, and taking it down. My grandfather was in the military during WWII so he knew how to build a mean tent and we had to do this every fishing trip. The tent would have bedrooms and living areas; we could stand up straight and walk around. Well anyway, he would cuss everybody out as we were building it because it had to be built just right. "Goddamnit pull.... Can't you hold it this way?" would clap in the air like thunder, the kids would be crying, adults would be crying, all accept him, and after the tent was built he'd go back to saying things like... "Sho' baby. What ever you want sweet cakes."
Okay now to the point: there was a bad storm and our camp was being blown away. We had to take the tent down in the high-speed winds, and I wanted a cookie. Everybody was upset, my grandfather was bitching and I was asking everyone if I could have a cookie and I made the mistake of running up on my grandfather asking for a cookie and instead of "sho' baby," he cussed my ass out to the frequency of the lightening that was cutting through the sky, to the thunder that was rattling in our bones, to the screech of the wheels which were spinning hot mud because we were stuck in a puddle, to the leaves and branches that were being tossed in the hole so that we could get out.
I thought about all of this last night in the bathtub and realized that I eat when I'm upset and apparently I always have. Now for the next question to examine... I was an overweight child and I always thought it was because I loved food and had no limits set for me, but what if it wasn't? What had me upset enough as a child that I was overweight?
-LF Goodwyn

2006-04-29T07:10:00.000-06:00

First things first--my diet. Well, not really a diet but you know what I mean, is going okay. I sat out about six weeks ago to eat very clean for ten weeks and work my butt off. My goal was to loose 20 pounds and be in swimsuit shape by the end of May. Well I have got four weeks to go. If I put my eating habits on a scale of one to ten I'd give them about a seven. But I've lost about ten pounds. So for the next 4 weeks I want to be really strict. My wedding anniversary is also at the end of May and I bought a fishnet bodysuit that screamed when I put it on, hopefully by the end of may it'll be crying or he'll be crying.
Second, I don't know if I mentioned that I wanted to take a creative writing class this summer. Well I am taking it online. And I had to register through a local community college to take the course online. They didn't offer the course but another school did and they are all together on this virtual college thing. So anyway I had to email the registrar to register me for the class and she emailed me back saying that they don't offer the class and the English department wanted to know why I want to take this class. I was like "Excuse me?" Last time I checked I was paying. I didn't know I needed permission. And correct me if I'm wrong but aren't you guys in the Virtual college program... Or did I misunderstand... Help me understand this? By the time I got through flooding her with emails she went ahead and put me in the class. But it just goes to show that perhaps the host school (the school I applied to) doesn't get the money when people take classes that aren't offered in their institution they just give credit, which is why they make it hard.
The class is four weeks long so after I finish it around the first of July I'm going to send the book off with more confidence.
I got another decline letter the other day. This one said that I am a competent writer, but the story is not for her. What's so hard about the rejection is when you know as a reader, not a writer but a reader, that you've been reading a bunch of crap! That there's a bunch of crap out there, and I'm not mentioning any names because I quit reading it. And y'all know what I'm talking about. It's just like music. Think about rap and where it was 9 or ten years ago vs where it is now. Everything is so commercial: "shake that laffy taffy." Books are becoming the same way, at least black books, we are the ones quicker to be placed in a box. When is the last time you heard music that appealed to mainly whites all gimmicky. So now all black books are the same, and it isn't our fault we've been told that's what sells.
I'm tired of writing.
LF Goodwyn

Just a thought

2006-04-24T09:52:00.000-06:00

I was in the feminine hygiene section at the pharmacy and I focused in on a Summer's Eve douche and I started thinking, hmmmmmm, I wonder what would people think if a black woman was on the box instead of the white lady? Could you imagine seeing a black lady on a douche?
LF Goodwyn

Guess who's moving into the neighborhood!

2006-04-20T06:34:00.000-06:00

I don't know if I mentioned it but there was this elderly man I used to walk with everyday several months ago. I quit going down to the track because it was starting to get cold. He is a real estate broker and he told me if I ever needed help let him know. So when I first started this housing project, I noticed he wasn't at the track anymore so I called his office and they told me that he was out sick and so I asked when he'll be back in and they told me that he won't...He has cancer. I was crushed! I drove past his house on the way to the store (this is a very small town) and I noticed they were emptying out his house...Killed me! I remember before I quit going down there he told me that he was feeling tired a lot.

Lastly, I think the people fell for it. They said they'd sign the papers for us to buy the land. The lady even called Casey back, and was like, "Oh, I got the wrong number" she's so excited! I thought hmmmmm, they've been cut and don't even know they're bleeding! Imagine their faces when "Guess who's moving into the neighborhood."
-LF Goodwyn

I was too angry... No, I was mad!

2006-04-19T06:44:00.000-06:00

As I told you all before we are buying a house. We've been looking every where for land but we've encountered one of three things: either it was too far, too expensive, or too ragged. Well we found the perfect piece of land, it's five minutes from the city! My skeptic husband even thought is was great, he didn't say it but I could tell. Well we drove out there too look at it and as we were leaving the neighborhood there were about three or four white men sitting on one of the lawns on the corner. So one of the men motioned at us and walked near our car. When my husband rolled down the window the man said, "Oh... I thought your were someone else," and just stood there. Now my husband is 6'7 with locks in a place where we and maybe a few others are the only people with locks, so immediately my defense went up. So my husband says, "we were looking at the land over there, and the man says, "well did you like it?" And I can't remember what my husband said but I do remember him saying, "How far does it go? And the man showed us, and that was it. Now we live in the country in the deep south, so for those of you who don't know this is redneck territory. This particular subdivision was very small and I didn't see any black people but I could be wrong. So I was thinking that they were trying to find out if we were going to taint their lily white redneck neighborhood, which mind you these are huge acre lots so it isn't like we'd be nose to nose.
Well to make a long story short, the lot is for sale by owner, and when I got directions the day before from the owner the lady seemed nice. Well I looked at the land and called the builder and told them to call the owners back for me and tell them that we're interested. Well the builder left three messages and no one called them back. So something told me to have my friend to call who is white and she got through. My friend acted like me and everything was cool. So then she gave my friend, Casey the address to her home so that they could mail the contracts and then she added, "I'm in the neighborhood."
Then my skin crawled because I felt like they saw us out there looking at the land and that they must have added two and two together and decided that they didn't want any blacks living out there.
At first I was thinking that man who stopped us maybe knew the owners and called them, but hell, I didn't know they actually live in the damned neighborhood!
The old me would have been like screw them I don't want to live in their neighborhood, but it's too convenient to pass up, and they can just kiss my ass.

I know...I know!

2006-04-17T06:24:00.000-06:00

I know it's mid- April. I haven't written anything this month. I've been busy. We're buying a new house and my brain has been tangled. I hate doing straight laced stuff (paying bills, gathering documents). I have just about finished up working with this client and that's good because it'll give me more time to focus on my own work. I'm taking a creative writing class this summer. Actually I'm taking two, and I thought that I'd finish my book, because I'm still not finished, and have it at the printer while I take the creative writing class. Now I'm wondering if that makes sense? One one hand I was thinking that if I didn't have the book at the printer I'd be tempted to do another re-write, and sometimes you have to let it fly, but I know at least adding somethings to it after I take the creative writing class would help. And it would be stupid to send it to print before I take my first creative writing class. But on another note I'm tired of looking at it and I don't want to get caught up in a game of correcting and get afraid to have it printed. It is very scary.
Easter was good. My mother-in-law was in town, it was nice. We went out to dinner this past weekend and I over ate on Saturday and Sunday. So actually as soon as I get off the computer I'm going on my four mile run. Then I've got laundry. Then I have to go into the city to buy groceries, maybe. I don't have any coffee creamer so I didn't have my morning cup of coffee!
So my timeline for the next couple of weeks is hopefully get a lot of re-writing done. I'd like to have the book in a place to where I can just touch it up after the creative writing class. I'll be moving soon, if everything goes through on the house. But before that we'll have to have the land cleared. Either way I know I have to finished before school is out for the kids because I'd rather not have them here while I'm working. When school first started I couldn't write because they weren't around. All day I'd stare at the computer screen and as soon as they walked through the door I'd start typing away yelling at them: HUSH!
And I never heard from Agate, which is probably a good thing.

until now

2006-03-28T06:26:00.000-06:00

Hey peeps! Isn't that corny: Peeps. Anyway I just wanted to touch base with everyone today. Not a lot has been going on except the fact that I'm halfway through the mild re-writes I am doing before I can send the book to print. I would have been done if my personal life hadn't been spinning out of control. As soon as you say you're gonna do something and pick out a date it seems like everything under the sun starts happening. But I'm still chipping away at it. Tonight Terry McMillan speaks about the Down-Low with JL King. That should be interesting. I'm gonna check that out but then really is there much more to know about either one of their story? Hers has certainly been plastered all over the media and he's been on every major talk show and his book has been on the best seller list and so is the new one, but still I guess it's worth watching. I noticed that BET went the extra mile and aired "How Stella Got her Groove Back," I guess to familiarize everybody.
The coffee I'm drinking right now is too weak... I hate weak coffee! My coffee pot has been tripping ever since I bought it. It'll brew for three minutes and pretend to brew for five! My youngest son's, who's three, Poptart just broke and he just informed me that when he gets grown he's not going to live with me he's going to get his own apartment and it's going to be far away. So I said: Are you going to move to hurt my feelings to make me sad? And he said: I'm doing it because my poptart broke!

Now, something strange: I am a half-avid runner. I'll go about three months strong, go off and on for two and go three months strong again. Now I just so happen to be in my going strong mode and two white guys stepped out of the woods it seemed. They were right on the curb. I don't know if they live in the white house on the corner or not, but I've never seen them if they do. But surely they didn't really just step out of the woods? I wondered at the time if they were workers. Any how it was kind of weird so I didn't pass them again. Well yesterday evening, I was at the track this time and they came to the steps and sat with their back to me but this time had on dark shaded, and it was drizzling, so I couldn't understand the shades. But they kept looking at me every time I passed. The one with the brown curly shag even nodded, but I didn't nod I just let them know that I was looking at them. Now I'm big time paranoid, I always watch my surroundings when I run. Well I came home which is down the street, I got in my car and drove back around there the whole thing took about two minutes if that, and I noticed that they had left. So anyway I'm on the look out. I was thinking about taking Jordan, my 85lb pitbull with me to run from now on. Just to be safe. So this is what's been going on with me up until now.
LF Goodwyn

Excerpt

2006-03-14T10:42:00.000-06:00

An Aspirin for a Heartache
Copyright © 2004 by LF Goodwyn
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author

Ch 1 Yellow Grass
Essence

Water settles in my lower eyelids. I hold my head back and the tears create itchy puddles in my eyes—nothing’s clear—the ceiling flows like a rippling stream above my head and wall hangings turn into bold colorful stripes tightly circling around me. I dab the spillage out of the corners of my eyes with the tip of my finger. Her words crashed into my soul like a tsunami wave.
I can admit sometimes I looked for it—searching pockets, wallets, and sniffing shirt collars for unfamiliar perfume and traces of lipstick. But never did I think that what I'd spent so much time trying to find, would come to a gated community where the picket fences hold hands as they climb over rolling green hills, where pine trees soar in imperial clicks into pale blue skies, on a cul-de-sac street, under a raggedy oversized t-shirt to find me.
"Hello," I spoke coolly.
"My name is Candice...and you don't know me," came in a high pitched ran-together whisper. Panic invaded my mind. Sweat gathered in the palms of steady hands and the phone threatened to slip around like a wet fish.
"But me and Michael, we’ve been having an... you see, we've been seeing each other... I'm in love with him," she blurted then began to stumble.
I couldn't get past the first sentence because it was whirling, like a tornado, shredding my foundation, leaving pieces of my life falling like muddy debris. Her words rose in me like stagnant flood waters drowning my ability to speak. I slammed the phone down, yanked the cord from the wall and flailed it, whip, whip, whip, across the bedspread until the flowers that covered it were tattered flapping rags.
I replay the scene in my head as salt-ridden tears roll down my face, like the ones before them and deposit in the corners of my mouth.
I think of him smugly prancing in here asking me:
"Essence, what's for dinner?"
"Essence, did you pick up the dry cleaning?"
"Essence, by the way, I'm fucking cheating!"
That's what he should have said! Had so much to say...all the while he’s been fucking cheating!

A distant haze swells in the center of my brain. I pace, running my hand through curly brown hair that tangles around my wedding ring and tears at the roots as I pull my hand out only to run it through again.
What's my next move?
I slow my pacing to a standstill, massage my chin, and try to focus in on the essentials.
I got it! I snap my fingers. I should just kill him! I should just wait until he gets home and KILL HIS ASS.
I ought to call my best friends, Jakie, Page, and Kyra, on three-way and say, "Let's go get this mutherfucker, then let's go kill his bitch!" Do some OJ Simpson kinda shit!
But, Kyra’s fine Christian upbringing wouldn't allow her to entertain the notion. If I call her she's only gonna tell me to pray about it. And forget about Page. This isn’t the time to talk about who’s wearing what or a designer handbag. I'd have to kill her right after I finished with Michael and Candy or Candice or Candy, yeah, I think Candy, sounds like a stripper name. Probably he's been fucking a stripper.
Anyway, out everybody, Jakie would definitely roll with me, but with her it's all or nothing. She'll be wanting to dump their bodies in acid, or something crazy and off the wall like that. And I'm too pissed for someone not to try and stop me, 'cause I'll go all the way and think about prison later.
Who am I kidding? I don't wanna kill nobody. With my luck, I'll probably get caught.
Get a grip, girl. You need some wine... and a cigarette. Just sit for a minute... calm down!
I fumble through the wine rack for the most expensive bottle of red wine we have, since this is a special occasion and all. I pour a glass and funnel it down my throat in long slow gulps. I don’t even let the glass touch the counter before filling it up again. It spills over and a tiny red stream flows down the contour of my glass and drips, like little blood droplets on the floor behind my every step.

Now, where are my emergency cigarettes? Forget the cigarettes I need some WEED!
I find a half a blunt in my gold lipstick case from what seems like ages ago. Where is my lighter—I don’t have time to find a lighter!
I see the room in quick hot flashes. The dishwasher. The oven. The refrigerator. The stove. The stove! I can light it on the stove. I push the blunt’s tip into the blue flame and I inhale. The harsh bitterness hits my chest like a blowtorch, opens me up. It tickles my throat and I exhale slowly between held back coughs. A tiny prickly sensation flows through me.
I lean back and prop my leg up against the wall. The slit in my shirt exposes an almond-colored thigh that's on the verge of having visible cottage cheese. I squeeze some of my skin, to see just how much cellulite I have, and wonder if Candy has any.
I take another hit.
———
When I would see him the rustle of passersby and their casual conversations would mute. There’d be a steady thump in my ears countered with a fainter rhythmic peck in my fingertips. My windpipe would turn into a tiny straw, which only allowed a teaspoon of breath at a time. Saliva bubbled into foam and gathered in the corners of my mouth—all of this in his presence. Because his eyes were warm and energetic. Because his jokes were well timed. Because his movements were poised and calculated, and because the smell of his clean t-shirt filled my nostrils and went down like warm chicken soup.
Our relationship was as hot and wild as a forest fire that wrapped us up in its flame and carried us on curds of its smoke. This was in high school, before the mortgage payment, credit card debt, and him trying to gain right of passage into whitecollarness. A corporate cupid shot down his sense of humor. His well-timed jokes were stuffed in a briefcase. His silk tie choked off our communication. His leather belt cut off our circulation. Stress settled into the lines of his face and I just plain settled. The forest fire was out and his eyes were like two lumps of coal. When he walked in a room, I could still hear the television. My ears no longer clogged up. My heart beat kept its normal pace. But sometimes after a night of lovemaking that lifted us from our foundation, we’d surf the small current until it wiped out—this would sustain us. I never questioned the love. The love was there; we were just going through what couples go through, I told myself. So when he came to me with his excuses, I gladly believed them. At least he still cared enough to tell a lie. And a lie, I guess, was all I needed to get through. I take another puff and look up to the heavens.
“I wanna stay, I really, really, wanna stay, but if I stay...”
Why do I wanna stay?
Because, I don’t want the flip side, the single side, the lonely side—the divorced side, the grass on that side of the fence always looked yellow to me. Who wants to be divorced?
I walk into the kitchen drop the blunt roach in the garbage disposal and hit the switch.
I grab a handful of off-white china plates trimmed in gold and throw them one at a time. Like ceramic Frisbees they spin before dropping out of mid-air crashing on the terra-cotta floor. Hundreds of little pieces spread over tiles the way grease in dishwater spreads when you add detergent. My head feels loopy, and seems to roll off my shoulders to a dark and miserable place that swallows my rage and burps deep mournful sadness. I refill my glass with wine, and I don't know how many aspirin will cure heartache, but I take two.
It takes another small handful, emptying the bottle, before a certain dreaminess creeps in.
Each inhale is light as feathers, each exhale falls on my eyelids like heavy dust and they slip between open and closed with the balanced pace of a pendulum. My heart beats, bong..........bong.........bong........like a cathedral bell—the service is over.
My arms wobble when I try to raise up. Everything in sight has a fuzzy ring around it. Breakfast feels like it’s running away from the lining of my stomach. The ceiling collides with the floor and they rotate on an axis—my brain clings to my scalp.
I think I'm gonna die!
Except, I don't think I wanna die!
I muster every bit of strength I have to move one inch and fall. I scoot to the phone like an infant child, each thrust draining me, my eyes fight to stay open.
I tug at the loosely spiraled cord until the phone, along with its base, falls and slides just in front of me. In a curled fetal position I press 911.
It's taking them too long to answer. I'm not going to make it. Oh Lord, what have I done? Lord please don't let me die…please!
"911 what's your emergency?"
"H-e-l-l-o."
"Yes ma'am are you okay?"
"No…No…I've o-v-e-r-d…" osed! Overdosed! Over-dosed!
She can't hear me.

The Decline letter

2006-03-14T10:21:00.000-06:00

I got a decline letter in the mail the other day, yesterday in fact. And I had heard that this particular agent was really good with critiquing when she turns you down. So she sent me a letter saying that she didn't really like the fact that book was written in 1st person. 1st person makes it confusing. Kyra, the Christian good girl sounds the same as Essence the scorned wife of an adulterer. So I examined the two women. Well, first I thought of how many Terry McMillan books I've read that were in first person, hmmm, let me see, pretty much all of them, and she has done it successfully each time, but then she is Terry McMillan, but does that mean she's the only person that can get away with it? I think first person is a good way to really get in the soul of a person. The novel that's sitting on my back burner is written in third person and in first person. I don't know, but the one thing I did pull from her comments was the characters sounding the same, and I will look over that and try to make adjustments. Now I see that I have had a few visitors, so please post your comments I want to hear from you. I'm going to post an excerpt and I want some comments.
-LF Goodwyn

One more thing...

2006-03-03T07:58:00.000-06:00

I failed to mention that Tavis gave away $10,000 to a member of the audience!
Also C-span had the nerve to say "for copies of this program go to c-span.org!" Now you all know that Tavis is selling it as well, on his website www.tavistalks.com. I was so angry, at first. I thought, how dare they! And I'm sure they'll sell it for dirt cheap, to undercut him. But then I figured, anyone that did happen to catch the program will have enough sense to buy it from Tavis!
-L.F Goodwyn

State of the Black Union 06

2006-03-03T07:05:00.000-06:00

The good news is they aired it again. The bad news is that it was listed under the name Tonight From Washington, on my satellite info. Hmmm. It was shown again, but under the wrong name, so if you didn't pay attention to the small ticker at the bottom of the screen, saying that it would re-air on Monday 2-27-06 at 8:00pm you would have missed Tavis Smiley's State of the Black Union 2006. And boy, did you miss something!
You missed facts and figures; some that most of us already knew: Black America consumes too much and invest too little.
Some you didn't know: White America's net worth is between $75,000 and $80,000 dollars while black America's net worth is around $5,900. The sad part about that is most of us didn't think $5,900 is that bad. Most of us take in a little extra air, put a little pep in our step with 5,900 dollars in the bank...But that's an average. And they're averaging in the Black millionaires. So this means the rest of us are dirt poor, despite the fact, and they made this comment, that most of have done a very good job at looking middle class! But $5,900 looks awful standing, if one can say standing, next to $75,000!
You missed a cat fight of political views among the discussion panel, laced with "my mama says!" The women gaped their legs and clawed at each other while the men, knees pressed together, waited their turn, which seemed to never come. The moderator, a women, would cut through the air, heavy with hurt feelings about "MY God and pimp daddy preaching" and swollen attitudes to prove that she could hold her own among the group and while she ceased to tame them, she was able to lasso them with a piece of string. This was entertaining!
Questions that were posed: America is spending 4.9 billion (I hope I heard this wrong. I hope they said million, which is still an astronomical number) a day on the war! They should use the same amount to re-build New Orleans.
The second panel was my favorite! Cornel West, Al Sharpton, Farrakhan, Harry Belafante, are just a few. The most prolific speaker was Belafonte. He wove a truth, a realism of our current state. Calling Bush as well as Condi terrorist, claiming that it is a terror not to have proper health care, poverty, and everything else we face on an every day basis as black people. Also talked about us, once again, fighting for something that we, as black folk, don't even have over here!
How many times must we go to foreign countries fighting America's fight, risking our lives? Returning heavily decorated, or not, with a small amount of cash, or not, and a thank you note and end up standing on a street corner, or my favorite, working at a convenience store!
Well, Belafonte's comments, except for the above statement, that was mine, was invited to speak at Coretta Scott King's funeral, and then was uninvited once the president decided to attend! Might I mention that Belafonte paid for Dr. King's funeral in the sixties! Who uninvited him? Screw the president!
Al Sharpton said black America is too lazy and ungrateful to vote, and Farrakhan said America must burn!
Oh, it was a discussion alright!
Now, Walter Mosely talked about his new book. In it he talked about Black America should have one political party. Vote one way. This, I found very interesting. The black republicans pressed their backs hard against their seats anytime anything got nasty. The democrats said they felt like the Republican party didn't care and they were being taken advantage of by the Democrats. Hmmm.
The Covenant with black America is what came out of the entire thing. Everyone on stage endorsed it. I was very impressed that Tavis gave 5,000 of them away in Houston and will continue to do so throughout his seven city tour. I haven't read it but look forward to do so.
The overall message was: When are we going to wake up?
Which is the 4.9 million or 4.9 billion dollar question.
-L.F Goodwyn

2006-02-25T11:36:00.000-06:00

Available in May 06

Black History Take 2

2006-02-15T12:12:00.000-06:00

That's what I'm talking about is about to come on again and I'm just now reporting on last weeks That's what I'm talking about. This week or last week, rather, was less organized. No one had the decency to be quiet when others were talking except Wayne Brady, who was suppose to be the moderator, and Wanda Sykes. Don't get me wrong; interruption is a good thing during a debate but there has to be some sense to it. You couldn't hear a damn thing! Spike Lee only got worked up about sports and the other Cat was talking, a lot, but about what? He said Bill Cosby was getting up in age and perhaps didn't really know what he was talking about when he made the historic "offensive" call for lower class black Americans to step up.
Al Sharpton has a lot to say, which is nothing new, but when Wanda Sykes called him out, saying she never knows what to expect when he goes out to represent us, she hopes he doesn't say something crazy, was very on the mark as well as funny because that along with the fact that Brady gave his top ten for most influential leaders in the black community and Sharpton wasn't one of them really got him warm under the collar and he got really quiet after that.
Now the other show on PBS was better. Of course, the host now was on his quest for his black roots, but found that they were able to trace his strong European roots but only found a small red dot in Africa. This made me think even more that it was his, (Skip is his name) intention to let the world know that he had a lot of European in him which again, like I said before is, and for his sake should be painfully obvious! Why should one celebrate a blood that flows through their veins because of generations of violent rape? And while his skin may be lighter and his hair may be wavier, even the darkest nappy headest brother or sister doesn't have to look to far to find white blood... It's a given. But the show was very interesting! What I found most intriguing is how they traced back African roots. They took Chris Tucker back to his actual tribe. I would love to do that and I plan to do so. That's what we should be focusing on instead of which great-great-great grandfather or grandmother was white. Who's hair is softer and skin is lighter when in reality we all are seen as niggers. The white blood that flows through our veins only seperates us among ourselves not seperates us in their eyes.
L.F Goodwyn

I'm supposed to be cleaning...

2006-02-03T12:44:00.000-06:00

I'm supposed to be cleaning. I have walked passed the picture window ten times, at least, looking for my husband. He's bringing a deep freezer home today, some friends are going to be with him and he would like for things to be spotless. So. I've sprayed everything. ... Oh shit! I think that's them.... No it wasn't.
You see cleaning isn't my thing. I mean I'm tidy. But not clean in that sense. There may be a few papers stacked somewhere. So I work on my book from home of course. I still have to clean. Cook, take care of the dogs (we have 5, outside, but still!) listen to the children and that's hard especially when you're always in thought. Because they'll ask me something, and I'll say yes, then the younger ones'll be jumping on the bed, or my daughter will be painting her fingernails, something I forbid because she gets it on her clothes. But look here: I'm a woman on the rise, I don't have time for cleaning! I've got things to do.
So, I bought a big bottle of wine because I needed it. It's raining. And I have to clean. So that's double the reason.
On the book front I have decided to target black book stores and offer them a 60% discount if they order and pay in advance. We'll see what happens. I have about 100 stores give or take twenty, let's see if I get any bites. I'm kicking off that campaign in roughly two weeks.

On the black history front I spent 45min trying to watch the special on Bob Marley, only I couldn't understand what the hell he was saying. My husband was like: can we turn this? I can't understand what he's saying. So I said: He's speaking English. English is their native language. And he says: I don't care what their first language is, that's not English! And we both love Bob Marley, but I guess we will have to get his message through songs. I was squinting, as if that was going to help, at the TV.

Today, Oprah is having D Chapelle, that's going to be a must see. I want to know what the brother is going to say.

Okay, I'm going to end it here, mainly because I don't have anything to say. And I'm a firm believer in not talking, or writing if you don't have anything to say. I guess I was procrastinating cleaning... I'm tempted to deleat this... And I'm tipsy.... And how do you spell delet?
L.F Goodwyn

Black History Month: take 1

2006-02-02T14:12:00.000-06:00

I waited for two weeks to see "That's what I'm talking about" on TV land. First I was like: How they gon' get Wayne Brady to host it? That's just like white people-- don't nobody like or want to look at Wayne Brady! But they don't know the difference between Wayne Brady and Common. But to my surprise Wayne Brady did a good job. He touched on some good topics and he didn't sound as corny as he usually does. Diane Carol was on the show and made only a few points, but Harry Belafonte (is that spelled right) really raised some important questions. Together Belafonte and Carol, not necessarily attacked the hip hop community, but presented an understandable point of view. The writer cat, and I can't remember his name either, looked like a store bought fool, defending the hip-hop community, probably because: while he is black and of this generation and was asked to represent it, he can't. Doesn't have a clue where the pain lies. But, and I think he writes for a hip-hop Mag, he's interviewed enough hip-hoppers, to be considered an "expert" on the subject. But if you put him in a room without his pad and paper, with the very group he was sent to represent, he would probably slip into the sections of the nearest sofa. He tried though, and successfully brought relevant and strong points to other parts of the conversation. Over all the show held my attention and I will tune in next Wed.

There was something on PBS that was interesting also. It profiled Oprah, Chris Tucker, T.D Jakes and some others. It was very interesting but was irritating because the entire second hour was dedicated to, and I can't think of his name but he was the narrator or host, looking for his white blood-- DURRING BLACK HISTORY MONTH!
My attitude is: Who cares.
If we were 100% African, we would look like Africans. Our blood is as tainted as theirs, white Americans, who resemble but don't mirror their European counterparts either. So he went out looking for this particular family that it was rumored he was related to. Turned out that he wasn't related to them, but some other white man, he said, which was obvious. Then I thought if he did find the white family that he was "related to" would they then gather around the welcome table? I would imagine for the sake of the show and possibly common courtesy they would. But after the cameras were no longer rolling, after the day had come and gone, after they look in the mirror and he looks in the mirror, then what? Would they put him on the mailing list for their next family reunion? (which is a funny question because, no doubt, he would definitely... or any black person, would put their white counterparts on the mailing list. One because that's the way we are, and two because deep down it's exciting to be related to a white person.

These are my opinions for today. And for those of you who don't know or haven't realized... I'm very opinionated. I will write several entries this month and talk about what I've watched or read. I will also be telling stories about my childhood.
LF Goodwyn

I'm going to print!

2006-01-28T14:43:00.000-06:00

This is official notice that I, L.F. Goodwyn, am going to print on Febuary 28, 2006. The release date of An Aspirin for a Heartache is tenatively scheduled for mid-April or early May it just depends on how things go. But you all have been officially notified. Do be on look for An Aspirin for a Heartache.
-L.F. Goodwyn

Poetry-shmoerty... I'm a writer!

2006-01-24T07:09:00.000-06:00

First things first, I got accepted in to the creme-de-la-creme ring! I'm nuber 8 out of 144. I'm telling you this is some good stuff I'm talking about. I need a book deal.
Okay now for the real entry.
Poetry- shmoerty--I'm a writer! Until I sat down and laced some words together and this is what I came up with:

How can you claim to be pro-life
When you take a man from the streets
And drown out his heart beat
With lethal injection
No love and affection
Just the department of corrections
Pro-life when it’s another child born into poverty
Necessary for you to keep your divine sovereignty
Forty years on this earth and every month you bleed
I find it hard to believe
That you were never able to conceive,
But there was that time in college
When you didn’t have the knowledge
To raise a daughter or son
Your life had just begun
So now you’re hovering like a fiend
Over a disorientated teen
Belly is swollen, but she still has dreams
Hopping she’ll give you the opportunity to wipe your slate clean.
Pro-choice when you’re just starting your life
Unless you’re a wife
After you have lived your life
Stayed out and partied all night
Now it’s time to be nice
and play patty cake well in to the night
this child you’ll raise right
You’ll give her the world
Your “priss-pot” little girl
Put bows in her hair
Teach her to put her nose in the air
Because she is the Air to the throne of superiority
The throne of authority
Pro-life, so you say,
And with a straight face you may
Fool yourselves
But no one else

So now I'm a poet too!

L.F. Goodwyn

Happy belated New Year!

2006-01-20T08:04:00.000-06:00

I'm back! I read all of the Maya Angelou books that I talked about plus one more. I love her! And I'm half way through another.
So I sent out 20 queries, and got three request to see the first three chapters. I just sent them last week so I haven't heard anything, yet. Still haven't heard from Agate, I thought about emailing him and asking his what's the deal, but I'll wait. I figured, if he were interested he would have said so by now. I got two rejections already. One from Audra Barrett and one from Stephanie Lee, who had the first fifty pages since July. Then had the nerve to not answer my emails in November, when I asked her if I could send to another agent. Then I wrote her back and told her how rude she was , then she wrote me back before thanksgiving saying she hadn't got to it yet, but had the nerve to send me her generic decline letter with not so much as a signature, the week of Christmas! Just imagine, if I wasn't thick skinned. Do you know how devastating that would have been when I first started this thing? Any how, that's what's going on. I'm sifting through the MS again, this is the last time unless I get a book deal, otherwise this sucker is going to press!
Oh, my New Year was good. I started a 21 day fast from sugar. I'm doing good. I cheated twice though. I had a graham cracker. I wondered if that was really cheating, but then it had cinnamon and sugar on top, so I figured it was. Then I had a small handful of Crunch-n- munch. But other than that everything's good. I started back working out. I've lost some weight.
I'm gone! I'll keep you posted on this publishing thing.

Random Thoughts

2005-12-16T07:14:00.000-06:00

Today I have to do some Christmas shopping (even though the gas company broke me). They haven't called me back and they were suppose to! I've got three Christmas parties to go to today for my three kids. I need to wash my dreads, which I was suppose to do yesterday. I have to put an invoice in the mail for a client, to which I won't get paid until after the holiday. Bad as I need he money I said okay because... It's the holiday. Today is the last day of school so I'm gonna finish up my work or this client hopefully, no later than Monday of next week. I'm shutting it down for the holidays after that.
On another note, I'm still waiting to hear from Agate. When I emailed him about a week and a half ago he said they were still considering me and would have a resolution for me in a few weeks. So I analyzed his response: They were still considering me and would have a resolution for me in a few weeks. What does that mean? Does that mean an answer to my burning question? Resolution stems from resolve, but if they say no, that doesn't resolve anything for me. Then I wondered (considering) if they had treated my submission and maybe a few others like a contest, and they were narrowing their decision down? While I am glad, if this is true, to still be considered. Also I queried Audra Barrett Literary Agency. She got right back with me and asked for the 1st three chapters as an attachment. I guess she'll look over them during the holiday. But on the other hand I still plan to proceed with my self-publishing if all else fails. One way or the other--- IT'S GOING DOWN!

Alright you all, I realize this entry has no direction. It's just my random thoughts for today.
Here are the books I plan to read over the Holiday.

I know why the Caged Bird Sings (shame on me... I've never read it)
All God's Children need traveling Shoes
Singin' and Swingin' Getting Merry Like Christmas

These are Maya Angelou's babies. I'll be sure and let you know what's what.

LF Goodwyn

A sad day for Black America

2005-12-13T05:50:00.000-06:00

At 12:35 am Stanley Tookie Williams was killed by lethal injection at the San Quentin correctional facility. I know you all have heard but I just want to take a minute to encourage you all not to support the death penalty. Not only because I feel that it should be left up to God who lives or dies. It shouldn't be the right of the U.S government as to whether one should live or die. The conservatives are anti-abortion "it's a life, a heartbeat," they say, but they have no problem with the heart that beats in the prison system or in our own U.S military, or for people in other countries, who like us, just want their freedom. As blackAmericans, we shouldn't support the death penalty because our skin is jam packed among the prison walls. We make up six percent of the population but eighty percent of the prison population. We look like fools supporting the death penalty! Surely all eighty percent of us in there aren't guilty. If this is the case, what they said about us during slavery and the negative self images that have been programmed into our brains there after must be true. We must really be good for nothing. We must really be stupid. We must really be criminals. We must be, if they saw fit to let us be the ones to fill up all of these prisons that they keep building. As long as we allow it to happen, as long as we don't stand up, it will continue to happen. And with our people making up eighty percent of the population (8 out of 10 on death row), and the way they are building prisons, how long will it be before you or I too will have a cell.
I'd like to thank the countless political prisoners who are down for the cause.
Also I want to give a shout out to Richard Pryor. Who did it his way. It doesn't matter how destructive he was to himself, you always have to take your hat off to someone who made up the rules as they went along.

2005-12-12T07:26:00.000-06:00

So this is the book cover! I chose black and white to be a little different. I want people to look among a sea of colorful books and be drawn to my black and white cover. Here is the synopsis:

Love, depression, sadness, guilt, betrayal and sheer happiness, build the emotional roller coaster in An Aspirin for a Heartache. This sassy tale follows four women- best friends and one man, down their separate paths as they attempt to hold on to their hearts, minds and friendships while learning life's lessons.
Essence Carr married her high school sweetheart Michael ten years ago. Her only aspiration in life is to have children and fulfill her image of the perfect marriage, until she receives a phone call from Michael's mistress. Now she has to play a game of tug-of-war between her mind and her heart, and decide which side of the fence she wants to be on.
After a lifetime of hit-and-miss relationships Page Lancaster a snobby ex-pageant girl, ideals on relationships and life are still wrong. She has a meddlesome mother whose shallow views have dominated her entire life. And if that isn't enough she still lives at home, sleeping in the same room she has slept in since middle school. For Page, life has some hard lessons, especially since she’s learning them for the first time while in her thirties. She’s fed up with attracting Mr. Wrongs, but deep rooted scars stemming from being a dark skinned sister have clouded her judgment and vanity becomes a cover up for insecurity leaving her afraid to just be herself.
Jakie Hall, is a no-nonsense, trash talking, hard working, single mother of a teenage son named Tay. After a hope-to-die failed relationship with her baby’s daddy and a few other losers, she’s given up on love and sees men as only as playthings.
“When I finally broke loose from that relationship, there was barely enough of me left to give to Tay, and lord knows he needed me.”
After Tay starts getting into trouble and Jakie looses her good paying job, the walls start to close in on her. With her back against the wall she grabs a bottle of bourbon, some fishnet pantyhose and tries to carve her own way out.
Kyra Tennison, is actively involved in a church that she can’t get her husband to step one foot in. She’s a soccer mom, active in PTA, and dinner is always on the table. But according to her husband the house isn’t all that clean, she still hasn’t dropped the weight she gained from their last child and she could stand to spend a little less money. She's at the end of her rope. Her husband and children are taking her for granted and getting on her last nerve forcing her to question her existence.
“I'm having a hard time trying to differentiate between God not wanting someone for me and the devil trying to destroy what God intends for me.”
With her patience on its last thread, Kyra reaches out for some solitude and it isn’t in the pages of her bible!
He’s a high level engineer, at a top firm, that doesn’t appreciate him, and he’s involved in an extramarital affair that’s getting out of control. When the pain of the affair outweighs the pleasure, Michael Carr is forced to call it off, but is he too late!

I feel like I've been raped!

2005-12-02T18:37:00.000-06:00

I had a feeling today was gonna be a messed up day. ( I wanted to say something else but I don't wanna start cursing...yet!) I got up around sixish, got the kids ready for school... let me back up.. I got up and checked my email expecting my book cover designer to have something for me but he didn't. So I was already a little edgy. I got the kids ready for school and we watched, the three of us, the clock, so they could leave the house at five after, like they do every God given day, to catch the buss. The bus smashed by at about two minutes after! So now they've missed the bus! Doesn't seem too bad. Listen to this...
To begin with we were cold as hell, the buss would have been an improvement. The gas got turned off yesterday. I was right in the middle of cooking and the flame fizzled and went out. My husband said, "did you pay the bill?" I said no, but I wasn't going to pay it until the 5th because that's the day I always pay it. I've been paying it on the fifth for nine or ten months now. But that didn't matter they were turning me off. So I went into the alley and asked, "are you turning me off?" I went on to explain how I pay the bill every month at the same time but he wasn't hearing it. Mind you it's nearly 4:00pm. Also mind you the bill is only $59.84. So I call the company and told them the same thing. They tell me the bill is late. I tell them, "I know," and go on to tell them how I've paid the bill on the 5th and so-on and so-on. Well, they tell me that I must pay a reconnect fee, a trip fee, an increase deposit fee, a late fee, and next months bill! This brought me to a whopping $274.00. Now if I want them to come out the same day I could tag an extra $47.00 plus a $2.95 processing fee. I was furious! So I had to hustle and get together the $274.00, and they'd just have to turn on the gas tomorrow (today) and I'd put dinner on the Foreman grill. Well the next day (today) comes, the kids miss the buss. I get that taken care of and around 9:30 a friend of ours walk to our house, because his girlfriend passed out at work--- he needed a ride to the hospital. So I called the gas company, because needless to say, they couldn't schedule a time to come out... I'd just have to be here, to tell them that I had to step out for a moment but is there any way they could let me know what time they MIGHT be by. They have no clue, but what I can do is call this handy 1-800 number and keep checking the status of the order. It should say one of three things:
1. The order has been dispatched- they have it but haven't got to it yet
2. They are in route- they're on their way, and I have about 15min to get home.
3. They are on site- at my house.

I said cool. I'll call every 10min until I take him there and come back. So I call about 4 times and every time I called it said they were dispatched. On the fifth call it said they'd connect me to a customer service representative. So she gets on the phone, with an attitude (sister girl), and tells me, basically they could reschedule me for Monday! So I start cursing. Not at her but at the company, you know. Well I make it home, call again, another sister girl. I call again, another sister girl, all with an attitude bigger than mine and they're sitting in a WARM building with this attitude. To cut the story short I ended up paying a same day service fee, after all, for $50.00! So now I'm at a grand total $334.00 for a $59 bill. Now ain't that some shit! Tell me I wasn't raped! As soon as I got off of the phone I called the Salvation Army and put my kids on the Christmas list. Centerpoint Energy, incase anybody wants to know, raped me and tried to steal Christmas.

Oh the joys of Thanksgiving!

2005-11-23T07:38:00.000-06:00

I didn't decide until a day or so that I was going to cook, despite the fact that I have a family. I figured we'd go over to my sister-in-law's house and I'd bring a cheese cake and maybe some greens, and call it a day. Well, turns out that they are going out to his parents house, her husband, that is. So that leaves us, or me, to cook! So right before I came to the computer I was snapping greens into tiny pieces and placing them in a sink ful of water. As I was looking at the greens swirl around in the water, I stated thinking about the Thanksgivings, I spent as a child. My mother never cooked, and when she did, it was Praters! She's neatly arrange things on the countertops... It looked beautiful. Then, I think, she started making her own gravy! Before this we'd always go to my grandfather's house. His wife did her best, every year, to "put the big pot in the little one," as my mother would say, with little success. I remember we NEVER had turkey. She'd throw a hen in a pot and boil it to high heaven, then throw it in the oven where its legs would fall to either side, or she'd dismember it before she put it into the oven, where she'd cook what's left of the flavor, and the juices, out. The dressing ran like water. Why can't our table look like the ones on TV? I thought. So needless to say we didn't have the pretty brown turkey, like on the magazines, with stuffing all around, we had chicken, that, after being overcooked, was sweet... I loved it! It wasn't until my mother started "cooking" did we have turkey, a smoked one of course, on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Now I cook everything from scratch, because, I feel like it's necessary. My only dilemma is I'm borderline Vegetarian ( I only eat fish and turkey) I plan to take the whole plunge after Christmas, starting with Kwaanza. I will cook an entire vegi dinner. I must go for now, but quickly, let me tell you what I've been reading: The Bridges of Madison County, by James Waller. I love this movie the book is very good too.
Lastly, I plan to do some shopping the day after Thanksgiving, this'll be my first year really participating in this because ...I hate the madness!
Happy Thanksgiving
LF Goodwyn

Headache (hangover)

2005-11-16T07:05:00.000-06:00

I woke up with a terrible headache (hangover) this morning! About 3:00am the top pf my head was hurting, but I was asleep, I was dreaming that I must have a brain tumor! When I woke up, my head was hur-ting! But I don't have a brain tumor, I drank too much last night. And I don't think it was a lot, it was just something I hardly ever drink--- gin and juice! Two whole glasses. More Gin than juice. Why? Because, I don't know. I'm a wine drinker.
On another note: I contemplated writing a blog for others to read because, I think one of the most fascinating things is the unknown. Not knowing makes people curious. I need people curious right now. The other reason is, I'm a private person.
On the writing front, I am re-reading "Heartache." I need to write some more on the untitled novel that I've written 100 pages of. I want to put together an outline for "Untitled" and give it to Agate to show them my versatility. It's really totally different from Heartache. So that's what I'm gonna do today. I don't think I'll get it to them until after the holiday. I don't wanna flood them. The book cover is getting closer to being finished! As soon as it is, I'm gonna put it up.
Now I'm gonna go take something for my headache (hangover).

I am neither

2005-11-14T07:16:00.000-06:00

I'm drinking a cup of coffee and watching Good Morning America, like I do every morning. I'm working on a marketing plan for Agate. I had this idea. First I sent them Heartache, then about a few weeks later, I followed up with a letter, now I'm going to send them the marketing plan. I hope this works. I finally looked over chapter one, I kept avoiding chapter one, because I don't know about other writers, but I've read it at least two thousand times. But when you read something that many times, you don't actually know what the heck you're reading. Long story short, when I looked at it for the first time in months, I saw so much room for improvement. Partly because I'm a better writer, than I was when I read it two thousand times. The other chapters, I think, are fine. Another reason I didn't focus on ch1 was because when I sent it off to different people, ch1 was always the one that hooked them, the other chapters needed improvement, so those are the ones I focused on.
So anyway, I'm gonna send the marketing plan, today, and in about a week I'd like to send them an outline and sample chapter from my next novel. I hope this would aid them in making a decision in my favor. We'll see. Another thing that's troubling, other than the fact that I'd have a better chance of getting struck by lightening than getting published without self-publishing first, is that Agate favors celebrities, and Phd's. I am neither.

2005-11-13T07:59:00.000-06:00

Today is Rupsey, is what me and my husband say, most Sundays. It's out little joke. We've added an extra day to the weekend. Our week has eight days and Rupsey is the eighth day. I know, it's crazy. He was reading The Mis-education of the Negro, and he was teasing me because I hadn't, and he said, "Yeah, they say that slaves added another day to the weekend and called it Rupsey!" He's such a jokester that I didn't know, at first, if he was serious or not. I though, if he was, I needed to put down Alice Walker's "Anything We love can be Saved," and read this for myself. Needless to say, he was infact joking, and for some reason I busted out laughing. I started saying things, in our normal conversation, like: I'm gonna get up early Rupsey morning and do the grocery shopping. Anyway, though Rupsey is the title of today's blog, it isn't what I'm gonna write about.
Today is the first day after a year and a few months that I decided to write down my experience with publishing my novel, An Aspirin for a Heartache. It's written. It's been through several edits and several declines. And, if you can't tell already--I'm crazy. And sometimes when I get a decline letter-- I go off! Let the agent know "what time it is". I get so angry because agents have no idea what Black women want to read! I could go on forever about this topic. I won't.
So right now the cover is in the process of being completed. And I really like it. Me and this really talented artist are working hard. It should be ready by next week.
I decided to do some publicity, on the side, for other writers. I say on the side, but it's through my company, Moontree Books, that I sarted back in April, to publish my book. I am also looking over "Heartache," still finding mistakes! AAAAAAAAAAAHGH!, like on Charlie Brown.
Okay, now, so my next move: I have Heartache at Agate. I don't know. I'd like to think that they'd publish it. My money is so short right now, I'll take it anyway I can get it. I still would like to publish through my own company. If they do acquire "Heartache," I'll but my pulse in the marketing of it and hopefully it will sell out of the roof and then, when I publish through moontree Books, I will have the much needed pre-exposure for the novel that I'm currently working on. We'll see what happens. I have a friend who want's to go into the publishing business with me, and If I do it this way, you can expect "Heartache" to be out in Feb or Mar 2006. If it get's acquired, I don't know when it'll be out but I do know it will be much later than this.
Did I mention I have three kids? Since I started writing this, they have asked for hot cocoa, cake, cereal, malt-o-meal, and I'm working on two out of four: guess which ones? Now you see why I need a tradidional publisher!