A Line A Day

I Love Books

2012-01-28T20:46:00.000-08:00

I have nothing much to add beyond the title of this blog posting and the three videos presented below. Watch and enjoy if you're as grateful for the existence of books and the wonderful stories to be found within them as I am.

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore from Moonbot Studios on Vimeo.

THE PACT - short story (a really old one)

2012-01-12T10:27:00.000-08:00

This is one of the first short stories I ever wrote. I'm posting it here for nostalgia as much as anything. Nostalgia about myself both as a young man and a young writer with much to learn. There's still much to learn about both writing and life. That's part of what makes the journeys so wonderful. Hope you enjoy The Pact, particularly those who vividly recall young love.

The Pact

By Roy L. Pickering Jr.

After three glorious months, it was over. He and Cheryl were history.

She had been perfect for him. If only they didn't argue so often. If only she didn't have such a short temper. They would still be together if she could just consider his point of view on occasion. Other than that, perfect.

Who needed her anyway? Why should he waste his time on a girl who couldn't accept an apology? And to make an apology was a concept unheard of by her. That would mean acknowledging that she was capable of being wrong.

He was better off without her. So what if she was beautiful beyond comparison? What did it matter how great she made him feel? Who cared that he had fallen in love for the first time in his life, and had sincerely believed it would last forever?

If she didn't realize what she was throwing away, she deserved to lose him. Eventually the folly of her choice would sink in. But by then it would be too late. There was no way he would go back to her, even if she begged.

As for the incredible aching in his heart, that would go away in time. He gave it an hour. In the meantime, he would hang out with his buddies in the student lounge.

There they were sitting in their usual spot, Ron's best friends in the world, met during freshman orientation but they may as well have been friends from childhood, so fast and tight was their bond. He would lay bare his soul to Mark, Ira and Denis. They would understand.

"You look like your dog just died," said Ira.

"Cheryl and I just broke up."

"That's too bad," said Mark.

"Sorry to hear it," Denis said.

"Hey, at least your dog is alright," said Ira, who believed humor was the remedy for all ailments.

"What happened?" asked Mark, after giving Ira a whack to the back of his head.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ron answered, which was a cue to start a forum on the matter.

"Were you the dumper or the dumpee?" asked Denis.

"The dumpee, I guess."

"Man that sucks," Mark said.

"She catch you with another girl or something?" asked Ira.

"Nah, nothing like that. I hardly know what happened. One minute we're arguing about the environment, the next minute I'm being offered my walking papers."

"Ain't that always the way," Ira said.

"What do you mean by that?" Mark asked. "How many girls have broken up with you because you didn't recycle?"

"I'm just saying that women come up with the weakest excuses to end a relationship for."

"I'll give you that one," said Denis.

"No doubt about it," agreed Ron.

"Amen", said Mark. "Take me and Cathleen for example. Everything was cool with us. Then one day out of the blue - BAM! She dumps me. She said we were getting too serious. What she didn't say, but didn't need to, was that she broke up with me because she was afraid to tell her parents she was dating a black guy."

"Well you are black," said Ron.

"No kidding. So are you, fool."

"No, what I am is brown. I'm caramel colored. You on the other hand, have a tan and a half."

"Haaaaa haaa haaaa!" came the high nasal sound that emanated from Ira's throat. Mark, Ron and Denis could not help but join in the laughter. Ira's laugh was extremely infectious, indescribable by words.

"You sound like a hyena with a flag pole stuck up its ass," said Mark.

Perhaps it could be described.

"You never said that was why you two broke up," said Denis.

"I didn't want to talk about it. It really hurt that she wasn’t willing to fight for me. I would have fought an army for her."

"Girls are messed up," professed Ira.

"Don’t I know it," Denis said. “Maria really threw me for a loop.”

"I thought you dumped her for Casey,” Ron said.

"Not exactly. You see, Maria and I had this ongoing argument. I wanted to have sex and she refused."

"No way," said Mark incredulously. "You weren't hitting that? I guess I didn’t have to be nearly as jealous as I was. That girl sure is fine."

"She's also one serious Catholic”, Denis said. “I tried my best to convince her that it would be worth the Hail Mary’s, but she wasn’t having it. She said she would feel too guilty to enjoy it. Guess it wasn’t important enough to her that I would have enjoyed it a whole helluva lot. We did just about everything else we could think up. But no sex. I tell you, it was driving me crazy. Every night I ended up standing under a cold shower. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. So I say to her if she really loved me like she said, she would show me. Otherwise, I didn't need to waste any more time."

"This story is a real heart breaker," said Ira with trademark sarcasm.

"I was just bluffing. I figured she was too crazy about me to let it end over something she was going to get around to eventually. But I was wrong."

"Somebody hand me a Kleenex. You pretty boys sure do have it rough."

Denis continued to ignore Ira. "Two weeks after we break up, she starts seeing a friend of mine. He even asked me if it was okay. I said sure. I know the guy pretty well. I figured he wouldn't put up with her Virgin Mary routine nearly as long as I did. But a couple months later they're still together. So I ask him how he can stand her Catholic virtue for so long, and he tells me that he didn't have to because they'd been doing it for awhile."

"No way," said Ron.

"Maybe he was lying," Mark offered.

"I know bull when I hear it. He was telling the truth."

"Ain't that always the way," said Ira. "Remember Sheri? I treated her like a goddess. Everything she wanted, I gave her. I made that girl the center of my universe. Every day I bought her a new gift. Flowers, candy, teddy bears, jewelry, you name it."

"Let me guess the end of this," said Ron. "Your credit card reached its limit and she said bye-bye."

"You got the bye-bye part right. She said she didn't want to see me anymore, but it had nothing to do with me. She said she needed space. She needed to find herself. Will somebody please tell me what that means? Where do women come up with this stuff? Have any of you ever had to go looking for yourself?"

"A girl gave me that need for space crap once," said Mark. "It's their way of saying they're through with you. When a girl asks you for space, she intends to take the whole galaxy."

"If Sheri wanted to split, she should have said so in plain English. She’ll never find another guy who will treat her half as good as I did. It was her loss."

"And Maria's."

"And Cathleen's."

"And Cheryl's."

"They wait for you to fall head over heels, then walk all over you,” Ron said. “And like fools we keep coming back for more.”

"Yep."

"You got that right."

"Amen."

"But what choice do we have?" asked Denis. "They have what we want, what we can’t live without.”

"Maybe not indefinitely,” said Ron. “But we could, for how about, let's say a month."

"A month of what?" asked Mark.

"Of no sex?" asked Ira.

"How much sex did you have last month, Ira?” asked Denis. “Yeah, that's what I thought."

"But you never know what next month might bring?"

"Maybe Ron is onto something," said Mark. I could definitely handle a month of not having to deal with their nonsense. I’ve got five fingers to get me through the rough patches."

"It would be pretty rough to go a whole month without going on any dates”, Denis admitted. “I wouldn’t mind saving the cash, though. And with all the free time I’ll have, I could learn how to play guitar or something."

"I’m not just talking about going on dates”, said Ron, his idea taking shape in his mind, now ready to be unveiled. "A total boycott. We don't talk to them, except when absolutely necessary. And absolutely necessary doesn’t mean what it usually means, like to get a phone number. We ignore them completely. We focus on our needs and desires that come from north of the belt. For one month, women won't exist to us. And I’m betting we become better men because of it."

"How so?" asked Ira.

"The second were born with the ability to one day pee standing up, we became destined to do stupid things over women. But I say it’s possible, and more than that, imperative that we experience one brief period, simply one month when we’re fully in control of our destinies. One month of nobody nagging us into doing things we don’t want to do. Nobody controlling us with the threat of withholding sex. Nobody leading us blindly into ruin because we allow our senses to overwhelm our brains. Instead of selling our souls and pride for a pretty smile and a nice body, we'll hold on as misers do to money. Like priests and monks, we’ll aspire to something greater than ourselves. In order to do that, we need to keep ourselves pure. Remove what is most distracting to us, and maybe we’ll be able to see the universe clearly, the way God intended. Not a lifetime. Not a year. We know our weaknesses and limitations, and there’s no point in trying to deny them, because they make us who we are. They make us men. But for just one month, maybe we can be something better than men. What do you guys think?"

There was no doubt that Ron was a great persuader. He had demonstrated this ability numerous times over the years they had been friends, and was almost always able to talk them into what he wanted to do. But this was as passionate a plea as he had ever made, because of the magnitude of the sacrifice he was asking for.

For a moment there was silence. Ron had set his bait and now waited to see if he would get a bite.

"I'm game."

"What can it hurt?"

"What the hell. Chicks get turned on when you ignore them."

"All right!" Ron exclaimed. The war against the fairer sex was on.

"The Knicks are looking pretty good so far," said Mark, bringing about an ardent discussion on sports. The four friends traded opinions and light hearted insults with the ease that only young men can. As college students less than halfway through the collegiate journey they had received tastes of independence, yet their lives were still basically free of responsibility. They were at a point where everything was before them, the glass always half full, their grandest dreams still possibilities. Each other's companionship was all they needed at the moment. Their solidarity was impenetrable. Past and future heartbreaks were a million miles away.

"Hi guys." The sweet sound floated through the air and drifted into the four comrade's ears. A group of curvy coeds were seated across the room. They had room at their table and desire for company.

Ron, Mark, Denis, and Ira looked over at the girls. Then they looked at each other. The words of the pact so recently made hung heavy in the air between them. The pact had united them in a single cause. They believed in what they had agreed to. They knew it would not be easy, that temptation would be waiting at every turn. They also realized that the first turn would be the trickiest to maneuver.

"Sorry, fellas", said Denis as he got up and headed over to the other table. He was trailed directly by Mark and Ira. Beauty has devastating effects on the most powerful of bonds.

Only Ron stood his ground. He was a man of principle, a man of his word, especially when the promise was one made to himself. He felt strongly that he would end up a better person if he stuck to his vow, refused to stumble as easily as his impetuous friends.

Ron rose to his feet and walked out of the lounge. He was on his own now, a solitary traveler on a long and winding road.

"Hi, Ron."

He knew better than to turn around. His resolve needed time to cement. The thing to do was keep walking as if the siren song had not been heard. If he looked back into those eyes of hers, he was doomed.

Then again, only by facing Cheryl would he learn if he was strong enough to resist her, to go on without her. So he turned.

"I'm sorry", they said simultaneously.

No more words were needed. They sealed their apologies with an ardent kiss. Amnesia of the past hour set instantly in Ron’s brain. The only thing that mattered was now.

After all, the flesh is weak, and boys will always be boys.

My Book Reads of 2011

2012-01-08T08:48:00.000-08:00

Follow this link for reviews of the following books: Play Like You Mean It (Rex Ryan); Freedom (Jonathan Franzen), Silver Sparrow (Tayari Jones); The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey (Walter Mosley); Hunting in Harlem (Mat Johnson)

Follow this link for reviews of the following books: Sag Harbor (Colson Whitehead), The Picture of Dorian Grey(Oscar Wilde); The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsson); Middle Passage (Charles Johnson)

For reviews of my final two book reads of 2011, The Templar Salvation and John Henry Days, see below.

John Henry Days by Colson Whitehead - John Henry Days is written in an interesting narrative style. It shows us events through the lens of multiple characters, some repeatedly visited, others glimpsed just once or twice. A man named J. Sutter is the one most frequently observed, so I suppose he is technically the main character. But the true MC is a particular weekend in a particular town where an event possibly took place many years earlier, featuring a person who possibly existed. The event was a man defeating a machine at the feat of drilling a tunnel through mountain to allow the continuation of train tracks. The man of course, is John Henry. He is the stuff of legend regardless of whether he was ever one of flesh and blood, so a stamp has been created to commemorate him and a festival is taking place to mark the occasion. Colson Whitehead approaches this weekend from a wide variety of angles. Among the people involved in the build-up is a man researching the origins of a song written about John Henry, a man who collects railroad stamps, a woman who owns a hotel in the town where the festival is taking place, a man so obsessed with John Henry that he turned his home into a museum dedicated to him, that man's daughter, a journalist covering the events of the weekend, and John Henry himself. Hints are given throughout the book that just as the famous race ended in foretold tragedy, so will the commemoration. Whitehead has a beautiful way with words. If you're looking for a character driven novel where you'll deeply identify with and care for the protagonist, look elsewhere. If you're looking for a traditional beginning, middle, end style story rather than one which jumps back and forth in time and place, go find another book. But if you're interested in a distinctive approach to examination of a symbolic event, one that will be timely so long as people either resist, embrace, take advantage of, or become victims to the changes brought about by the march of progress, then I point you in the direction of John Henry Days. John took a last stand for human determination before it was replaced by mindless but more efficient machinery. Win or lose, his effort was in vain. He may as well have been battling death. We can postpone arrival of the Grim Reaper, but inevitably his date of arrival will be reached.

The Templar Salvation by Raymond Khoury - I love Knights Templar related historical fiction and enjoyed Raymond Khoury's prequel to this book. The Templar Salvation was entertaining as well, but I can't quite give it a ringing endorsement. It reads fast enough as the narrative is essentially one long chase scene. Technically it's two long chase scene, one taking place in the present and the other in the distant past. The smaller portion of this novel that takes place hundreds and hundreds of years ago is the "hide" portion of the plot. The more substantial modern portion is the "seek". What's being sought? Something biblical/mythical that will shatter the Christian faith and thus humanity, of course. I'm pretty sure that's what was being sought in the first book as well, not to mention some Dan Brown novels. Brown is the superior writer, or so I recall. Much of the prose in The Templar Salvation is borderline amateurish. Forget about exploration of emotions and character development, not that Khoury leaves this entirely out, but it's certainly not his strength. No, his strengths are deluging readers with ancient information in easily digestible fashion and writing action scenes with good guys pitted against bad guys in a deadly struggle, no less than the fate of the world riding on the outcome. I rounded down rather than up from 2-1/2 stars because perhaps I've read one too many novels in this genre. Or maybe I simply craved a better one.

YEAR OF THE UNWED BLACK WOMAN

2011-12-29T05:49:00.000-08:00

The end of each year is marked by a wide variety of Top 10-20-100 lists. Also, inevitably, it is declared “the year of the _____”. Different groups fill in the blank with different declarations. There is no right or wrong answer. Every orbit of the Earth around the Sun features several prominent issues that can claim ownership of the retreating calendar. Like millions of others I spent a great deal of time in 2011, probably too much of it, on Twitter. A strong case can certainly be made for 2011 being the Year of Twitter. Or we can lump it in with FaceBook and other online venues and announce that 2011 was the Year of Social Media. Let others make that claim. This is my blog and based on casual observation, much of it done on Twitter, I’m announcing right here and now that 2011 was the Year of the Unwed Black Woman.

I an intrigued by race based themes and this year left me with no shortage of them to ponder. The election of Barack Obama has made the people of this country more obsessed over racial origin than ever. Instead of serving as proof that we have moved beyond race, it just made everyone more preoccupied about it. A majority of the people of this nation may be willing to pick a black man as their President if the alternative is sufficiently lame (Sarah Palin as running mate? Really?), but many are unable to examine situations without peering at them through the prism of racial identity. Every other week (give or take a day) a debate over use of the “N word” or what qualifies someone to be considered a “real black man” rather than a tan imposter came about.

Another blazing hot topic in 2011 was marriage. You’d think gay people would have dominated it with a good number of them allowed to legally marry for the first time. Plus we had a royal wedding this year, a fairy tale ending/beginning to gawk at in high definition. But on Twitter, or at least in my particular tweetstream, the topic that repeatedly emerged was not gay marriage or royal marriage or reality TV marriage. Instead, the subject constantly dissected and analyzed and bickered over was the marriage rate of straight African American women. Apparently the percentage of married black women is lower (at least in a certain age range) than it is for women of other races. Or at least it’s lower than that of white women, for after all, black people (at least on my tweetstream) don’t spend much time comparing themselves to Asians, Latinos, etc. It’s almost always a Black versus White issue, no matter what the issue may be.

Off Twitter and wandering about the real world, at least my version of reality which takes place mostly in New York City and northern New Jersey, I’m not seeing this epidemic of black women unable to find mates. I spy black women paired off all the time. My family is chock full of happily married black women. Perhaps my immediate environment is an aberration to the national trend. Surely all of those articles wouldn’t have been written, all of these doomsday statistics cited, if there wasn’t legitimate grievance to be aired. So despite what I’ve seen with my eyes I’ll nonetheless accept that black women are under-married. Now that we’re in agreement on the existence of the What, it’s time to examine the Why.

A few explanations jump out at me. The incarceration rate of black men is unnaturally high, taking too many qualified (by melanin) applicants out of contention. Black women on average are better educated than black men, considerably more likely to have a college degree and beyond, and understandably a good many of them do not wish to “marry down”. These two reasons are frequently mentioned by those who choose to examine the unmarried black woman phenomenon. A third reason perhaps less frequently given is that there are more single black mothers than single white mothers, more black babies born out of wedlock. Since a woman with one or more kids from a previous relationship is often not at the top of a man’s wish list when deciding on a mate, this would lower marriage odds for black women overall.

Each of these explanations is measurable, quantifiable, and fairly sensible. But since the topic is an emotional one, many of the studies and articles do not focus on hard evidence. Instead they target reasons that are a tad more subjective, circumstantial evidence leading to proclamations such as “black men are dogs” or “black men want white women much more than black women”. I won’t bother to delve into the canine character assassination, but will remark on interracial relationships being a root cause. It is true that due to social progress in this country, blacks and whites are much more likely than a few decades ago to have friendly rather than contentious relationships, with some of them being romantic in nature. So yes, more black men are married to white women today than in 1961. More white men are married to black women than in 1961 as well, so this is not a shift that leaves black women totally out of the equation. Do more black men marry white women than white men marry black women? I suppose the answer is yes since several of the unmarried black woman exposés focus on why they should consider giving white men a shot as solution, or else on why they most certainly should not break the dating color barrier. Still, I doubt the disparity is so dramatic as to be the primary explanation for 2011 being The Year of the Unwed Black Woman. The number of white women who never went black or else did but eventually went back dwarfs the number who are determined to pilfer from the insufficiently robust “good black men” pool. Kim Kardashian, who supplied America’s pathetic response to the bash at Buckingham Palace with the second “royal wedding” of 2011, is not a symbol for why black men have forsaken black women. She’s just someone who has improbably stretched her 15 minutes of fame to nearly an hour now, dating a few brothas in the process.

I’m going to stick with the reasons that are backed up by numbers in my thesis, based on facts rather than opinion, even if facts can be malleable when expertly manipulated. Fortunately for unwed black women who wish to exit the demographic, these explanations which are based on data rather than generic finger pointing need not be set in stone. If each situation improved by just 10% the alleged shortage of married black women would probably cease to exist. Ten percent fewer black men in prison, ten percent more black men with college diplomas and the better jobs this leads to, ten percent fewer black children born into single parent households. The first scenario would certainly be a positive thing, so would the second, and some fairly strong arguments can be made that children are better off entering a family with two parents waiting for them. I personally don’t think it significantly matters if the two parents are the same ethnicity, or different genders, or if they’d go to unequal lengths in pursuit of a Klondike bar. Bottom line, math says that two are greater than one, and when it comes to parenting, two are often more effective than one.

With these three situations each altered by ten percent it would probably be viewed as less damning by those who take offense that some black men marry women of other races (not because they absurdly hate all black women but simply because they fell in love with someone who was not one). As for some black men being intent on making babies and breaking hearts with minimal interest in being responsible for the devastation left in their wake, not much to be done about that. Like cockroaches, jerks of all races aren’t going anywhere any time soon. Some situations simply can’t be altered, and practically none of them can be complained away.

Regardless of whether these 10% shifts happen (probably will not occur over the course of the next twelve months), my hope is that talk of the infamous unwed black woman is receding in our rear view mirror. Surely another topic deserves a turn in the rotation, perhaps one that completely lacks a racial component. Now how radically postracial would that be?! My fingers are crossed that 2012 will be The Year of Something Else. Just about anything else will do.

OPEN LETTER TO THOSE WHO PENNED OPEN LETTERS

2011-12-16T06:42:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week Gene Marks, who by all appearances happens to be a middle age white man, wrote a piece for Forbes called 'If I Was A Poor Black Kid'. Problematic title of course. I wonder if it was his choice or the magazine's. The article amounts to a list of suggestions that might be employed by a disadvantaged youth of color to improve their circumstances. Some of them were so blatantly obvious and commonly stated that you wonder why Marks bothered to repeat them. Stay in school and study hard. Computer literacy is a good thing. However, since many poor black kids (think I'll shorten to PBK going forward) do not focus and excel in computer class or anywhere else in school, no harm in reminding. A couple of his tips were a little less obvious, possibly even helpful to a MOTIVATED PBK who might stumble upon the article. "Motivated" is capitalized for a reason. The primary curse of poverty is that it squelches motivation to rise above.

The ensuing ridicule heaped upon Mr. Marks (complete with at least one Twitter hashtag for guidance) was swift and relentless. Critics showed their disdain with a few quickly dashed sentences of mockery for starters, then set off to write fully fleshed out responses. I won't name drop them as I've done with Marks, but chances are you've either seen a published rebuttal or else a Google search will lead you to one in an instant.

The annoyance and derision inspired by Marks' article was basically on account of the messenger, even if writers claimed it was the message that got under their skin. How dare a PRIVILEGED (capitalized because it's the curse word du jour) white man dispense advice from his ivory tower to the darker, huddled masses? He isn't one of them, never was, never will be, so he may as well be the teacher talking to Charlie Brown and the rest of the Peanuts gang - Blah blah blah.

No one who felt compelled to answer the Forbes article with one of their own seemed to think that perhaps Marks' heart was in the right place, even if the anatomical result looked more like his foot in his mouth. The rebuttals weren't about providing alternative suggestions, superior recommendations. They weren't about disproving the point that if you find yourself in the worst school, striving to be the best at the worst may give you a fighting chance. Marks grossly under-evaluated a major societal woe and proposed simplistic solutions. But in attacking him, his detractors did not remedy a thing. They merely seized upon an opportunity to make fun and proclaim "how dare you". The rebuttals were much hipper and far funnier than the original piece, so laughs and declarations of agreement were achieved. But not a single PBK's life was potentially improved as result. They remain firmly rooted in their role of political football as we approach the next big election year.

Who is it that actually does have the ear of poor black kids? Hip hop artists for starters. The vast majority of them are not conveying messages that will aid in turning a life around. A very strong argument can be made that certain rap lyrics and videos help perpetuate the mindset of valuing flashy style over substance, leading to a dead end. Yet when the next catchy tune comes out that's all about getting high, degrading women, making a quick buck to throw away on status symbols, there will be few complaints and probably no Open Letters imploring rappers to teach our children well. No, such ire is reserved for a white guy who has poked his nose where it doesn't belong. Apparently you have to prove you're cool enough to give a damn about PBK's, but ironically, if you are deemed cool enough you're given a pass and don't have to care.

Here are some of my suggestions, not for poor black kids but for anyone who legitimately cares to lend them a helping hand. Join a Big Brother/Sister mentoring program. Become a foster or adoptive parent. Donate money and/or time (time is always the best donation) to an organization that provides food/books/shelter/guidance to those in need of any or all of the above. Be a role model in both word and deed, not merely a dime-a-dozen snark generator. If you're really ambitious, consider running for president. Barack Obama has surely convinced a few underprivileged kids that contrary to what Newt Gingrich thinks, their future can hold more in store for them than a janitorial gig. Not that there's anything wrong with being a janitor, although it pays substantially less than windbag historian. Even the punchline that is Herman Cain sets an example of achievement. Go to an inner city school where you're sure to meet plenty of PBK's in the flesh and won't have to think of them conceptually, and if you have nothing wise or useful to say, simply listen to what they have to tell you. Last of all, focus a little less on being clever, a little more on being kind.

Below is the advice I gave to Mr. Marks on Twitter in response to his article. I don't think he follows me so if he follows you, please forward. Thanks!

So I just read the article If I Was a Poor Black Kid that has Twitter abuzz - http://www.forbes.com/sites/quickerbettertech/2011/12/12/if-i-was-a-poor-black-kid/

The article was written by @genemarks for Forbes. With a title like that you're just asking to be mocked. Many won't even go past title.

I tried to read it with an open mind. I also forgave him in advance for sins he is not at all alone in committing. Like the dumb title.

Pretty much every day I see some blog posting with a provocative title & people responding more to the title than the piece itself. I'm not a big fan of that. Focus on making the full piece provocative, not just its entrance point. People will be more likely to read attentively.

The article is a list of things this guy says he would do to make his life so much better as an adult had he started out a poor black kid. None of the items listed is offensive. None of it is illuminating. It's just a list that makes a couple points a poor kid of any race might want to jot down.

The author makes no actual attempt to imagine what poverty feels like, what being disenfranchised feels like, what lacking hope feels like.

The article didn't offend me because I don't think it was mean spirited. Points that were valid for some people were made. Easy enough to do.

Of course you can pull yourselves up by your bootstraps if properly motivated. Odds of that motivation being found in a Forbes article of all places are slim. Not exactly reaching the demographic you’re writing about. When you’re talking about people under the guise of talking to them, you’re doing little more that theorizing amongst your friends.

If you grow up poor in a loving household where better days are planned & hoped for you, chances are decent you'll get there.

If you grow up thinking nobody really gives a shit about you, one parent missing physically & the other going through motions while fighting their demons, life will be hard.

Instead of writing an article about what poor black kids should or should not do, do something tangible to help them reach their potential.

Once you're done actually dealing with a situation, getting your hands dirty instead of moralizing from high horse, THEN write your article.

You don't know what you'd do if you were anybody but yourself. If you could be in a different skin, you'd be a different you.

Eat, Drink, Read and Be Merry

2011-11-21T09:47:00.000-08:00

I hope this posting finds everyone who sees it with a great deal to be grateful for. Downs are unavoidable, but with any luck you've had your fair share of Ups to counter them with this year. I certainly have. Hopefully a great feast awaits you on Thanksgiving day. I'm especially blessed because there's nothing quite like my mom's home cooking, although my wife (see up top for a sample of her artwork that can be found on Etsy) is no culinary slouch either. I can't wait to be at the dining table of the house I grew up in, surrounded by family and love, fully prepared to get my grub on.

As the season of thankfulness and giving arrives, my goal each year is to be more generous than I was the year before. I'm not volunteering at a soup kitchen or anything similarly noble for the holidays, but I thought it would be nice to do a little something about the hits on wallets during these economically challenging times. After all, Thanksgiving is not only about expressing gratitude but also the starter pistol for Christmas shopping frenzy. So I've decided to roll Black Friday, Small Business Saturday and Cyber Monday all into one, plus I'm adding GREY SUNDAY to the mix. This means that autographed copies of the print edition of Patches of Grey purchased directly from me via PayPal (see details at RoyPickering.net) will be on sale 11/25 - 11/28 for only $8.99, saving you a few bucks from the cost at Amazon or elsewhere. If you read off an electronic device rather than paper, I will not be discounting the Nook or Kindle edition price. Considering that the latter is only 99 cents, I trust paying full price for it won't be a hardship. Nothing aids digestion better than a good book (with a glass of ginger ale), so be sure to eat, drink, read and be merry.

p.s. - When you have a minute or two, perhaps between main course and dessert, please check out my 5-question interview with Joey Pinkney.

Latest Round of Book Reviews

2011-10-24T07:19:00.000-07:00

Play Like You Mean It: Passion, Laughs, and Leadership in the World's Most Beautiful Game: Autobiography by Rex Ryan [5 stars out of 5]

My five-star review is not based on the literary merit of this book. The writing is basic and the degree of in-depth analysis you'll find between the covers is rather elementary. None of this took away from my enjoyment of Play Like You Mean It. I happen to be a die-hard NY Jets fans so I am the primary audience. But fans of football in general, sports in general, and the motivational process required by a coach in the NFL and beyond will also find this to be a valuable read. If you enjoyed the HBO program Hard Knocks that featured the Jets leading up to their 2010 season, don't walk but run to get a copy of this book. You'll fly through it so quickly you may decide to immediately read it a second time just for the heck of it. Even if you are not a Jets fan I'd think anyone that has heard interviews with or even just brief soundbites from Rex Ryan will find him to be an intriguing figure. Everybody want to have a boss like him, someone who shows such relentless confidence in your abilities that you can't help but fall for his spell and perform at optimum level. His cockiness is contagious because it's built on genuine belief that he has an eye for talent and the ability to get the absolute best out of those who buy into his program. His positive energy would infect anyone but the most cynical of people, and extreme cynics are not the type you want around anyway, no matter how talented they may be. Read this book if you're a Jets fan. If you aren't, there's a pretty good chance you will be by the time you reach the last page. Rex makes it quite easy to root for him even if you start off otherwise inclined.

Freedom: A Novel by Jonathan Franzen [4 stars out of 5]

The pluses. Franzen is a fantastic writer and towards the end of this rambling novel I was absorbed, truly felt I knew and understood the main characters, and found myself caring and hoping for the best. The minuses. I think Franzen could have accomplished just as much with not nearly as much. He gives a great deal of detail about areas that I frankly did not care all that much about. I am marginally interested at best in bird migration patterns and the environmental politics of overpopulation. Even if I found these subjects to be fascinating, when reading a novel I'd still want less data and more story. A good novel is often one that is well researched, but there's sharing information in a way that's interesting and advances the narrative, and then there's oversharing every bit of knowledge acquired on a topic whether critical to plot development or not. Some readers will be strongly tempted to skim certain parts of this novel, and if they do I can't say they'd miss all that much. They certainly wouldn't lose track of the storyline, which considering the bulk and page count of Freedom is relatively straight forward despite not being told in linear fashion. It's the story of a marriage, the two people within it and the loved ones closest to it. The couple has two children, a boy who a considerable portion of the book focuses on, and a girl who is really just a secondary character. Had it been the other way around the story would have been minimally impacted. The most significant person in Walter and Patty's lives is Richard Katz. Walter basically has a guy crush on the college roommate who ends up becoming a rock star, and Patty has romantic/sexual interest that eventually is acted upon. Walter eventually gets a romantic interest outside of the marriage as well, the much younger Lalitha who works with him and basically lives with them. Patty is jealous of Lalitha from the get go even though Walter is about as loyal a guy as you can find. This is just one of many ways that she has managed to become increasingly overbearing. Good old Walter trusts both his wife and best friend completely until he finds out that they have betrayed him, which is especially overwhelming since their relationship got started in the first place when Patty didn't screw Walter over by screwing his best friend, though this is due to Richard's restraint, not Patty's. The latter part of the book, after Walter finds out about the affair his wife finally allows herself to have along with the rather poor opinions she's held about him throughout their relationship, is by far the strongest section and ultimately made it worth reading through to the end. I'm glad that I overrode my impulse to quit on account of waning interest in the lives of rather self absorbed people. Franzen writes about these characters rather than through them, which makes it harder to care about them, particularly when what they're doing and going through is not all that riveting. But he writes so well I held fast to the belief that if I kept with it, I would eventually be rewarded for my perseverance. And so I was. I know there are people who think more highly of this book than do I because Franzen received much public praise for it. I also know people who gave up on it rather than pushing through, and I see their point of view as well. Hence this mixed review. But since more credit is given for finishing than starting strong, I'm generously giving Freedom 4 out of 5 stars. His prose earns my upmost respect. The ultimate thing a novel should accomplish though is not achieving a certain rating, but making readers want to read the author's next book. I'm not sure if that will be the case with Franzen based on how hard he needlessly made me fight to make it through this one.

Silver Sparrow: A Novel by Tayari Jones [4 stars out of 5]

Silver Sparrow is an excellent novel written in a sure handed manner by a very talented author. It tells the tale of a bigamist, a man living two separate lives, one out in the open and the other in its shadow. His first family is the result of youthful reckless behavior and following the directions of his mother to make things right. Family number two is formed by falling in love as a grown man, but perhaps one who has not matured very much. After all, a mark of adulthood is understanding you need to make choices, that holding onto one thing often comes at the expense of letting go of another, that if you don't make those choices to your best advantage eventually they will be made for you without allowing you much say in how things work out. This man is at the center of two families but the story focuses on the women in his life, his wives of unequal billing and primarily the daughters they respectively give him who had no say in how their dangerously connected families came about. Over the course of the narrative the half sisters learn that family is not so much a matter of blood, as one of choice of loyalty.

The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey: A Novel by Walter Mosley [5 stars out of 5]

Simplicity is a powerful weapon, and often times less truly is more. The title of this book serves as partial synopsis. To flesh it out I will add that Ptolemy Grey is nearly 92 years of age and suffering from dementia that leaves him in a helpless state. He's at the sad stage where he won't even turn off his television or radio, which simultaneously play 24/7, because he surely won't remember how to turn them back on. When the grandnephew who visits periodically to check on him is killed and a less good hearted relative replaces him, the final act of Ptolemy's life starts to undergo a transformation. He eventually finds himself with a new roommate who cleans up the pile of filth he lives in without messing with his sacred memories. In fact, his memory and faculties are restored by a doctor's experimental medicine. The medicine is sure to reduce the number of Ptolemy's remaining days but also makes them worth living, allowing him to put his affairs in order, to finish up plans that had been laid to rest, to administer justice as he sees fit, and to remember for awhile what it feels like to love and be loved. This is a beautiful story told by a master craftsman.

Hunting in Harlem: A Novel by Mat Johnson [4 stars out of 5]

This was a fun read, in part because of the intriguing premise (former convict turned politician turned budding real estate titan hires some ex-cons to assist in his master plan to transform Harlem into a Black Utopia by ridding it of undesirable elements), and in larger part because of the strong writing of Mat Johnson. The book is populated by colorful characters described in smile to laugh out loud fashion. Two of the three ex-cons are larger than life, so Johnson puts the narrative in the hands of the third since he is the straightest arrow and thus the character readers are most likely to identify with. Snowden ended up in prison basically by unfortunate accident whereas his two colleagues earned their sentences through actions caused by their volatile personalities. One is a brute who operates in brawn over brains fashion, the other an intellectual firebug. The three men start off their new jobs by moving furniture but quickly graduate to creating additional vacancies by killing tenants who are deemed unworthy of the new Harlem they are bringing about. This brings on moral dilemmas for two of the three men, but by then they are in so deep that rather than turning back it makes more sense to keep swimming until they reach the other side, if in fact there is one. Do the ends justify the means when it comes to revitalizing a community? How about when it comes to becoming a Best Selling author? Johnson asks these questions with addictive prose in Hunting in Harlem. I highly recommend it.

WHY I WRITE WHAT I WRITE

2011-10-11T09:48:00.000-07:00

I see a great deal of discussion about Young Adult literature nowadays. The fan base for this genre appears to be larger than ever. I'm not sure if teens are doing the majority of reading and talking about it though. They're not the ones I see discussing it on Twitter and elsewhere in the World Wide Web. I assume teens continue to be the target audience for YA lit, but they certainly are not alone in appreciating it. This observation along with the following tweet gave me pause for thought which I proceeded to document.

RT @JustineLavaworm I am critical of how near monolithically white & straight & middle class (if not upper class) YA is.

My debut novel Patches of Grey focuses largely on the lives of teens but I can't say it quite qualifies as YA. Had I known how big the genre would blow up…

I probably wouldn't have changed a thing. As a teen I read books intended for adults. As a writer I write for adults, including mature teens.

To date I haven't made any of my characters vampires or goblins or wizards. I don't rule anything out for the future but I doubt you'll ever spot me on that crowded bandwagon.

I didn't think about the sparsity of teen/young characters of color in fiction when I sat down to compose Patches of Grey. I wrote about such people because that's what I knew, not to fill a void.

Perhaps in the future I'll write more strategically because that's good for the wallet & I now have a family/mortgage/other grown stuff.

Then again, I may always say "F it" and write what's in my heart/gut/mind. If it turns out to be trendy, great! If not, so be it. Usually if you write what you need to say, and do it well, you'll find people it seems to have been written specifically for.

Some write for an audience, others write for themselves. I write for myself, & I happen to be an avid reader, so I end up writing for unknown readers as well.

When I'm done editing my second novel I plan to move on to a series of kid books. Not sure how naturally it will come to me but will give best shot.

With the planned children’s books I'm well aware in advance that there is an under-served POC market out there to be tapped. I'll write for my daughter. If she can inspire me to be a better person surely she can also inspire me to be a better writer.

So long as you write about issues & for people that are important to you, your work will have integrity. That's a major goal for me.

If you've ever read my prose you've read about subjects I am legitimately interested in, not something scribbled for a quick buck or web hits.

Just as my main training for writing novels was reading a ton of novels, my training for the planned kid books has been reading a whole lot of them. I read for myself because I love intelligent fiction and read to my daughter because that’s what a parent should do. The fact that reading for pleasure has also turned out to be research for my writing is primarily a happy accident.

I happen to be married to a fantastic illustrator (an example of her work is up above), which is pretty darn convenient for a first time children’s book author.

My second novel Matters of Convenience is strictly grown folk stuff. My synopsis of it is: it's a love rectangle. Quite proud of the brevity for it doesn’t come naturally to me. Love square would also work geometrically, but I think love rectangle has a better ring to it. Besides, all sides are rarely equal in love and war.

Link to excerpt from Matters of Convenience

GoodReads.com page for Patches of Grey

Author Spotlight Q&A

As always, Happy Reading!

The Death of Troy Davis

2011-09-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

I followed the final hours of Troy Davis largely on Twitter along with a live feed from outside the prison provided by Democracy Now. As the end of his life came about I found myself with much to say, as did with many others. We expressed ourselves in 140-character outbursts of dismay and disbelief. Below is a glimpse of an unforgettable day. - Roy Pickering 9/22/11

BREAKING NEWS: Ga. parole board denies clemency for Troy Davis, sentenced to death for 1989 murder of off-duty police officer http://t.co/WJxluQHA

Since Troy Davis' conviction, seven of the nine witnesses against him have recanted or contradicted their testimony. There are many questions about conclusiveness of evidence, none of which is physical.

I know (having watched the GOP Presidential debate the other night) that there are people who break into applause at the mere mention of the words "death penalty", but even they must surely demand conclusive proof.

Perhaps Twitter truly can be used for good rather than merely socializing, bickering, promoting & self expression. We shall see. #TooMuchDoubt

RT @TheRevAl I was just notified that clemency was denied Troy Davis. This is the most blatant example of injustice I have seen in years. This is WRONG.

Perhaps only he & God know. Is that enough to kill? RT @SheSeauxSaditty: Did this Troy Davis cat actually not do what he was convicted of?

RT @esglaude The denial of clemency to Troy Davis is not only crude/crass Georgia politics; it is an evil act. US moral standing in the world is in question: we torture abroad and, at home, we execute potentially innocent people.

"An evil deed is not redeemed by an evil deed of retaliation. Justice is never advanced in the taking of a human life." - Dr. King

RT @goldietaylor There is no governor pardon in Georgia. The 5-member board is appointed by the governor. They are not w/o political and personal allegiances. #troydavis

"Capital punishment is the most premeditated of murders." - Albert Camus

"Blaming things on the past does not make them better." – Nelson Mandela

"That Justice is a blind goddess Is a thing to which we black are wise: Her bandage hides two festering sores That once perhaps were eyes." – Langston Hughes

Despite the truth behind Langston’s words, don't turn your anger about a particular situation into general, generic accusations based on criteria no more specific than melanin count.

RT @sofiaquintero Wow. The state of GA has set the murder of Troy Davis on International Peace Day. Don't let this happen.

Somehow 1 + 1 doesn't = 2 in this area RT @MHarrisPerry: Every member of every #ProLife group should be protesting execution of #TroyDavis.

RT @jeremyscahill After years of following #TroyDavis case, I'm horrified that it really seems Georgia's going to kill him. He is innocent.

RT @amnesty Eyewitness testimony often lies. At risk of executing an innocent person, 16 states ban capital punishment.

RT @dreamhampton While tweeting abt him wont save his life, some of us are hopeful that public outcry will. Twitter absolutely amplifies public outcry.

RT @Toure It's not really about Troy Davis so much as overstimating the power of Twitter. RT @goldietaylor << Tell that to ppl of Egypt, Iran

If you're a celeb by Twitter standards (at least 30,000 followers) consider reading about #TroyDavis case & decide if you wish to join cause

I actually agree with Toure in large part about Twitter activism. You need to get out in the real world to effect change, not stay behind keyboard. But I'm pretty sure many ppl only heard of Troy Davis on account of Twitter. Obtained phone #s, email addresses, made voices heard thanks to Twitter.

In between jokey joke hash tags & award show recaps & quips about celebrities & whatnot, substantial things are brought to light and examined and debated on account of Twitter. It's the spotlighting of substantial issues that makes Twitter worthwhile IMO. MySpace, FaceBook & other sites serve just fine for the silly stuff and lighter fare.

RT @momsrising 130 Death Row Inmates Have Been Found Innocent Since 1973.

Yes, not in as great abundance but the outcry is universal. RT @Jazzzyone: Does #WhiteTwitter care about #TroyDavis? Not on my TL. Yours?

This isn't about who is tweeting and who is not. Author of blackness book need not speak. White/Latinos/Asians welcome in fight for justice

Sadly in the end it may all be what Shakespeare coined sound and fury signifying nothing. Or perhaps it will be the beginning of a new day.

Troy Davis may not once again be saved from lethal injection at the last minute, but maybe as partial result of today's outcry, outcome will differ in next case.

If outcry over death of Troy Davis creates more vigilant rules in future death penalty cases, much less shadow of doubt, it won't be in vain.

There's always a next case. The most important battles tend to be long, drawn out ones. Good things come to those who wait, but not idly.

Ultimately, more important than addressing "need" for death penalty is addressing issues that put men on death row in the 1st place.

People are not necessarily campaigning for Troy Davis to be set free, just for him not to be executed in light of reasonable doubt over his guilt. Perhaps he must remain jail, but at least alive.

I'm gonna need folks to stop comparing Troy Davis to Casey Anthony no matter what your take is. Only similarity is both are high profile. One had a lawyer who was able to provide jury with reasonable doubt of guilt prior to the verdict, one did not. I've spent far more time than desired requesting that people stop comparing every criminal case to Casey Anthony, Michael Vick & OJ. 85% of arguments would quickly run out of steam if people stopped comparing apples to oranges to bicycles.

RT @KoodaB If Casey Anthony was black and #TroyDavis was white the situations are still tragic... Justice don't have a color. Neither should injustice.

I don't care how big your bank account is, nothing is more valuable than TIME. If you don't believe me, ask Troy Davis.

While doing what you can on behalf of Troy Davis, the pain of the family of police officer who was killed should also be considered. Davis execution won't bring him back though, just eye for eye.

Last minute is when many learned of the situation RT @ArtGotti: Just like yall to become advocates for #TroyDavis AT THE LAST MINUTE!

RT @arrianamaria It does not matter how long you have been calling & signing petitions on behalf of #TroyDavis, it matters that you know & care now.

Why stand up, even if just with a few tweets, for Troy Davis if you believe there's #TooMuchDoubt to kill him? Cuz if u stand 4 nothing u'll fall 4 anything.

The election of Barack Obama may have been the day I was most proud of America. Today may become the day I was least proud. #TooMuchDoubt

The killing of Troy Davis will not prevent a single future murder. What will the sparing of his life do? Perhaps encourage more activism. And when I say activism I don't mean silly "white privilege", "black men ain't shit, only 3 decent ones to 100 good black women so perhaps black women should consider thinking outside the box", "natural hair or bust" type nonsense. I mean real issues that need to be tackled head on.

It's my understanding that enough evidence exists for reasonable doubt, but post conviction GA insists on proof of innocence. The reason why the pope, Jimmy Carter, European orgs, etc. have weighed in is because needing to prove innocence rather than provide doubt of guilt isn't what America is about.

It's not a hard and fast rule but in general if the pope (I’m not Catholic btw) & Jimmy Carter are on the same page about something, I tend to be on it too.

The #TroyDavis execution is not about one man, one cop killing, one literal execution of retribution. It's about how justice is supposed to work in this country.

Presumption of innocence system is one of America's defining characteristics. If we don't stand up for it what else will we let slide?

You think there are a lot of people in jail who really shouldn't be there now? If innocence must be proven rather than guilt, look out!!!

There may be enough evidence to keep him in jail for life, but the death penalty should require 100% certainty. Not even 99% should suffice.

Two American hikers were freed from an Iranian prison today. I bet Troy Davis wishes he had their negotiators.

“Vengeance is mine.” That quote is only supposed to be credited to the one and only.

Hope AC's account was hacked. Something seriously wrong with whoever wrote this: RT @AnnCoulter: ONE TROY DAVIS FLAME-BROILED, PLEASE

Just checked link that accompanied statment. @AnnCoulter definitely owns up to that heinous thought. I probably shouldn't be surprised given her track record but I TRY to think best of people if they allow me to. I know we live in the era of shock value for shock value's sake, but there's crossing the line and then there's sick in the head/heart/soul.

RT @christor If you wouldn't bet your own life that Troy Davis is guilty based on this evidence, you shouldn't be willing to bet his. Simple as that.

Obviously if you believe somebody is guilty of murder you won’t hold them in the warmest regard. But since it isn’t any more possible for Ann Coulter to know with absolute certainty who killed Mark MacPhail in 1989 than it is for me, to call for a man’s death in the name of vengeance in such cruel mocking fashion is nothing short of reprehensible. But drawing attention to themselves via outrageous behavior is of course what such people do best.

I believe 5 countries total have a legally sanctioned death penalty and in the case of Troy Davis the other 4 nations are probably thinking WTF?!!

So not a word yet from our President? Can't say I'm not disappointed, regardless of whether or not the power of intervention is within his hands.

Head of NAACP just said Obama is indeed aware of the case and feels there is nothing he can do. That job seems less powerful every day.

Not yet executed as of 7:12 PM EST. Temporary reprieve granted by Supreme Court. Certainly better news than confirmation of death.

RT @carolynedgar Why Presidential elections matter: It's the Supreme Court, stupid.

Just learned that the white supremacist who killed James Byrd by dragging him with his truck was executed today. What a day!

A reprieve lasts for a maximum of 7 days. Then what? To be continued.

Not very long at all if true RT @mpoppel: BREAKING -- Mother of MacPhail told the US Supreme Court will decide by 8.30 p.m., reports WTVM-TV

30 minutes and then...?

I don't know what's more amazing, this Troy Davis situation or the fact that the majority of tweets on my timeline are about other matters. This is not an every other day kind of deal, though in a sad way I suppose it is.

This case is in the hands of Clarence Thomas?!!

Hopefully there won't be much if any rioting if the execution does indeed take place. Never helps.

RT @7Akil According to Ben Jealous on @DemocracyNow we need 2 reduce the number of death penalty states from 34 to 24 n order to have it abolished

RT @jennykemp Dear Georgia, I'm watching from Edinburgh, Scotland, in disgust at your barbarism and inhumanity #thewholeworldiswatching #troydavis

RT @_Kristiana_ A court that acknowledges corporations as people obviously has little regard for actual persons. #SCOTUS

Lights flashing, sirens blaring. Increased police presence at an event like this is rarely a good sign. Usually neither is the presence of Clarence Thomas. But any port in a storm.

Via @richardkimnyc On January 26, 2011, Emmanuel Hammond, also a prisoner in Georgia’s Jackson prison, was granted a temporary reprieve by Justice Thomas, who has issued the reprieve in Troy Davis’ case. Hammond was scheduled to be executed at 7 pm. He was put to death a little over four hours later at 11:39 pm. This is sobering news, and we should not necessarily expect Davis to live through the night.

The Supreme Court has refused to stay the execution of Troy Davis.

Time of death 11:08 EST #RIPTroyDavis Live in peace those left behind.

“Strange Fruit” – written by Abel Meeropol, sung by Billie Holiday http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4ZyuULy9zs

The fight continues...perhaps with additional soldiers on the side of true justice now.

RT @KayFusion: People keep saying America is racist, however it was actually 7 Black jurors who in less than 2 hrs convicted Davis of murder.

RT @_Basiyr_ That's the genius/insidiousness of a racist system, it gets upheld even when they don't take part.

"People who are well represented at trial do not get the death penalty."-- Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Justice is available to all of us here in America regardless of race, color or creed. But it'll cost you. $$$

RT @danielabrams My take on #TroyDavis? He certainly got due process, but when it comes to the death penalty, sometimes due process may not be enough. That's not to say I'm convinced of #troydavis innocence, but with "reasonable doubts" or questions, there has to be a way to delay death.

Lawrence Russell Brewer, convicted of the heinous murder of James Byrd, was also executed 9/21/11. He'll be mourned by far fewer than the thousands upon thousands who prayed and kept fingers crossed for Troy Davis. They both professed innocence but Brewer didn't have very many takers. Neither Brewer nor Davis convinced those who most mattered.

If the death penalty is done away with, monsters such as serial killers & those who prey on children get to live. So be it.

If not done away with, you'd think capital punishment would be used only in the most extreme cases where psychologists/psychiatrists felt the person would surely kill again.

And you'd think the death penalty would only be used in cases where absolute certainty was present.

You’d think. [WHY THE SUPREME COURT COULDN'T SAVE TROY DAVIS]

First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for meand there was no one left to speak out for me.

Here I Am...OR...Hair I Am

2011-08-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

The line between a woman either defying or succumbing to peer (or non peer) pressure and her simply making decisions based on personal preference can be mighty thin. How can you tell at a glance which is the case? Or do you simply assume based on your biases?

Black women catch a lot of heat for some of the personal appearance decisions they make. Like it or not, plan to or not, their grooming choices immediately become political statements. At least they are interpreted as statements by certain black women and perhaps by a number of black men as well.

If a black woman relaxes her hair (or adds extensions, or wears a wig sometimes, or whatever other trick has been concocted to create an illusion in place of reality) it’s because she has been bombarded with imagery from white owned fashion magazines. She has succumbed to the Eurocentric definition of beauty and opted to become as white looking as possible. So goes one take on the matter.

Asian women have straight hair. Why can’t black women be emulating them or Native Americans or some other non-white so therefore non-oppressor culture?

There are innumerable versions of beauty and no shortage of ways for a woman to mask perceived imperfections and emphasize her favorite features as she sees best. The sun tans some faces and reddens others. Thin lipped women may desire a fuller pout. Jeans pull off various tricks in showcasing a posterior. A woman looks in the mirror and ponders how to make it a better friend. She works with what she’s got and what she can purchase at a reasonable price. The calculations made are quite fascinating. It’s amazing in some cases how different the After can look from the Before when skill combines with will. But is all powerful vanity not sufficient motivation for these alterations? Must we seek deeper meaning when God given shallowness adequately summarizes?

Why can’t a black woman simply not feel like fighting with the comb, decide to go at least temporarily with a more easily manageable option? Many men shave their head low or bald because it is low maintenance, allows them to spend minimal time fussing with their ‘do. Can’t a black woman desire a style she can quickly run a comb through or twist in a braid or pigtail or whatever without renouncing Harriet Tubman in the process? Can’t a woman desire a little more length? Hey, I’m still talking about hair here, keep your thoughts clean. Black women aren’t the only people who alter the dynamic of their hair. Is a white woman without naturally straight, flowing strands who decides to relax it making the statement that she wants to be perceived as Whiter? If someone with straight hair decides to grow dredlocks (sightings of a White or Asian person with dreds always makes me slightly double take) this is typically seen as paying homage, no? Not a sign of disgust with the race they were born into. Why is it only acceptable for respectful mimicry of another culture to go in one direction? Eminem continues to be a superstar but when is the last time you heard from that Hootie and the Blowfish guy? Okay, maybe I’m stretching a bit too far. Let me stick with hair.

I personally would not make a follicular decision that didn’t allow me to jump into a pool or that equaled the expense of my monthly mortgage payments. But that’s my choice made strictly for practical and economic reasons, not a declaration of either racial solidarity or defection. If I was a woman perhaps I’d reconsider what I was willing to pay monetarily and in convenience. But I’m not, so I proudly pee standing up while my hair does whatever it is it feels like doing.

If a black woman chooses to wear her hair naturally, it’s considered a political statement by many even if not to the woman herself. By doing nothing special she’s supposedly making the commentary that she’s proud of who and what she is. Maybe, maybe not. Since when is doing nothing issuing a statement other than: “Nothing”? Perhaps she is proud of herself and ever so grateful for the ethnicity she was born into, perhaps she barely gives it a thought, but how the hell can we reach a verdict based strictly on her hairstyle? Non-black women wear their hair the way it grows out their head all the time. This isn’t seen as a sign of White pride, Asian pride, Latina pride. It just is. Being natural isn’t supposed to be a complicated negotiation, it’s meant to be no more or less than…natural. Correct?

Life is hard, probably a little harder if you’re a woman rather than penis possessor, probably a little harder the more melanin is in your skin. Why make things even more difficult for yourself by constantly defending when you’re not necessarily under attack, constantly attacking an enemy who has no idea they are supposed to be at war with you?

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe every morning when every black woman walks into her bathroom and decides how she wishes to look as she greets the world that day, she’s composing a political manifesto.

Then again, perhaps she wants to feel reasonably attractive to whoever she finds herself attracted to, but otherwise she mostly just wants to go about her business and could care less what conclusions have been reached about her by you, me, or anyone else she isn’t beholden to.

Plenty of people are out looking for meaning, and purpose, and causes to fight for and against. The result is that they will translate whatever they see as something to either hail or deride. This seems like an exhausting way to live, but it is your right and I’ll do nothing to take it away from you.

But surely there are others: women and men, black and white, kinky, curly, straight, or frizzy headed - who simply wish to be. We should all have the right to just be.

A comb is a tool to enhance her beauty however a woman sees fit. A comb should not be viewed as a sword and will fail miserably if deployed in such a manner. It wasn’t invented for use as a political weapon, and neither should be the hair it goes through. It’s all good.

I AM NOT MY HAIR - India.Arie (with Akon)

* * * * *

p.s. - Apparently it's not all good. Since I wrote the above I learned via Twitter that this advertisement is supposed to offend me as a black man. Huh? Now I will concede that I don't see anything particularly clever going on. The point that I'd be better off purchasing Nivea face/body shave lotion is weakly made at best. But what is it exactly that's racist about the picture? I saw it said someplace that since the decapitated head has an afro the ad indicates afros are an uncivililzed hairdo. So by this theory black men aren't left out of the wear it natural or else have a sell out hairstyle either, even though I don't see too many brothas walking around with weaves and thank God the conk is mostly a thing of the past. The hair on the thrower's head is just as natural as that on the dude about to be tossed, just cut considerably shorter. Is a close cut dome copying white culture? Nah, that can't be it. I have officially lost count of how many things I'm supposed to be offended by. Plenty of other people though always seem able to find the next thing...and the next...and the next...

p.p.s. - Check out contest at Beads, Braids & Beyond by clicking on this link for a chance to win an art print with images such as those found above and more...

Artwork provided by Erin Go Paint on Etsy

Ode to the Library

2011-08-01T06:28:00.000-07:00

Today I saw my novel on the shelf of a public library for the first time. It was a special milestone on my ongoing adventure in guerilla publishing, not the first and it won’t be the last, but surely one to be treasured. Leading up to it were wonderful occasions such as seeing my novel bound for the first time with its fantastic cover designed by Erin Rogers Pickering. I had seen my prose bound before, but only in anthologies where I was one of many contributors. My novella Feeding the Squirrels was a solo project that made its way to publication, but strictly in electronic format so I had nothing to appreciatively hold in hand. Therefore, seeing Patches of Grey as a paper bound book for the first time was a real treat, as was the first reprint where I was able to work some glowing reviewer quotes into the back cover copy. Speaking of which, receiving the first blurb about my novel which happened to arrive on St. Patrick’s Day was another memorable day in my journey, as was the posting of its first full fledged review. Participating in my first author event at Sparta Books was an amazing experience, and spotting a copy of Patches of Grey on the fiction shelf of Words Bookstore briefly took my breath away. There it sat in a real deal brick and mortar bookstore. My sense of awe on that day is certainly meant as no disrespect to Amazon and the online independent booksellers who gave me my start and account for the vast majority of my sales to date. With a full time job and a family putting demands on my calendar, I simply do not have time to pound the pavement getting my novel into stores in the physical rather than cyber world one pitch at a time. So all hail the online retailers from whom you can purchase my book without needing to leave the comfort of your couch. The next milestone was making my novel available as an ebook, initially for the Kindle and shortly after for the Nook. People with reading devices can now obtain Patches of Grey for a steal. Why I have yet to hit the million sales club on Kindle is beyond me (it only costs a buck!), but patience is a virtue I continue to cultivate.

All of this leads to the sighting of my book in the Maplewood Library. This incredible literary voyage began for me in the library, the branch on Edenwald Avenue in the Bronx to be precise. It was there that my love of the written word was formed and cemented. I’ll never forget those initial trips into fictional worlds inhabited by Henry Huggins, Ramona and Beezus, Encyclopedia Brown, and as I matured and was able to go on more sophisticated literary adventures, my fascination grew exponentially. I can’t say that I recall my first visit to a bookstore, but my earliest trips to the library on a weekly basis are lasting memories. I fell hard for reading and made an oath to some day craft stories of my own. It was rewarding to take out as many books as I wanted with a card belonging exclusively to me, no sign off by Mom and Dad necessary. That was my first credit/debit card. I suppose this made my library visits an early glimpse at adulthood. The books may have been free to borrow, but if lost or damaged or returned late there would be a price to pay. I was (and still am) a very responsible library patron.

Who knows? Perhaps one day a young reader (not too young though, parental supervision is advised on account of adult language and content) will take Patches of Grey out from the library (or win a free copy at giveaway such as this one) and be permanently marked, bitten by the reading bug and perhaps also infected by the venom of the writing bug. It can happen as I well know.

Writing has so far not made me rich or famous. I have no idea what lies ahead, which of course is part of the fun. But I do know that people now have the opportunity to enter a world of my making just as I envisioned as a kid in that Bronx library, which is a pretty cool milestone to hit.

p.s. – If you ever find yourself in Maplewood, NJ and have the opportunity to check out a book from the library written by a local author, there are several to choose from in addition to my own. This town is filled with creative folks. Among them is Terin Miller and my review of his debut novel can be found HERE.

p.p.s. - Portion of latest review of Patches of Grey by A Book Vacation. Full review to be posted on September 12th.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Patches of Grey

by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Giveaway ends September 05, 2011.

See the giveaway details
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The Lottery Ticket - A short story

2011-07-27T08:08:00.000-07:00

The Lottery Ticket

By Roy L. Pickering Jr.
Copyright by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Giving up on relationships used to come easily to me. You see, I didn’t believe in wasting time. In most getting-to-know-you type situations I was able to tell within fifteen minutes whether the woman I was kicking it to was worth the effort of further pursuit. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not referring to strictly sexual interest. When it came to that, it only took me about five minutes to determine whether a young lady could be sweet talked into my bedroom. By the time I reached my thirty-fifth birthday, however, one night stands had lost much of their appeal. Call it growing up, or perhaps merely diminished enthusiasm over the idea of exclusively physical encounters. I’d had more than my share of fast and furious hook-ups in the past. Their entertainment value was no longer what it used to be. So I began looking for something more substantial. I felt I was at last ready for a courtship with potential. To accomplish my new goal, I developed a sophisticated screening system. I asked the women I met pointed questions that cut straight to the chase. I bypassed small talk and went directly to investigative communication. Since interviewing people is part of what I do to make a living, making the transition from my professional dealings to my personal life was relatively effortless.

The technique I devised served me well. It alienated women who were cautious about baring their soul so soon, which was okay by me, because I wasn’t interested in the guarded type. I was perfectly willing to open up right away about who I was, what I dreamt of, what I longed for. If a woman didn’t share this in common with me, I didn’t give a rewarding relationship with her much chance. Why start up what was destined to finish? When my forthright manner scared a woman off, I figured it was better to ascertain incompatibility right off the bat than taking the slow scenic route to the same disappointing destination.

Plenty of women weren’t intimidated by my strong approaches. To the contrary, they found my style refreshingly distinctive. I stood out from the pack of wolves drooling over their every move because I expressed sincere interest in matters other than how to get into their jeans. The fact that I was often the lone wolf with concerns other than sex on the brain had the effect of making me more appealing than I ever imagined I could be. Yet although the candidates were plentiful, I would find each of them lacking in some fundamental way and have to continue my search. I was frequently told that I was being too picky. But how can one’s criteria be too exclusionary when it comes to selecting a life partner? I wanted it all because I felt I deserved it all. To see it any other way would have been a disservice to myself.

Beauty lies everywhere, particularly in this sleepless city of super sized dreams that I reside in. So it could only serve as a portion of the equation, of no lesser or greater value than the others. I also sought intelligence, and compassion, and sensuality, and spirituality, and confidence, and independence, and humor, and ambition, and humility, and tenderness. Like I said, I wanted it all. Within fifteen minutes, give or take a few, I was able to calculate how much of these qualities a woman had to offer. Far more often than not, a lovely and pleasant woman would fail to adequately stimulate my interest. This left me with nothing to do but cut the conversation and my losses short. No hard feelings, at least not on my part. Every minute spent with someone I had ruled out of contention was one that could be better utilized by moving on to someone new. I knew the right girl for me was out there. I just had to keep plucking strands of hay from the stack until my needle was unearthed.

“You look at honies the way you look at your lottery tickets,” my best friend Terrell would say every now and again. “How much money have you squandered on the pipe dream of getting rich in one quick strike? Twice a week every week for how long has it been now?”

“Over fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years.” Terrell shook his head, one twist to the left, one to the right, then back to the left again. I had seen the gesture of exasperation from him countless times, most often when somebody on the Knicks had missed a late game jumper. “Do you have any idea how much money that adds up to?”

“Actually yes, I have done the math. Not nearly enough to make me anywhere near wealthy. But it’s a chunk of change I wouldn’t refuse if you offered it to me.”

“You could have been putting that money into a retirement account, or investing it, or putting it into a savings account and earning interest.” Terrell paid his bills by advising people on what to do with their money, so I understood that when it came to delivering such lectures, he couldn’t help himself. “Hell, you could have been putting all of those dollar bills under your mattress and sleeping lopsided but soundly. But to just squander it. What kind of sense does that make?”

“The law of averages will work to my advantage sooner or later,” was the line of logic I typically employed as rebuttal. “I play the same six numbers every time. Eventually they’ll hit. It’s inevitable. I’ve had some pretty close calls. The day I stop playing those numbers is the day they’ll come up.”

“Close calls and two bucks will get you a subway ride around the city, Dale.”

“Well, I do love to travel.”

Terrell would shake his head again, then concede that it was my inalienable right to spend or throw my money away however and wherever I saw fit. “Wasting money is one thing,” he’d conclude. “But throwing away the opportunities you’ve had to be with so many fine women truly boggles the mind.”

“I know who I want,” I would explain for the tenth, or fiftieth, or hundredth time. “It’s just a matter of finding her, whoever she is. And I know I will find her. I just have to be patient, and persistent, and steadfast.”

“And knuckleheaded.”

We would laugh and then move on to other subjects, such as the exploits of our favorite sports teams; workplace accomplishments and frustrations; the latest achievements by Terrell’s ridiculously bright daughter, Briana; the most recent acts of mischief by his precocious son, Stephon; or the latest committee joined by his beautiful activist wife, Anita. Terrell had found what he was looking for in life. My own expedition was still ongoing.

Six months ago, Terrell and I were sipping after work cocktails at a trendy midtown bar that was owned by the latest rags to riches rap star who had come to dominate the music charts by rhyming about the women he’d laid and the enemies he had conquered. As usual, I thoroughly scoped the place out to see who most piqued my interest that night. Fortuitously enough, she happened to be standing directly to my right hand side. I introduced myself. Five minutes of conversation passed in a heartbeat and the intrigue remained. After fifteen minutes I was charmed by all I had learned about Heather and anxious to know more. Three hours later, Terrell long departed by then, Heather told me that since the next day was a workday, it was time for her to head home.

“Can I get your phone number?” I asked, full of hope that this could lead to something extraordinary.

“Only if I can have yours in return.”

“You have yourself a deal, Heather.”

She gave me her business card, but I didn’t have one of my own handy. I looked through my wallet for a scrap of paper that could be spared. Two lottery tickets turned up. One had been purchased the prior weekend and I already knew it to be a loser, but had neglected to throw it away. The second had been purchased earlier that day. I squinted in the dull neon lighting of the bar to determine which ticket was the worthless one that I could write my phone number on. That’s when my cell phone rang.

“Yep, I’m still here. Yeah, she’s right next to me. Let me call you back in a bit, Terrell. Later, partner.”

I gave the paper I had written my phone number on to Heather. Her cute shy friend Lisa, who had remained in the bar for much longer than she cared to while Heather and I were getting to know each other, was a tad irritable by that point and now had one foot literally out the door.

“Heather, are you coming?”

“I’ll give you a call,” I said.

“Until then, I guess.”

“Until then.” The mirror behind the bar reflected the goofy grin I was unable to wipe from my face. I liked this girl and was curious to see how much more I might come to like her.

There were unfortunate instances when my screening system would fail. On these occasions, a woman who at first seemed to be a perfect match for me would prove herself within a date or two to be anything but. The woman who had visually and intellectually seduced me on first meeting would turn out to be a mirage. In a one-on-one setting over a candle lit dinner, her considerable flaws would come to harsh light and I would realize that I had been duped. Better late than never to discover my mistake, it was easy enough to avoid compounding the error of my initial poor judgment. No point in getting into deeper water when the sensible plan of action was swimming to shore. A kiss on the cheek at the end of such an evening would effectively nip the acquaintance in the bud.

I took Heather out to dinner on a Saturday night, two days after we first met. High expectations had been set. They would not be met. Instead, every twist and turn of our conversation led to disappointment.

“This is a tough menu for me to choose from. I’m a vegetarian.”

“Is that right?” I asked, fully intending to order a rib eye steak, medium rare.

“It isn’t just for humane reasons, though that’s certainly a major factor. I don’t think people are careful enough about what they put into their bodies. Monitoring your cholesterol level is a very serious issue. I won’t even get into mad cow disease, but trust me, it’s only a matter of time before those diseased animals make it into our restaurants and supermarkets.”

“Until they come up with mad broccoli disease, I guess you should be safe.”

My humor changed the subject, not that it succeeded in producing laughter or even a smile, but subsequent topics were not improvements.

“Did you see the stunt pulled by Britney, Beyonce, Pink, and Cher the other day? When will these beautiful young women, and Cher, stop exploiting their bodies for shock value? They’re sending the message to young girls that being intelligent and talented isn’t enough for a woman. The only way they can keep our attention is by showing us what their mothers and plastic surgeons gave them.”

I knew better than to confess that I had been rather entertained by the award show grind session she was referring to. It was clear enough that this would stir up feminist issues for Heather to rant about. No matter what I said, even if I agreed with her ninety nine percent, I strongly suspected that the one percent of dissent would cause me to be branded as a male chauvinist pig.

“I haven’t caught much TV lately,” served for what I thought was a safe reply. “Too many reality TV programs and award shows for my taste. I pretty much watch TV for just news and sports. The Jets let me down this year, but I think my Knicks will go far.”

“I loathe sports. They turn men into zombies transfixed by a bunch of millionaires running around with a ball. If I want to see people sweat on television, I’d much prefer to watch Survivor. Or Fear Factor. Or American Idol. Or any of those shows. I must confess that I find them all very addicting.”

It had become blatantly evident that we were nowhere close to being on the same wavelength. I was amazed that she had managed to give all of the right answers during our first conversation, yet was now giving nothing but wrong ones. Clearly I needed to do some tinkering with my screening process to make it cover a broader range of subject matter. I had eaten a light lunch the day I first met Heather and thought we vibed so well. Perhaps the alcohol later consumed made me less clear headed than I’d thought I was. I promised myself to drink glasses of water in between stiffer beverages in the future.

“My friend Lisa who was with me when we met teases me all the time about my reality TV obsession. But the way I figure, those shows are a pleasant diversion from news about the unnecessary war that our undeserving President forced us into.”

I definitely knew better than to go there. Talking politics on a first date is never a good idea, even if you intend it to also be your last date with the person. Suffice it to say that Heather and I were of differing opinions on the president’s use of military force. My physical attraction to Heather had not subsided. To the contrary, she was even prettier on second sighting. She possessed many other admirable qualities as well. Heather was a wonderful woman for some lucky guy to find. But I would be taking a pass on being that guy. If I had any uncertainty about this, it went away when she informed me that she would be popping outside between dinner and dessert to satisfy her cigarette craving. I was not amused by the hypocrisy of her chiding me for the food I put into my body while she insisted on inhaling tobacco into her own. And very few things were as much of a turn off for me as kissing a woman with cigarette breath. So I hurried the date along to its conclusion, escorted her home, then turned away from her doorway, certain that by design I would never see Heather again.

When I arrived home that night, I fed my cat Charlemagne to whom I now knew Heather would be allergic, sorted through my mail, then turned on my computer and went online. After reading a few emails, sending out a couple, and deleting several that promised to help decrease my debt and increase my girth, I went to the state lottery website to see what the day’s winning numbers were. That’s when my jaw dropped and my life changed.

2-9-17-25-48-53. There they were on my computer screen, the sweetest digits I had ever seen. I’d been playing them twice a week, fifty two weeks per year, for the last fifteen plus years. Now at long last they had hit. Either I was the co-winner, or better yet, the sole winner of sixty-two million dollars! Not capable of caring less about the annoyance of my extremely sound sensitive upstairs neighbor, I shouted for joy. Tears were shed and a victory dance was performed as visions of my future appearance on MTV Cribs, pointing out the best features of my tricked out mansion, went racing through my giddy head.

Eventually I stopped hooting and hollering, and my upstairs neighbor stopped pounding on his floor / my ceiling. I took a deep breath to steady myself, then pulled out my wallet and removed the lottery ticket within it. I gazed lovingly at the six printed numbers that matched those on the computer screen. Would I purchase a Hummer and then a Bentley, or the other way around? The dilemmas of the rich and ecstatic. Then my celebratory mood abruptly ended.

“What the hell?”

The date on my ticket was wrong. It belonged to Wednesday, three days earlier, when another six numbers entirely had been drawn. This ticket was an expired loser. What I needed was the one I had bought on Thursday for the Saturday drawing. I glanced through my wallet again, but there was no sign of another lottery ticket. Slower and closer examination of my wallet and its emptied contents produced nothing but frustration.

I was no stranger to the concept of misplacing useful or valuable items. If given a nickel for every time my remote control went temporarily missing, winning the lottery would not have been necessary to make me a wealthy man. My keys went AWOL at least twice a week. My sunglasses, my watch, and various other paraphernalia often played an annoying game of hide and seek with me as well. Some people would no doubt label me scatterbrained, but I’d read once that such behavior was a sign of genius, and that sounded much better. I had never misplaced a lottery ticket before, but there was a first time for everything. So I prepared to play the role of bloodhound and go rooting through every square inch of my apartment.

“Charlemagne, by any chance have you seen a little piece of paper with numbers on it lying around? You didn’t eat it, did you?”

My overweight feline responded with his patented blank stare before smugly turning his back on me. You’d think that providing food, shelter, and a clean litter box would earn a modicum of gratitude, but you would be wrong. I began my search by turning up sofa cushions, because my sofa had an uncanny ability to swallow whole any possession smaller than a microwave oven. That thought reminded me of another good place to look. I’d once found one my cufflinks in the refrigerator. Its partner was later found ensconced in my bed sheets. My apartment often felt too small and I was planning to look for a larger place when the lease ran out. At moments like this one however, the enormity of space to comb felt overwhelming.

“Come on, Charlie. Just give me a hint and I’ll buy you a bunch of new stuff to scratch and shed on.”

The rotund furball again refused to give me a meow of acknowledgment. I got down on my knees to look beneath the sofa. I found that I needed to do some serious dusting under there. And then it suddenly came to me. My memory brought back the scene with razor sharp detail. I now knew precisely where the ticket was. I had mistakenly written on the back of it and given my fortune away to Heather.

Apparently my evaluation of our date needed to be revised. Turns out we would definitely have to go out again. After all, my luxury cars, gargantuan residence, and the yacht I intended to throw phenomenal celebrity attended parties aboard would not be paying for themselves. I had to get that ticket back. Problem was, I couldn’t just point blank ask for it. Heather was no fool. She would suspect that I had a damn good reason for wanting it, soon discover that she held a winning lottery ticket in her possession, and proceed to cash in my destiny. She probably would not figure out on her own that she was sitting on a gold mine. Only if I foolishly tipped her off. I needed to somehow find where she had put the ticket and secretly return it to its rightful owner. Despite the clear signals I had given towards the end of our first date that she really wasn’t my type, I would now need to convince her that I’d had a change of heart. And so our great love affair unfolded, with no less romantic a start than that of Romeo and Juliet, Rhett and Scarlet, or John and Lorena Bobbitt.

“I can’t believe you never told me that’s why you got involved with Heather,” Terrell would say to me nine months later.

“It wasn’t my proudest hour,” I admitted. “I was considerably paranoid about the whole business. And I didn’t think it would take so long to be done with. I figured we would go out a few times, she’d eventually invite me over to her place, and I would casually manage to get her to reveal where the ticket was. But it turned out to be a lot trickier than that to manage, and to take a whole lot longer than I had imagined.”

“Your tie is crooked, Dale. You don’t want to look like a slob today. Too many eyes will be on you, waiting to see if you chicken out.”

“Not a chance of that. I’d be crazy not to marry that woman. She’s the best thing by far ever to happen to me. And as gorgeous as I know she’ll look in her wedding dress, I’m pretty sure she’ll get most of the attention. I do look damn good in this tux, though. You’re looking rather sharp yourself, Terrell.”

“Thank you. As your best man, I figure it’s my duty to be as least as suave as Superfly.”

“I can’t believe you’re still insisting after all these years that he’s cooler than Shaft.”

“By far. So you aren’t nervous at all, Dale?”

“Just the opposite. I can hardly wait to make it official.”

I was charming as could be on my second date with Heather, while she continued to be equally irritating. The more I learned about her, the less appealing she grew. So it took some effort to convince her that I wanted to pursue a relationship. After awhile it took
considerable effort to convince myself that the prize was worth the hassle of the chase. But I would remind myself of the dollar value of the prize, and that would give me the motivation to soldier on.

It was not my intention to hurt Heather. The last thing I wanted was for her to grow attached to me, knowing that I planned to bail the moment I had obtained what I wanted. I didn’t see myself as some sort of playboy, con artist, or money minded lothario. I simply felt that I deserved to get back my lottery ticket and reap the benefits I’d been contributing towards for a decade and a half. A horrible mistake had placed the ticket out of my possession. I needed to fix that mistake expeditiously so Heather and I could both return to our true destinies. Hers was to be a cigarette smoking vegetarian feminist. Mine was to be filthy rich.

Nine months later I stand beside the woman I love, our friends and families looking on. I’ve just been asked if I wish to take her as my wife. Of course I do, and so I say as much. The past several months leading up to this moment have been a chaotic blur, but now all is calm, and right, and good. Fate has blessed me. I glance over towards my best man and best friend. Terrell’s smile beams back at me. We’ve been through a great deal together, being friends since junior high school. A lot of good times have transpired in the intervening years. This one ranks right up there at the top. There’s no more denying it, even if we wanted to. We’re all grown up now. We’re grown men with a couple of amazing women by our sides.

I clasp hands with my brand new bride as we head down the church aisle together.

“I love you so much,” she whispers into my ear as the camera flashes dance about us.

“I love you too, Lisa.”

It’s funny how life works out sometimes. If Terrell’s phone call had not distracted me while I was trying to make out in dim lighting which piece of paper to write my phone number on, I never would have given Heather the wrong lottery ticket. Without doing that, I would not have bothered to see her beyond our first date. After two months of trying somewhat comically to get the ticket back without revealing my objective, I finally gave up and simply asked her if she still had it. When she requested the reason for my query, I admitted that it was a winner and offered to split the money with her. But unfortunately, there was nothing to split. Heather had copied my phone number into her address book on the night we first met, after which she discarded of the ticket. I had considered that she might have done this, so although I was disappointed, it wasn’t especially difficult to accept that I would not become a millionaire. It was actually relief that I felt, because at least there was no longer reason to continue with my masquerade. I did not wish to date Heather any longer, and I told her so. I said that I wished her well, but my heart wasn’t in our relationship because it had been claimed by someone else. Then came my next big confession. While pretending to be Heather’s boyfriend, I had fallen hard for her best friend Lisa.

I didn’t get my mansion, or yacht, or fleet of luxury cars. No fifteen minutes of fame on MTV. Instead, I found a woman to spend the rest of my life with. Not a bad tradeoff. Lisa and I are very happy. Our wedding was a beautiful affair. Regrettably, her friend Heather was unable to attend. I think she’s trying to avoid me. It isn’t that she was devastated by our break up, or by finding out why I had been dating her to begin with. It turns out that she left New York a couple months ago and promptly bought a huge house in California. A wealthy relative passed away and left a substantial amount of money behind as Heather’s inheritance. That’s what she claimed anyway. I suspect otherwise, but I’m not complaining. The way I see it, Heather found her winning lottery ticket, and I found mine.

What's Race Got To Do - Got To Do With It

2011-07-06T06:31:00.000-07:00

Due to the nature of this blog I never know what I'll be writing about next. Zero advance preparation is put into topics of discussion as my posts are nearly always a reaction to something interesting going on in the world, my personal take whenever I feel the urge to contribute to the narrative. I did not think there was much chance I'd be writing about Casey Anthony because I had paid insufficient attention to the matter as it unfolded. On my way up the TV dial to obtain daily intake of political postering I frequently passed by Nancy Grace's show. Every so often I'd pause, just long enough to gather that the case centered on a woman who had been photographed partying perhaps a bit too hard, although countless similar shots can be found on Facebook serving as profile pictures. From this I gathered Nancy and most likely the prosecutor as well was aiming to prove Casey was an unfit mother. Plenty of unfit parents do not resort to murder of course, but certainly this non June Cleaver type behavior was being displayed to indicate Casey had her own interests at heart over those of her child.

I noticed from the number and frequency of comments on Facebook and Twitter that many people were following the trial with voyeuristic fascination. The consensus appeared to be that the majority believed Casey to be guilty and wanted her to pay dearly. I was unable to tell from these glimpses if the defense or the prosecution was doing a better job of proving its case beyond doubt, but most people outside the jury box were inclined to believe the prosecutor.

When the Not Guilty verdicts were read aloud I fully expected the mass outcry to follow. Far more surprising to me were the various comments about race being a factor. Throughout the trial I don't believe I saw a single statement about racist motivation pertaining to the case. From what I could tell the various participants in this particular tragedy were white. I learned when the verdict was pronounced that the judge was black, but so what? The chatter was not about a demonstration of bias on his part. I began to ask in earnest on Twitter - What's race got to do with it? One person basically replied - Oh, you know. No, I really didn't. I was sincerely clueless, though perhaps in hindsight I should have anticipated the reaction. But at that moment I legitimately wanted to know who the heck had behaved in a racist manner towards who in this matter, and why was it not remarked upon until a verdict was rendered.

Soon enough I got my answer. The verdict was supposedly racist because a white person who most (and that would include other white people) believed to be guilty of a crime was acquitted. White privilege on full display. Had Casey been black she would've gotten the chair. Never mind that the alleged victim was a white child. People started bringing up the OJ Simpson verdict even though it in no way bolstered their argument about racism in effect. Both cases illustrate that a person of any race can get away with killing white adults and children if they have good enough lawyers. Also possibly if the evidence against them is insufficient or if they happen to truly be not guilty, which isn't quite the same thing as being innocent, but in a court of law it's close enough.

When people began bringing up Michael Vick and Plaxico Burress I grew increasingly baffled. Other than also being high profile legal cases, what was the connection, what point did they prove exactly? That black people not named OJ are always found guilty and whites are always set free? That's a pretty easy theory to disprove, isn't it? The names of Oscar Grant as well as Aiyanna Jones, another little girl lost, also surfaced with tenuous connections made to the Casey Anthony trial. One name that did not come up was Derrion Albert - yet another somber cautionary tale.

Do I believe too many black people are doing jail time for drug related crimes because it's the most convenient way to attempt escape from a cycle of poverty? Yes, I do. Do I believe there have been many cases of racial profiling (most of which don't make the news) by police officers? Yes I do, even though I also appreciate how difficult a job cops have and recognize that for the most part they are the good guys on our side. But do I believe the judicial system is set up exclusively to screw over black people and simply make a few whites a little nervous before sending them back home? That's preposterous, no? Yet that is what many seem to believe.

It's one thing to acknowledge that racism by certain whites against blacks in general exists, another to point at every single perceived injustice as proof of racism at work. Here's what I've learned about life. 1) Some things are my own damn fault. If I want a better result I need to step up my game. 2) In certain cases as Howard Jones told us - No one is to blame. Another name for this phenomenon is Shit Happens. 3) Sometimes someone in particular will not give me a fair shake, not on account of race but because they're a jerk or perhaps believe (falsely of course) that I'm a jerk. Bias may not be fair at times, but nor is it always race based. 4) In the remainder of instances perhaps the way I've been treated has been a direct result of my personal ratio of coffee to milk.

The line between well warranted cynicism and self-pity party delusion isn't all that thin - Is it?

I echoed these sentiments on Twitter in abbreviated form and the most tangible result I noticed was a handful of lost followers. Shame on them for having such a narrow minded perspective. They will not be missed. And here I am once again willing to rub people the wrong way rather than nodding in agreement with folly and trying to sell books. Must be a reason for it.

REST IN PEACE, Caylee Anthony - child of God.

Black Versus Really Black

2011-06-30T20:53:00.000-07:00

This week President Obama did not exactly have a ton of compliments heaped upon him. Mark Halperin, editor-at-large for Time magazine referred to him as "kind of a dick" on a talk show, and Republican presidential hopeful Herman Cain declared that Obama isn't "really black". Not as really black as Herman Cain feels himself to be anyway. I've discussed my feelings here before [example #1 - example #2] about labeling an African American "less black" than others due to one idiotic set of criteria or another, so no need to go down that road again. People of most other ethnicities have no idea how lucky they have it not needing to address this matter time and time again. The issue happens to be a central one examined in my novel Patches of Grey (latest review of it can be found here) so while I can always come up with more points to make on the subject, I'd rather not beat a dead horse (what an awful expression). Instead I present the images below and leave it up to you to choose which of these gentlemen fits the bill of legitimate strong black man, and which ones are merely pretenders to the ambiguous throne.

On an unrelated note, I would love to get your votes for Patches of Grey at this contest being held at GuysCanRead.com - http://bit.ly/jTHVXI You can vote once per day. Tons of thanks & appreciation in advance.

Down goes Lebron - Down goes LeBron

2011-06-14T07:38:00.000-07:00

My tweeted thoughts (with a few from other folks on Twitter sprinkled in as well) on defeat of the Miami Heat's Big 3 ("led" by a prematurely crowned king) at the hands of the class act Dallas Mavericks. Proof positive that teams beat collections.

RT @KingJames Now or Never!!

Great players have been prevented from becoming champions before. Ewing, Barkley, Malone, Iverson, the list goes on and on. But they shared a trait. When those guys got to the Finals they went for it with everything they had in them, left it all on the court. Left in defeat but not shame. Can you honestly say that about LeBron’s performance in the Finals this year, particularly in Now or Never quarter #4.

Champs know how to close the show. Snatch spotlight & force other guys to be spectators to their greatness. LeBron is a near perfect hybrid of Magic Johnson & Michael Jordan physically. But at do or die time he was neither magical nor like Mike.

Being in spotlight voluntarily means you take the good with the bad. THE DECISION was choosing to shine spotlight on spotlight, so if LeBron and his fans don’t like the negativity headed his way, there’s only one person to blame and it isn’t the media or “haters”.

The last pro athletes to be as despised as LeBron is (at least for the moment) were probably George Foreman & Joe Frazier because Muhammad Ali was a master of spin control. Lebron’s the opposite.

Ali got people to hate his opponents. Neat trick. LeBron got people to hate HIM. Only useful if you WANT to be the bad guy, feed off it. I don’t believe that’s truly what LeBron wants or what he feeds off of.

Before Ali was beloved he was often perceived as the "bad guy" in the ring. He thrived regardless of whether you loved or hated him. It will be interesting to see if LeBron’s game is affected at all by his popularity level going forward.

Good thing for Miami that Dirk's feelings were hurt by LeBron/Wade mocking, causing him to hoist bricks for much of final game of series, otherwise Mavs win it by 20+. Congrats to the Dallas Mavericks, new NBA champions.

Of course Dirk got his in the 4th. You know why? Cause that's what champions do. Take note, LeBron.

Maybe now Dirk starts getting long overdue credit. The dude shoots 3's like Reggie Miller, crazy handle, fall back Js at ridiculous angles, solid post game, all of this at 7 feet tall. Incredible!

With all due respect, those who thought Miami would win are those who get all caught up in highlight reel dunks rather than fundamental basketball.

Once Dallas manhandled the Lakers, who were a damn good team that very possibly beat the Heat as well, it was clear that this was the Mavs year.

Never anoint yourself KING prior to having a throne. So let it be written. So let it be done.

Mavericks may have had just 1 championship run in them. Heat are just starting. But so are Bulls and Knicks. East is up for grabs.

Good point. Franchise already celebrated. They just didn’t realize they were partying for less than they thought. RT @tclarkusa Heat fans, don't be mad at LeBron think back to huge parade you had when you 1st got him.

Did you see the number of blue jerseys in arena during game 6, supposedly a home game for Miami? If any NBA franchise does not deserve another championship, it's the no real fan base Heat.

Reporters in press conference tried so hard to get Spoelstra to blame LeBron. He wouldn't crack, unlike LeBron.

Heat were nowhere near more talented than Mavericks. Just WAY more hyped is all.

I'm certain Dirk left court after win to gather himself emotionally, not to diss James & Wade. Great series. Great storylines. Great #NBA season.

I don't in any way see Spoelstra taking the fall and getting fired unless there's tape of him telling LeBron to wilt under pressure. How do you get fired for leading a team all the way to the Finals, even if the young man is viewed by his bosses more as a caretaker than coach?

I plan to be happy for a couple months over the Heat loss, then will get back to my own little life. Thx for the advice, LeBron.

God did not want LeBron to win a ring this year, proved it by inventing the 4th quarter

Time for the "I know I repeatedly said Heat would win easy, but always knew they'd get smoked" tweets.

Nice to see both communist Russia and the Heat fall in my lifetime. #TakingItTooFar :-)

Heat fan nation is not based in Miami. Spread across nation in hearts of guys & dolls who drunk the LeBron Kool Aid.

"There are NO SHORTCUTS. NONE." - Dan Gilbert

RT @mcuban how amazing was it that dirk, brian cardinal and ian mahini planned to all sign with the Mavs this summer !! #big3 #makingithappen

RT @DanLevyThinks Pat Riley? RT @clintonyates: Awwwwkwwarrrd. —> RT @KingJames The Greater Man upstairs know when it's my time. Right now isn't the time.

LOL RT @Unsilent: I hated LeBron before hating LeBron went all mainstream. #hatehatehate

How many shots did Dirk take & make in 4th quarter after starting game 1of 12 shooting? How about LeBron who started off hot? #TaleOfTheTape

LeBron has proven to be a master of one thing. Taking a bad situation and making it exponentially worse.

Was result of NBA Finals caused by what Mavs did or what Heat (particularly you know who) didn't do? Some of both IMO, mainly Mavs performance.

Most fluffy trending topics on Twitter bore me after an hour or so. LeBron's downfall is an exception, doesn't even require a hashtag.

Tweets defending LeBron are particularly entertaining. Most start "Not to defend LeBron but..." No need to finish such a sentence.

I still can't believe those intense pre-game pep talks by LeBron didn't work. "We should go out and win, man. Or not. Either way I'm rich." LeBron James gives Ray Lewis-esque pep talks, if Ray had a lobotomy that is.

LeBron should get this picture as a tattoo. If it doesn't inspire him to greatness, nothing will. twitpic.com/5b0yo5

When I tweeted & blogged about Pippen's remarks, stating LeBron belongs nowhere near Greatest Of All Time discussion, some guy bombarded me with video clips that were supposed to prove how fantastic LeBron truly is. Wonder where that guy is now. He's been curiously silent.

Here's my G.O.A.T. blog posting: http://bit.ly/lBXZL2

And here are my thoughts on LeBron leading up to his DECISION: http://bit.ly/9inkWn

When I first started going in on LeBron after The Decision, I freely admit much of the anger stemmed from my hopes he'd land on the #Knicks

I know fellow #Knicks fans felt as I did. Obviously fans in Cleveland were enraged. Hopeful fans in a couple other cities also upset...

But reading Twitter over last few weeks and most especially today, DAMN, it's clear a lot of folks from all over the country don't like that supposedly royal dude. It isn’t just spurned fans that he rubbed the wrong way.

This twitter name says it all - @LaughAtLeBron

I get why people don't like LeBron. Seems very arrogant & his DECISION really felt like it went against competitive spirit of the game

I think people who used to admire LeBron when he played in Cleveland turned on him because great players lead. Going to South Beach was following. Point blank

As for those who defend LeBron, they're entitled, but I've yet to see a single compelling reason to do so except maybe pity.

After the tone and content of his comments in that post game press conference, I don't have it in me to sympathize/empathize with LeBron. Showed zero humility

I lost respect for Wade along with LeBron on account of that coughing mimicry nonsense. Dirk as a 13 year vet deserves respect. But at least Wade played hard throughout series. What did LeBron do? Have you ever had a deer in your headlights? Then you know what LeBron did in the Finals.

Playing poorly is not a sin. Playing scared is not a sin. Continuing to be an arrogant jerk while playing poorly & scared? Makes you soft IMO

I am convinced now that LeBron made the right DECISION by picking Heat over Knicks. Pressure of New York would have CRUSHED him.

I'm no hypocrite though. I'd take LeBron in a heartbeat if the #Knicks could acquire him for a bucket of KFC with extra large Coke

But even on #Knicks, LeBron would have to carry Landry Fields bags for at least a month before I started cutting him some slack.

I seriously thought I was hearing things when LeBron made that "go back to their lives" comment. I may have literally said "Oh no he didn't!" A Hollywood scriptwriter could not have come up with a better line to make it clear LeBron was the villain of this story.

Barkley spit at a fan; Rodman kicked cameraman; Artest ran into stands to fight fan; many NBA sucker punches. But LeBron REALLY messed up

Tiger Woods gave lamest public apology ever but was still smart enuf not to say "now go back to your sad sexless lives"

If LeBron defends Jason Terry a fraction as hard as his die hard fans defend him, Heat sweep. Nah. Simply means it takes Mavericks 7 games rather than 6 to get their rings.

Regarding his obnoxious press conference statments, he's been taking questions since high school. LeBron doesn't blurt things out at this stage of the game, he says what he means and either hopes it goes over okay or simply doesn’t care.

LeBron seemed very mature for his age coming out of high school. He has since stood still at best, possibly regressed.

You fail to score on exactly 100% of the shots you don't take.

Poor, deluded Shawn. Our educational system is failing today's youth. lol http://tinyurl.com/3r3mgda

Blame Michael Jordan - http://bit.ly/mK5N7L

@WhitlockJason piles on http://on-msn.com/l782Ut

Another good article about LeBron - http://es.pn/kbHWyF

G.O.A.T.?

2011-05-27T13:02:00.000-07:00

My tweetstream went crazy today after Scottie Pippen seemingly stated in an interview that he considered LeBron James rather than his old running mate Michael Jordan to be the Greatest Of All Time. Even prior to Pip’s clarification, many felt he made a valid point. MJ loyalists lost their minds of course. As for me, one who admires both Michael’s and LeBron’s games while viewing them mostly as the enemy throughout their respective careers, below is what I had to say one tweet at a time.

What has Pippen been sippin?

Technically the NBA GOAT discussion should begin & end with Bill Russell. I don't see anybody putting their achievements up against his.

Kareem weighs in on GOAT question. "Jordan, Kobe, LeBron, Magic, etc. can all go F themselves & then build me my damn statue!"

To which Karl Malone added "The guy under seven feet tall who scored most points in NBA career is the best of all time. Guys like Kareem and Wilt had it too easy."

Let me settle this GOAT debate once & for all. There have been many NBA princes, only one true KING. Bernard

If you HAVE to pick a guy to be GOAT, with various variables and intangibles thrown into equation, the greatest player ever (i.e. most complete skill set) is probaby Oscar Robertson

If LeBron had played under 90's rules of allowable physicality, he'd be lesser than what we know him to be. If MJ had had today's offensive freedom, he'd have been even greater.

Ultimately you need to see full range of player's career to make an informed judgment. Right now MAYBE you can compare Jordan and James peak to peak

Mr. Bryant was not mentioned by Pippen but surely cannot be excluded from this conversation. I'm waiting to see how Kobe adapts over the next couple years with much less lift to work with. Then I’ll compare him to Michael Jordan who smoothly transitioned from a sky high player to one who excelled from closer to the ground. I’m not even thinking of LeBron as a GOAT candidate yet. He’s a work in progress, or at least his career is still progressing even if his skill set is now as good as it will ever be. LeBron, who entered the league with unparalleled fanfare, may or may not eclipse all who came before him.

RT @ScottiePippen (the guy who got this mess started when many indeed did get him wrong) Don't get me wrong, MJ was and is the greatest. But LeBron could by all means get to his level someday.

Forget GOAT. I'm not even convinced LeBron is better than Carmelo Anthony. And I'm not just saying this because Melo is on the Knicks now. This opinion was formed when he played for the Nuggets, which is why I was in favor of giving up the farm for him.

What remains beyond question is that Michael Jordan to this day is the best marketed athlete of all time. Everything fell into place for him.

MJ's advisers told him do a sneaker line, commercials with Spike Lee, cartoon movie to reach the next generation of consumers. Lebron's advisers suggested THE DECISION. So clearly there's no argument about which phenomenal athlete had the better off court team.

LeBron would've won titles if he replaced MJ on 90's Bulls. I assume this can be shown by simulating it on a variety of video game systems. MJ probably doesn't win titles with 2000's Cavs, even more of a 1-man team than Derrick Rose’s Bulls. MJ maybe leaves Cleveland as LeBron did, but surely not to join a guy like D-Wade who legitimately stakes his own claim to considered the best in the league at this time.

Much as this Knicks fan hated MJ back in the day, I decided he was GOAT when Ewing went out to double him so MJ dished to Bill Wennington for game winning dunk. I’m referring of course to Jordan’s 55 point game in his return to Madison Square Garden after coming back to league from mini-retirement. The lack of ego display by a most egotistical individual and the determination to win by any means necessary impressed me more than most of his game winning shots.

A big part of what makes a guy considered GOAT is singlular moments. Wilt's 100, Kobe's 81, MJ's 55 in MSG comeback. What is LeBron's signature? I’d say despite many incredible games that he’s still in search of one.

Archived thoughts on the matter:
Piece written about LeBron shortly before he joined NBA - The Art of Being Michael Jordan

Sugar and Spice and Sports Fanatics

2011-05-23T06:22:00.000-07:00

In addition to Obama's presidency, another sign to me that the world is a better place today than my childhood is the significantly increased number of legitimate female sports fans
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I’m sure female sports fans, particularly on Twitter, face a certain amount of sexism about authenticity of their fandom. Here’s my theory…
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The biggest jerk of a male sports fan knows a woman is capable of enjoying & knowing as much about sports as any guy. However…
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Most guys as boys dream of being a sports star someday. Some know it’s just a dream from start, some think it may really happen for years
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When you grow up fantasizing about pro sports stardom (which I still do all the time, btw), it deeply invests you in fandom. You’re living vicariously
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Most women don’t come to sports fandom through quite the same route. Rarely envisioned themselves as pro QB for obvious reason
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So illogically or not, due to his boyhood daydreams a sexist dude will conclude his sports fandom is far more legitimate than that of any woman
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Does this mindset extend to women who are pro sports journalists and broadcasters and commentators? Yep, no doubt. Especially when they’re easy on the eyes
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Not that these guys don’t recognize a place for women in the testosterone fueled world of sports. That place would be on the sidelines and those women are called cheerleaders
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And as Penny Marshall taught us, women less interested in the condition of their nail polish than their sisters in estrogen do have leagues of their own. But the female fans of which I speak are not those drawn to the WNBA. I’m talking about those who root for sports played at the most elite level, and that means watching the guys
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There are men who will never truly accept/acknowledge the existence of women who live for highlight reels and walk off victories and knockout punches and thunderous dunks and bone crunching tackles and recitation of stats from memory as much as them
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But these dudes need to get over themselves and realize they now have more things to talk to more women about than ever before.
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Current stream of thought reminds me of a day when I was playing 2-hand touch with my crew as a kid and this girl wanted to play with us
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She ended up having an amazing game, not because she was so athletic, but because we were afraid to mistakenly touch girlie parts
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This girl was not very attractive. Only thing worse than being slugged for touching boobs is being slugged while deriving no pleasure from it
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I wonder to this day if she thought she was too fast for us to catch or realized the secret of her success.
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I watch and know A LOT about sports but concede A LOT of women in my tweetstream know more than I do. No knock on my manhood.
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Sports blogs that routinely show bikini clad women (which I personally appreciate in piggish fashion) to attract men probably alienate more potential readers than realized
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This is my second time blogging about women’s appreciation for sports. The first time I posed a question and learned that the answer is FOOTBALL

Ample Evidence to the Contrary

2011-05-19T17:14:00.000-07:00

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For chance to win a 5 x 7 Lil Black Princess print such as examples shown above, CLICK HERE

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Recently an evolutionary psychologist named Satoshi Kanazawa wrote an article for Psychology Today with the provacative title - "Black Women Are Less Physically Attractive Than Other Women". I didn't read it, nor do I plan to, and I don't suggest you do either which is why I'm not linking to it. Google if you wish. Why Psychology Today published such obvious foolishness is beyond me. But they did, so I decided to write this rebuttal. And although it isn't backed up by a bunch of advanced degrees and doesn't have much of a page count, a glance below shows clearly that I've won the debate by a landslide. Because even though I hate as a writer to admit it, often times pictures do effortlessly speak 1000 well placed words. Sometimes they imply that Mr. Kanazawa probably got shot down by one sista too many and decided to vent his frustration in the most absurd manner. You didn't need to hear his nonsense just as you probably don't need me to tell you you're beautiful. But I'm telling you anyway.

p.s. - Congratulations to the new Miss Universe - Leila Lopes

Satoshi Kanazawa finally gets around to apologizing (so he can keep his job)

Latest Book Reviews

2011-05-10T13:13:00.000-07:00

SAG HARBOR - Colson Whitehead is a wonderful writer. Although I wasn't a Sag Harbor summer kid myself, the author and I are about the same age so much of his reminiscing about his experiences as a 15 year old stirred similar memories I possess. Sag Harbor is a work of fiction, not a memoir, but it reads as much like the latter than as a novel, and no doubt it was largely inspired by the author's youthful days. Not a whole lot happens in Sag Harbor, basically a group of teenagers kill the abundance of time they have on hand, and I know plenty of readers would have a problem with this. I wouldn't have minded if the story had been more eventful, not that books must be bang bang shoot 'em up to impress me. After all, if you're writing a memoir about a period of time when nothing particularly earth shattering took place but it nonetheless was vivid in your thoughts because it was a critical period of your life, then you need to be true to what did and didn't happen. But if you're writing a novel, certainly you can feel free to throw in a little drama. Whitehead resists this temptation and simply gives us a first person tale about an introspective person on a summer vacation somewhere roughly in between the end of his childhood and beginning of his manhood. What does Benji think about as he makes his transition to becoming Ben? For the most part he reflects on his days up to that point for he knows they will soon be coming to an end, and he wonders what the future will hold for him. He holds memories that are both crystal clear and cloudy. As for his insight into tomorrow, like the rest of us he can only guess a little and hope a lot.

The Picture of Dorian Grey (Oscar Wilde) - I knew what this story was about long before finally reading it. That's probably common. The famous premise is a fascinating one, though I found myself wondering if the narrative would have been even more impactful if written as a short story or novella length rather than stretched out to a full novel. The Lord Henry character who serves the purpose of putting bad ideas in Dorian's head gives multiple speeches throughout detailing his hedonistic world view. If the number or word count of these lectures was cut in half I don't think the story would suffer much from the absence. Another decision made by Oscar Wilde was not to show readers very much of Dorian's behavior. His first act of cruelty is laid out before us as is his final one, but in between we are only told that his bad reputation precedes him without being shown what he has done to earn it. It's left to our imagination. A few more scenes exhibiting decadent behavior rather than various dinner party conversations in which a pro decadence philsophy is expressed would have made for a juicier read. Would it have made for a better read? That's arguable, as perhaps it also is whether this book is intententially homoerotic or simply written during a time when heterosexual men were much more comfortable going on and on about how good looking a guy was. What's beyond debate is that Oscar Wilde came up with a great idea to build a story around, one that is as timeless as the desire for eternal youth.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsson) - I wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. Larsson's debut novel and the two sequels that were published either simultaneously or else in rapid succession have topped Best Sellers lists for what feels like forever. As happened previously to me with the first Harry Potter book and The DaVinci Code, curiosity won out. I was unable to let the cult phenomenon pass me by. But I was not overwhelmed when finally getting around to reading it. The character this novel is named after is its strength, even if the story is not primarily about her. Her distinctive personality and outlook set her apart from cookie cutter characters to be found in many genre titles. But the writing (or it's translation) was mediocre at best and as for the plot, it's engaging but by no means tremendously original. This is a whodunnit, but the ending is not especially difficult to guess at least partially if not completely. I don't even consider myself a particularly strong follower of clues in mystery novels, but one does not need to be Nostradamus to make accurate predictions here. I'm by no means trashing the book. It's fairly engaging and certainly easy to read. But my verdict is that unlike many others, I don't feel compelled to read parts 2 & 3. I'm fine with waiting until the inevitable movie adaptations hit cable. There is no shortage of thrillers/mysteries that are equally or more compelling than this book. The things I can think of that made Larsson's work stand apart are the Swedish setting (which is really no big deal), the fact that the author died after delivering the manuscripts but before publication, and that they were published basically at the same time so readers who enjoyed the first could go immediately to the second and then the third title in the series. Immediate gratification. The mystery of why these books became such huge sellers is a much more puzzling one than those Larsson writes about. But perhaps things get juicier as one delves deeper into the series.

Middle Passage (Charles Johnson) - What a wonderful, powerful, thought provoking, surprising read. The first two attributes are on account of Charles Johnson's mastery of the written word. His prose grips the reader from first sentence and doesn't let go for a second. It goes by so quickly that I found myself wishing it had been padded to last another 50 pages or more. Why was it surpising? Well, I expected it to focus primarily on the horrific middle passage in which people were enslaved and transported in barbaric fashion from Africa to America. And the bulk of this book does in fact describe such a voyage. But before we get to it we are introduced to the protagonist, a fascinating character who is a freed slave that ends up on the ship basically by accident as he flees to avoid a forced marriage to his impatient girlfriend, a seemingly mild mannered lady who has taken matrimonial matters into her own hands in rather brutish fashion. Once he is aboard ship and particularly once it has monstrously taken on cargo, which includes not only members of an ancient African tribe but also their god, the narrative is so intense and perilous and chock full of life and death double dealing on the unpredictable high seas, that the early part of the novel is mostly forgotten. But without giving too much away, as Middle Passage reaches its conclusion suddenly we are back in the world of the original cast of characters. The physically battered protagonist is much changed mentally and emotionally due to his adventurous ordeal. But he has one last dangerous set of circumstances to navigate before he can be fully saved. Ironically, being saved means opting for a degree of monogamy and commitment that his avoidance of got him into so much trouble in the first place. Freedom has an entirely different definition to him from beginning of the story to the end. So yes, this book as expected was about the atrocities of the slave trade. But slavery is more of a backdrop than focus of the action packed tale. What it ultimately ends up being about is the lengths a man goes to live a carefree existence, and what he must go through to learn that caring for people other than himself is a far superior way to live.

LATEST REVIEW OF PATCHES OF GREY found at Reads 4 Pleasure

‎5 Best Books About Surviving the Teen Years: at The Sunday Book Review

Find of the Day: Web site featuring titles sold as ebooks for as little 99 cents - 99CentNetwork

On my birthday I significantly discounted cost of Kindle edition of Patches of Grey, which was of no use to you if you happen to be a Nook owner who shops at Barnes & Noble web site. Well pout no more because the Nook edition is now on sale as well for just $2.99

Excerpt from Feeding the Squirrels - Video

2011-04-11T08:08:00.000-07:00

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If intrigued by what you hear, my novella Feeding the Squirrels is sold by SynergEbooks. They publish in every variety of electronic format and you can find it anyplace where ebooks are sold. If you own a Nook, head on over to the Barnes and Noble web site. If you're in possession of a Kindle, next time you're shopping at Amazon give it a download. If you write reviews of the books you've read, I'd appreciate seeing what you have to say. Happy Reading!

Sale of the Century

2011-03-22T11:37:00.000-07:00

Jay Z raps that he has 99 problems but a female dog ain’t one. Well STOP THE PRESSES, because if you have 99 cents and a Kindle then you too have no problem. No problem obtaining my novel Patches of Grey, that is. March 23rd is my birthday and I’ve decided to mark the occasion in a most celebratory fashion by giving a gift to you. By you, I mean the book buying public. I mean those of you always on the look out not only for a great read, but also a great deal. I mean those of you for which cost may have once been an object, but no more, because it has been reduced from $8.99 to $0.99. My math is terrible but I believe that's a savings of something like 89%! And there's no waiting in a long line to bring it up on your screen. You are now less than a buck and a few mouse clicks away from having an electronic copy of my debut novel in your possession. If you’d prefer to hold a bound copy in hand, if you’re still an old school ink and paper type soul, you can spend a little more to obtain the printed edition from Amazon or one of the independent booksellers that carries it. If you’d like an autographed copy then you’ll need to purchase one directly from me via PayPal. But if all you care to have is the story itself, and if you are currently a Kindle owner or else destined to become one in the not too distant future, your wallet is an extremely light hit away from reading my book. How long will this mega sale last? Well, that’s up to you. I’m not under the impression that Patches of Grey will be making me a rich man. My goal is simply for as many people to read it as possible. I put a tremendous amount of work into it, happen to feel that it’s a fantastic impactful story, and would love for a significant amount of people to check it out and judge for themselves. So long as a respectful number of readers are deciding to give it a shot, the Kindle edition of Patches of Grey will remain at the budget friendly price of 99 cents. To reach the maximum count of people I suppose I could just give it away, but I’m feeling generous, not crazy. Once you’ve read my novel I really hope to hear your thoughts on it. Please leave a line or two on Amazon or GoodReads.com or your book review blog or wherever it is you state opinions on the books that come into your lives. I look forward to finding out what you think, just as I'm anxious to finish the edit of my second novel Matters of Convenience, get it out there, and learn how you feel about that one also. Then once again there will be cause to celebrate. My uncopyrighted motto is "Another Day, Another Milestone". So what are you waiting for? If you’re thinking of getting me something for my birthday, I’ve just given you a mighty big clue what I'd value and cherish most of all. You may come to find that you've given yourself a wonderful gift as well.

Happy Reading!

p.s. - Please check out my interview at Kindle Author where I talk about, well, being an author, being published on Kindle, my novel Patches of Grey, and a whole lot more

Rivalry Revisited

2011-03-17T07:05:00.000-07:00

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ESPN recently aired their latest 30/30 documentary about the famous/infamous Fab 5 team from Michigan. Their rivalry with Duke was by necessity a major area of focus. Jalen Rose talks about (and as producer he could of course include and exclude whatever he wished) his impression at the time that Duke recruited black players who were “Uncle Toms.” This didn’t go over well with at least one of those former Duke players – Grant Hill. So there was a little back and forth between them, none of it actually face to face, much of it sent indirectly towards the other rather than naming names. On Twitter Jalen wrote: “I didn’t say anything in the doc that I didn’t say to a players FACE”. Okay, not sure how this excuses the idiocy of his thought process. At best it gives him more “street cred”, something that a so called Uncle Tom would of course be sorely lacking. Jalen continued: “For those MOANING about how something or someone was portrayed in the doc note that it was FRAMED from 1991-1993 not 2011 #quit crying.”

The moaning Jalen Rose referred to was an Op Ed piece written by Grant Hill and published by the New York Times in rebuttal to characterizations made in the documentary. He speaks eloquently for himself so I won’t bother to do much summarizing - [Hill's own words]. Bottom line, Grant Hill does not agree with nor appreciate what Jalen Rose had to say. No surprise there. But what I did find somewhat alarming was people taking sides on Twitter, with a surprisingly robust amount on Team Rose. I’m not talking about people who thought Hill overreacted because Rose was expressing the way he felt in the distant past as a teen, not his current opinions as a grown man with public platform. It’s not entirely clear to what degree Jalen has changed his tune but I’ll take him at his tweet that the mentality was “framed from 1991-1993 not 2011”. No, I’m referring to people who believe that what Jalen Rose said and felt in 1991-1993 was then and is today still valid. Certainly if they think Rose was accurately describing Hill then they themselves describe countless African Americans in such manner. For what sins? Growing up in a two parent home? Getting a college degree? Or perhaps a degree is okay but better not be obtained from too “white acting” a college. Having a corporate job? Speaking in grammatically correct sentences? Writing eloquently? Marrying a white woman? Wait up, Grant Hill didn’t even do that last one. But surely he intends to one day dump Tamia for Kim Kardashian. That’s what Uncle Toms do, no? Perhaps I should have picked someone less ethnic than Kim to make a stronger point. Dame Judi Dench?

Grant Hill’s response may very well have been overkill, but I know why he reacted strongly and I’m glad he did. His rebuttal was not merely directed at Jalen Rose but at everyone who ever thought of him (or any other black person) in such a manner, including all those tweeters I just mentioned. What I read in his words is what I’ve always believed in my heart. There is no right or wrong way to be black. There’s no one way to be black at all. There’s simply being human in the best manner you can manage, regardless of your particular set of window dressing. Be who you are and don’t quietly let anyone disrespect you on account of it. But when they inevitably do, it will always say a whole lot more about them than it says about you.

Below are some thoughts I expressed on the matter one tweet at a time, with a few retweets of sentiments expressed by others sprinkled in. What’s your take?

Didn't see the Fab 5 documentary, just tweets about it. Only catching up now to controversial remarks by Jalen Rose & Grant Hill's response.

The concept that if u aren't "keeping it real", speaking mostly slang, dressing 4 opposite of success, classifies u as "Uncle Tom" must die.

I'm tired of black people beating up on black people for not being "black enough". Progress impossible if holding your own self back

The most devout Jew doesn't criticize another for being less Jewish. Super Italian doesn't diss another for not being Italian enough. But blacks…

Complexion adds a whole other layer of complexity. U can wear dashiki & afro & keep fist raised in air all day, but u light skinned? Denied.

As if people are selecting how much DNA from which branches of the humanity tree they wish to have. That's 5 yrs down the road, minimum

Melanin argument is at least tangible. Retarded, but tangible. Calling someone "not black" because they like to read & excel at math? WTF?!

No people are more bigoted against black people than certain black Americans. There, I said it. It's factual. I see proof on here EVERY DAY.

Just let people be whoever it is they happen to be. If they're not personally f'ing with you, their mode of existence isn't your concern.

p.s.- White people are way less preoccupied w/ keeping blacks down than you may believe. Most people of all races are simply looking out for selves.

And by "selves" I don't mean members of same race. I mean you look out for your own damn self, then your family, then out from there.

You give the biggest white bigot a choice between doing something racist for hell of it or accepting $100, cash gets snatched 9-10 times.

And that's the biggest bigot I'm talking about. Most of you have been lucky enough never to have actually met that A-hole, whoever he may be.

So in the words of my man Spike Lee - WAKE UP. After that, get smart & get paid. After that, give back to your community & world at large.

And as you'll see if you check out tweets by @ClarenceGaines2 most know zilch about Uncle Tom & are insulting incorrectly. READ A BOOK!!!

Surely there are black men out there named Tom who have nephews & nieces. Does this pose a problem for them?

RT @ToureX Grant notes that in the doc Jalen leaves it unclear what he now feels about Black Dukies. His tweeted "clarification" isn't clarifying much.

RT @rodimusprime: Uncle Tom thing is more abt class at this point than it is about race.
To which I replied - Name 1 white man not named Tom ever called Uncle Tom

Fact: No man of any race ever felt badly about being called an Uncle Nate Dogg. Simply implies improved quality by mere presence.

RT @LLCoolChels Bottom line is GH has a right to respond and defend who he was THEN and where he came from just like JR has a right to tell his story.

There is no intelligent explanation for an ignorant opinion. "I was young & misinformed" is the best anybody has ever come up with.

I'm older but not any wiser is a particularly poor argument.

Calling someone an "Uncle Tom" is not matter of perspective (as I just saw somebody categorize it) in most cases, just plain wrong.

RT @Brandale2221 As a Person who has been labeled BOTH an Uncle Tom & a COON .. both by black folks...IMO the problem is how we label ourselves.

To all those tweeps out there raising your kids in two parent households or being raised in one yourself, keep Tomming.

RT @BritniDWrites Folks shld be happy Rose is able to articulate his past hurt & isn't knocking somebody upside the head cuz he can't express his emotions.
To which I replied - Interesting point. I suppose a documentary is slightly less blunt than a bat upside the head.

Birthday Book Giveaway

2011-03-15T06:42:00.000-07:00

Spring is approaching, flower buds are appearing, my birthday is nearing, a big announcement from me is forthcoming, and the contest at GoodReads.com for a chance to win a free copy of Patches of Grey is officially underway. Good luck!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Patches of Grey

by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Giveaway ends March 23, 2011.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Fighting Words

2011-02-25T06:22:00.001-08:00

Someone once said for the first time ever that a picture speaks a thousand words. In the case of the image down below, a picture and one sentence speak volumes. Many New Yorkers were startled to spot this bold billboard in New York City yesterday, the number and region increasing as the media spotlighted it and inevitably it became a hot topic on Twitter, emphasis on HOT. Abortion is not an issue that people have carefree opinions about. Those on one side of the debate feel as passionately as those on the opposite, and even people who attempt to straddle the fence are unable to do so in a casual manner. Rhetoric on abortion rights is often tossed about in the game of political football, but abortion does not neatly fall into a category where Democrats unite in one perspective and Republicans all join hands in opposition. If you're not Pro Life you must be Pro Death, if you're not Pro Choice you must be Anti Choice. Of course the reality of perspectives is not nearly so elementary. Everyone agrees (I think) that in an ideal world no woman would ever feel compelled to have an abortion. And the right to make your own choice free of duress is the American way. So when the choice an American woman makes is at the expense of the unborn, sparks fly as ideologies clash.

The creators of the feather ruffling billboard cranked up the temperature on a matter already boiling over by making it race specific. By targeting African Americans rather than women in general (or people in general since baby making tends to be a joint activity) cries of racism were inescapable. The commentary made was a punch to the gut of every person who identifies themselves as being Black. I certainly felt the sucker punch. But after the initial reaction there was divergence of opinion. Some felt that with the bombardment of messages we receive today, resorting to shock value in such an instance is a necessary evil. Better to disturb people into contemplation than being subtle at the risk of being ignored. Others started off furious and remained that way, feeling that their Blackness, their Womanhood, and their Black Womanhood had all been assaulted.

I have zero intention of preaching my personal views about abortion here. Nor will I delve into the subject of racial sensitivity at the moment. You can browse previous postings for my take on identity and sometimes misplaced pride. Reactions and opinions from all parties about the billboard shown below are valid. I'll just stick with the facts as I understand them to be, and common sense as I am best able to render it. Taking a side is often more tempting that trying to see both of them, but for now I'll resist temptation.

The billboard informs us in jarring fashion that abortion is the number one cause of death in the African American community. We are not told where it ranks with any other ethnic groups or throughout the world at large, which implies (honestly or not I do not know) that African Americans abort fetuses at a higher rate than anyone else. If factual, awareness of the truth is never a bad thing. Awareness precedes action and I don't believe anyone can convincingly argue against trying to lower the ranking. Debates therefore should take place about WHO is best suited to deliver this message, WHERE it is best done, WHEN are the most suitable occassions, WHY the bearer of such news is delivering it (political gain being the least acceptable reason), and most importantly, HOW we should move to prevent a sad statistic from becoming an epidemic. Teen abstinence certainly needs to take a seat at the bargaining table along with information and availability of contraceptives. But we know that in spite of education attempts such measures will not be taken in a great many situations (such as when your mother is the governor of Alaska as one example), so conversation must be had about how next to proceed.

I have written about my advocacy for increased awareness in a positive light about the option of Adoption. The quandary of abortion is a theme addressed in my first novel Patches of Grey and a central issue of my second - Matters of Convenience. I personally did not need to see a billboard to be stirred into thought on this subject. But perhaps some people did. Yesterday on Twitter I wrote "You can rarely convince anyone of anything if you start off by insulting them". At most you can prod them, probably into outrage at your audacity rather than into problem resolution mode. So I cannot say of the billboard as if running for office that I approve of this message, because in fact I do not approve of the offensive way in which it was presented. What I do wholeheartedly approve of is people declaring that enough is enough, taking accountability, and then doing something worthwhile about it.

Article on what went up and down

The Case Against Book Segregation

2011-02-16T07:00:00.000-08:00

I realize that in large part it’s nothing personal. It’s the nature of business to categorize. Had I used the word “segregate” a negative connotation probably would have come to mind, but it’s basically interchangeable with the benign “categorize”. There is a reason why the various arts are broken down into sections or genres wherever you go to buy units. It makes things easier, easier for the merchants and easier for the buying public. Imagine a large supermarket that did not have signs above each aisle giving a general rundown of what is to be found. I don’t go to Pathmark because I’m fond of scavenger hunts. My goal is to be quickly in and out, which means I have no interest in playing guessing games to figure out where the eggs are and where the bread is and where they store the meat. The easier it has been made for us to find what we want, the better, right?

Should the arts be treated like produce and other items to stick in the pantry or fridge? Business is business, shopping is shopping, so I suppose the answer to a certain degree must be yes. But this leads us to ask - where should the categorization and classification end? At what point does a store decide that they have been adequately clear about what can be found where, no more sub-division necessary?

I’d say that record stores manage reasonably well. It doesn’t matter whether I venture into Tower Records or f.y.e. or an independent shop. In either of those situations if I’m looking for a Miles Davis CD I know to head to the jazz section. I don’t need to find the Black Jazz section or else settle for Dave Brubeck. There is no such thing as the White Jazz section, or the White anything else shelf for that matter. When I want to pick up an Eminem CD, heading to the Rap/Hip Hop area is all I need to do because there is no “Category Where Being White is the Exception Rather than the Rule” section. Those looking for Charley Pride will find him on the Country music shelf next to his mostly white colleagues. Somehow it works out fine and music shoppers find what they're looking for.

But at many non-specialty bookstores, rather than employing a similar system to that of the record store, whiteness is assumed to be the standard. Black authors therefore become defined as Exceptions. The decision has been made to lump most titles by African American authors (Black authors really, since Black European, Black African and Black West Indian authors will be treated no differently from each other) together. If you’re a science fiction fan you’ll find a sign indicating where the Sci-Fi titles are. But if you’re a Black Sci-Fi fan, turn left and walk another five feet. What the heck is that all about? Why is the bookstore the lone remaining place where Jim Crow is still in effect? Black people marched and fought to eat in the same restaurants, go to the same public restrooms, take the same front row seats on the bus, attend the same schools, vote in the same elections. But when it comes to the bookstore suddenly we’re back to separate and unequal treatment. Why? And why are more people not complaining about and trying to change this state of affairs?

Well, if you strictly enjoy reading fiction by Black authors that feature black characters, the separation of such books certainly makes for easy shopping. Heaven forbid such a reader should be forced to linger awhile and wade through titles by multi-ethnic authors to find what they’re looking for. If this was the case, readers in exclusive search for “Black books” possibly would end up also grabbing a novel by a White or Latin or Asian author that caught their interest. The opposite scenario would become equally plausible. A fan of Mystery could end up grabbing one by a White author and one by a Black author because the cover copy on both books was equally intriguing. Everyone wants to find precisely what it is that they’re looking for, but there is also undeniable joy in finding what you didn’t know you were looking for until coming across it. Life is chock full of pleasant surprises to be unearthed, except for some reason at the bookstore.

I’ve heard it argued that there are authors in favor of book segregation. If one writes with an extremely narrow audience in mind then I suppose they want what they’ve written to appear where it is most likely to most quickly be found. The author of a Black Western may not want his book next to Louis L’Amour because he believes, perhaps correctly, that more sales will be made due to placement on the No Tanning Bed Necessary shelf. If my perspective was one of pure selfishness perhaps I could relate to such a stance, but I’m holding on to the quaint notion that legitimate authors of all races write books that they hope everybody will read. And “everybody” will not bother to peruse the Black Only shelf, especially because publishers have been somewhat narrow minded about the subject matter of fiction geared to African Americans that they’ve elected to put out. I won’t cast full blame on the publishing houses though because their main concern is making a profit. They print what they believe will sell based on what has been proven in the past. Readers are the true decision makers, deciding what will be published by deciding what they'll buy.

If 8 out of 10 books on the "Black Shelf" are about gangstas and hoochie mamas in the ‘hood, few who are not interested in this topic will go out of their way to discover the other two titles that may be of broader interest. In order to read a book people must be able to find it, both on purpose and by fortunate accident. There are independent bookstores that are the equivalent of a large Black Only shelf for those writing and shopping by skin tone, just as there are schools, churches, nightclubs, even whole neighborhoods to be found that primarily cater to black folk. There’s also a month designated to paying attention to historic achievements by black people, inferring that it’s okay to ignore them the other eleven months. Better one month than none, I guess. I’m fine with places (and calendar designations) that opt to specialize, but I believe the existence of locations that generalize is also critical. I feel this way for social reasons, political reasons, moral reasons, and literary reasons.

Returning to the grocery analogy for a moment, when food shopping I aim to buy gluten free when feasible. If a store doesn't stock it in isolation from other foods then I have to do a fair amount of label reading. I’ve accepted that I need to shop at a slower pace to do ingredients scanning. If acceptable in a grocery store then certainly I shouldn’t mind doing a little reading in a bookstore. After all, love of reading is why I’m there in the first place. I go to a bookstore in search of stories. Not black stories, not white stories, just stories. Make that, just good stories. If by chance I do happen to be in a particular mood for "good black stories", I don't mind wading through some non-Black books to find them.

Let me reiterate that I'm not against book categorization in general. There are even cases where I wouldn't mind additional subdivisions to those already in existence. For example, I’d have no problem whatsoever if all awful books were placed together so I wouldn’t need to brush past them in my search for quality literature. However, although it’s becoming increasingly common to find food labeled GF for Gluten Free, no bookstore or library as of yet has been bold enough to label novels GF for Good Fiction. The meaning of “Good” is too subjective, and even it was defined by some panel American Idol style, many would ignore the labels because they only care about what is good to them personally. They might strictly be interested in vampires, or in chick lit, or in horror, or in espionage, or in erotica. But is it really necessary for each of these categories to be further carved up into White version and Black version? If you feel it should be necessary because you’re pressed for time, don’t worry, book mixing won’t mean you’ll have to do a bunch of unnecessary reading while choosing something to read. Just look at the picture on the cover. Chances are if you find Fabio (or whoever the contemporary edition of Fabio may be) flexing his chest on the front, you are not in possession of a Black Romance title.

Rock and Roll did not become ROCK AND ROLL until it left the Black Only shelf and was made prominent to a general audience. Same thing for Hip Hop. Where you end up is supposed to be on a grander scale than where you started out if ambition is present. With the exception of a small handful of crossover stars, most residents of the Black Shelf will never gain broad recognition if they don’t make it to the center aisle where the majority of the population does their browsing. In the 21st century black authors should not have to stage sit-ins and marches for the right to equal shelving.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sadly noteworthy news of the day: Borders has filed for bankruptcy

"It has become increasingly clear that in light of the environment of curtailed customer spending, our ongoing discussions with publishers and other vendor related parties, and the company's lack of liquidity, Borders Group does not have the capital resources it needs to be a viable competitor and which are essential for it to move forward with its business strategy to reposition itself successfully for the long term." – Mike Edwards, President of Borders

List of Borders stores that will be closing
#

As an author I’m personally not affected by the plight of Borders at this time as they do not carry my novel Patches of Grey. I decided to go with Amazon and Barnes & Noble along with both brick & mortar and online independent booksellers when choosing homes for it. As a book buyer however I’m saddened by the closing of any store, especially such a major player as Borders. I truly hope bookstores big & small are not going the way of the dinosaur because rather than frequenting them, people instead are finding coffee shops in which to read off the screens of their electronic reading device of choice. But perhaps such a fate is inevitable. If so, we’ll adapt as always. The most important thing is that no matter how we end up reading them, great stories continue to be written and distributed.

Readings for Black History Month and Beyond

2011-02-02T11:57:00.000-08:00

I recently compiled a list of titles for FlashlightWorthyBooks.com that explore race relations in America from days of slavery to the modern era. Most deal with the complex relationship between African Americans and White Americans, with the exception of one that focuses on Japanese Americans struggling to be seen as simply American citizens. From the days of enforced servitude where the nature of a one sided power struggle was characterized by evil and blatant cruelty, to contemporary times where much has changed for the better yet problematic attitudes persist on all sides, the issues addressed by such literature are not simplistic. My goal therefore was to present a broad range of perspectives rather than one dominated by a particular outlook.

To check out what I had to say about each novel and perhaps decide to add some of them to your own reading list, CLICK HERE

Paintings shown above are by Erin Rogers Pickering and James Ransome. Photographer who took picture of boy reading is unknown.

In honor of Black History month in addition to my book list I also created a treasury from art selected on Etsy. So much fantastic stuff to choose from but I was confined to maximum of 16 items so selected with great care. Check it out

What do YOU read?

2011-01-20T16:59:00.000-08:00

The following posting was originally written as consecutive tweets on Twitter. I routinely see interesting observations and links to informative articles about the world of book publishing when I'm on there, but I also find plenty that troubles me. The latter is what inspired this series of mini soundbites bemoaning what publishers are opting to print, which of course is prompted first and foremost by what people are choosing to read. Once done with school and no longer in possession of a required reading list, we're on our own to decide what to fill our heads with. I like a little brain candy sometimes as much as the next person, but as we were warned as children, if you consume too much sugar while neglecting fruits and vegetables and other stuff critical for your development, inevitably important things will start to rot.

In recent days, understandably, I’ve seen various sarcastic shots taken over the fact that reality star Snooki has a Best Selling book out. I joined in too, remarking on my sobering suspicion that there’s likely more I can relate to in her book, regardless of what percentage of the writing she actually contributed to it, than the various vampire novels pubbed seemingly hourly.

Those following my tweet of thought probably think I have a major problem with vampire fiction. My sister, for example. But that’s not the case. I believe ALL topics are fair game for literary examination.

In the vampire milieu I’ve enjoyed 2-3 Anne Rice titles & The Historian. Fine reading indeed.

What I take issue with is formulaic writing, cookie cutter books churned out like so many near identical widgets on an assembly line.

The appeal of such books to anyone over the age of 10 continues to elude me. At some point a mature person should demand more bang for their buck, no?

Some people crave a particular genre. Okay, c’est la vie. They don’t know what they’re missing by refusing to be more adventurous but...

Hopefully those who exclusively plunder a single category within a particular genre at least try to find whatever diversity may exist there.

But at what point is there simply nothing new to say about how cool vampires are? Surely the possibilities have been exhausted by now.

I can only conclude there are people so anti brain use that they basically read the same book over & over, the next version of it already pre-ordered.

Obviously those who churn this stuff out are out to make a buck, plain & simple. They require & expect no comparison to Faulkner.

I’m cool with capitalism & what it yields. Some enter the medical field to save lives, some for $. Some enter the law profession to fight for justice, some for $. Writing is no different.

There are authors who hope that their books will be assigned to your great great grandkids in school one day, others who are simply looking to make quick cash.

I have no beef with those who write from the wallet rather than heart. Where there is demand, someone will always take advantage & supply.

I suppose this means I have a problem with readers so unimaginative that they refuse to digest any more than one flavor of book. This practice simply astounds me. Could you eat the same thing everyday? Watch the same movie & nothing but? Listen to the same song to the exclusion of all others? Surely this would become maddening.

If nobody was affected by such singleness of purpose, no harm done I suppose. But there is an effect from such mindsets. Fresh, bold books by legitimately talented writers do not see the light of day because shelf space in what bookstores are still left standing is taken up by the 30th title in some insipid series.

So I funnel my frustration toward those who know not what they do, even though I firmly believe in freedom of choice, which includes the right to make bad choices.

I suppose I’m left with no option but to be peeved at God. Hopefully HE/SHE reads my tweets or this blog.

What are your thoughts on this topic? Do you wholeheartedly agree or vehemently oppose my opinion? Have at it. This space is very lonely without reader feedback.

If I've offended anyone for any reason, most likely I meant to. Sorry about that. This space is meant to express the truth as I see it, not to conform. Hope that doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.

Here's my reading list: past, present & future. What do YOU read?

This is the sort of thing that happens in a world such as our very own when pseduo celebrities and trend followers are glorified at the expense of true storytellers. It's a sad day indeed when children learn that Snooki is a much bigger deal than Dr. Seuss.

A kinder, gentler Huck Finn - SMH

2011-01-04T11:15:00.000-08:00

Today I learned about the upcoming publication of a new edition of 'Huckleberry Finn' that is to Drop 'N' Word. "Slave" will be used in its place throughout. Beyond moronic. What purpose is served besides pissing off Twain's ghost?

I am all for the choice of black people to cease & desist use of N-word just as I don’t want to hear it from the mouths of Caucasians. But whitewashing history is as absurd as whitewashing the present.

Mark Twain wrote nigger (yeah, I said it) in his book a bunch of times for the same reason I did in mine. It's called REALISM. He wasn't writing Fantasy. What do you think slave owners called African Americans in those times? How do you think black people were treated? As if they weren't people at all, that's how. If we sugar coat our horrific past now we will convince future generations that it wasn't so bad. When you fail to properly highlight and condemn atrocities, you welcome the opportunity for repetition of history. I don't want my great great grandchildren to believe the Holocaust was a Summer picnic and slavery was a leisurely stroll through the park.

Removing the N-word from Huck Finn should get it removed it from many banned book lists, which is the strongest argument for editing. My alternate suggestion - Complain like hell & if necessary change schools if your kid attends one that refuses to respect Twain's masterpiece. I'd rather a book be banned and retain its power (curious enough minds will read it whether assigned in school or not) than rewritten to make it impotent.

As a public service perhaps hip hop artists will consider increasing N-word usage from 20 to 30 times per rap song to keep it from going extinct.

Argument for removing N-word from Huck Finn is to make text less hurtful. It's SUPPOSED TO BE hurtful. You can't heal unless you first hurt. This nation needed the smack across the face that Huckleberry Finn provided. And you know what - It still does.

A young white man reading Huck Finn as written is able to see horror & unfairness of racism, it can help make him a better man. Why dilute that?

Huckleberry Finn is one of the works that influenced me to want to write about race in my fiction. Had I read a bastardized version I’m not sure if it has quite the same effect. I suspect not though.

I include Huckleberry Finn with Native Son, Invisible Man, Soul on Ice, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, as the most powerful examinations & indictments of racism in literature. Despite my pseudo-defense of her, I'm not quite putting the wit and wisdom of Dr. Laura Schlessinger in that pantheon.

Political Correctness has got to be the greatest oxymoron of all time.

Literary censorship has its place. I was against Amazon carrying a how-to-be-a-better-Pedophile book & against shelving racist Tintin book in kid section. But The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn does not need to be censored. It needs to be celebrated for brilliance of narrative and potency of social commentary.

Then again, if Huck Finn remains on banned lists young people may resort to reading Snooki's book instead, so perhaps some language clean up isn't such a bad idea after all.

"Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot." - Adventures of Huckleberry Finn; Author's Notice.

"You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth." - Adventures of Huckleberry Finn; Opening lines of the book

"What's the use you learning to do right, when it's troublesome to do right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same?" - Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

"All right, then, I'll go to hell." - Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Books of 2010

2011-01-01T12:29:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! Hopefully 2011 will be a fantasic year for all of us. I didn't make resolutions for my plan is established and needs not be scribbled down on a piece of paper, soon to be misplaced along with my intent to follow through on most of the items. For me, 2011 will be about finishing typing up the first draft of my second novel Matters of Convenience, getting some editorial feedback while tightening it up in subsequent drafts, and once I've deemed it good to go, literary agents can expect to hear from me. I'll also have my thinking cap on this year to come up with an idea/outline for novel number three. And hopefully I'll be able to create more public awareness about novel number one - Patches of Grey. My hands will be more than full with literary goals, helping out with my wife's blossoming Etsy business however I can, and the general business of living my life and raising a daughter who is growing up far too quickly.

Something else I'd like to do in 2011 is get to my blog a bit more consistently, though I'm making no promises. Posting an entry in the first week of the year is a notable start, even if I had originally planned to post it before the ball dropped and the calendar moved. One of my favorite things about the end of each year are the lists that people put out, usually Best Of compliations. So I decided to compile my reviews of novels read in 2010. If I was one of those people capable of reading a new book every few days, I would have happily presented you with the top ten. Since my pace is considerably slower than that, I'm providing the whole shebang. Note that I'm not a book blogger who is focussed only on new publications. You will find titles that just recently hit the shelves mixed in with ones that have been around for awhile. Perhaps the reviews will steer you towards or away from some of these works, or you may simply enjoy reading what I had to say about them. As always, I love to hear from my readers so please don't be shy about leaving a comment. If you've read any of these novels let me know if you agree with what I had to say, or if you felt differently. In addition to my passion for both reading and writing, I also love to have discussions about books, to contemplate beyond the turning of the final page how they touched my life, and perhaps come to see them in a new light through the eyes of others.

Clicking on the name/author of each book will take you to the review I penned for it at GoodReads.com. Happy Reading!

Moonlight Mile by Dennis Lehane

Kindred by Octavia E. Butler

Hocus Pocus by Kurt Vonnengut

South of Broad by Pat Conroy

The Intuitionist by Colson Whitehead

Dead Long Enough by James Hawes

American Pastoral by Philip Roth

That Old Cape Magic by Richard Russo

A Swell-Looking Baby by Jim Thompson

Blind Man with a Pistol by Chester Himes

Night Fall by Nelson DeMille

New World Monkeys by Nancy Mauro

Rabbit at Rest by John Updike

The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova

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Reading of excerpt from Patches of Grey

2010-11-29T07:49:00.000-08:00

After recording an excerpt from my novel which is a little under ten minutes long, I have a new found respect for anyone who has produced an entire audio book. It was no easy task, requiring multiple takes to get through without making any significant flubs. I finally completed a full take that is to my liking in the midnight hour. Hopefully you will enjoy it as well. Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think. If you like how this excerpt sounds, I'm confident that you'll love how the full story reads on the printed or electronic page. I suppose the next logical step is to videotape myself reading aloud, or perhaps I'm ready to take the plunge and perform a public reading at a bookstore. We'll see. For now, check it out by clicking on the link below or the beautiful picture above that was painted by my extraordinarily talented wife. The audio file of my novel excerpt reading is housed at eSnips.com.

Patches of Grey - ...

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roylpickering's Stuff

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Also, a little something for your amusement. So, you think you want to write a novel?

First Come First Serve - Thanksgiving Special

2010-11-22T07:16:00.000-08:00

So here's the deal. Do you like to read great fiction? Are you a football fan? Will you be in the NY/NJ area on the 2010 edition of Turkey Day? Do you have a Paypal account? Would you be interested in attending the Thanksgiving Day game between the first place, hard knocking New York Jets and the star studded, never camera shy Cincinnati Bengals on the evening of November 25? If you've answered YES to these questions, all you need to do now is go to RoyPickering.net. The first person who does this and then proceeds to purchase a copy of my novel Patches of Grey (already a great deal at only $10) will receive a ticket to the football game as bonus prize. That's all there is to it. So what are you waiting for?

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Also noteworthy: Available just in time for the holidaze travel season - Forever Travels - Short story collection that includes my tale Dear Google

A Man's Game

2010-11-07T07:35:00.000-08:00

How do you penalize men for hitting each other while playing a sport that is all about hitting each other? How do you remove aggression from a game that is all about being aggressive? How do you fault guys for actions that take place at top speed in the blink of an eye? How do you differentiate between the malicious and the unavoidable? How do you look into a man’s heart and determine if he wanted to be where he ended up, or if his true intention was to be an inch lower, or to the right, or the left? How can you tell if someone has been betrayed by a subtle shift in momentum or the lower beasts of his nature? Does a mathematician need to do the evaluating? Or a priest? Perhaps a panel of judges with areas of expertise covering the complexities of angles, spatial relations, philosophy, morality and spirituality? To simplify matters perhaps the NFL should place electrodes in helmets and uniforms. If a helmet makes contact with any part of a player’s jersey, a buzzer goes off. If a helmet makes contact with another helmet, buzzers plus strobe lights signal that the eleventh commandment has been broken.

Does all of this sound rather impractical? Well I think so too, but the National Football League has decided enough is enough, that tackling the impossible is better than simply ignoring the situation. Minimizing migraines and spinal injuries that lead to paralysis has to be a good thing, even if the method to the madness borders on absurd. Who can say what evil lurks in the hearts of linebackers and cornerbacks and safeties? Only the shadow, as portrayed by the NFL governing body, knows. Will the game be watered down by a Safety First mindset? Will fans gripe that it’s bad enough quarterbacks are in proverbial skirts, must we now place women’s garb on wide receivers as well? Is it only a matter of time before running backs get the two hand touch – no, that can still get a little rough, make it the flag football treatment?

Will such complaints matter much in the overall picture? Surely there were those who griped when it was decided that boxers should wear gloves rather than fight bare fisted. The decision to reduce the length of major matches from 15 to 12 rounds no doubt rankled boxing purists. When I stroll down memory lane on a tour of the all-time greatest heavyweight tussles, 15-rounders seem more pure. There’s something majestic about the epic struggle to emerge as the better man over the course of those final three character revealing rounds. Is it animalistic to see purity in violence? Yes, but Homo sapiens are merely a species of animal, and violence performed with practiced skill and conforming to a strict set of rules can truly be a sweet science in the opinion of many. Otherwise the concept of Pay-Per-View probably would not exist. There's a reason more people watch the Super Bowl than choose to go to a ballet that day.

As in boxing, many measures have been taken over the years to make football safer. These measures need to be at least one step ahead of increases in size, speed, strength, and overall athleticism. If today’s NFL players still took to the field in leather helmets only a few would likely survive to the end of a game. When helmets are used as a weapon rather than a protective device, bad things can and do happen.

What also happens is the unavoidable and accidental. Should mistakes be punished to equal degree as actions taken with bad intentions? If not, how can we tell one apart from the other in order to judge fairly? This is a question without clear cut answers, my favorite kind of query. The NFL will do its best to solve the riddle, pleasing some, alienating others at least for the short term. Some of the decisions rendered will be agreed with by most, others will be as questionable as the personnell strategies of Andy Reid, Mike Shanahan and Brad Childress. Hopefully football will manage to retain the qualities that arguably make it the greatest of sports while also becoming safer for the combatants. I could have called them players/participants/athletes but used the word combatants because as we well know, tackle football is not for the faint of heart/body/soul, and with any luck it never will be.

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On a completely unrelated note please take a moment to stop by the Guys Can Read indie authors contest, and if you are so inclined, I would love to get your vote. Thanks!!!

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Book Review - SOUTH OF BROAD by Pat Conroy

2010-10-08T13:19:00.001-07:00

A lifetime of avid reading has brought many surprises my way ranging from mildly pleasant to absolutely thrilling. On occasion the pendulum swings in the other direction and I find myself disappointed by a book that did not live up to the lofty expectations I held for it. Great reviews, prestigious literary awards, and electrifying word of mouth are among the things that cause me to open a book with anticipation that my proverbial socks are about to be knocked off. But more than any of these factors, I tend to expect the best of books by authors who have wowed me with their prior efforts. I’m well aware that past success does not guarantee similar accomplisment in the future. Perhaps more so than any other endeavor, duplicating greatness time and time again is most difficult with the writing of fiction. When you see Kobe Bryant score 60 points in a game you expect that he’ll play spectacularly the next time out. Nine times out of ten he’ll do just that. He may not score 60, perhaps will only reach half that total. Thirty points is not nearly as impressive as sixty, but it’s still a damn fine effort. Great athletes tend to be consistent with the flaunting of their talent, and the same can be said of many other vocations. But when you look over the career arc of a prolific novelist, you’ll sometimes find that your favorite and least favorite books by them are oceans apart. You may find yourself wondering if the same person could have possibly written both books, particularly when they are published in the same decade. The weight of expectations from a highly successful novel can cripple an author, preventing future efforts that they fear (and rightfully so) will not live up to the reputation of its predecessor. Harper Lee is the ultimate example of this, winning the Pulitzer Prize for her first (and last) novel – To Kill a Mockingbird. We also have Margaret Mitchell who wrote the blockbuster Gone with the Wind and followed it up with…zilch, nada, nothing. Neither of them weakened their legacies with substantially weaker follow-ups to their signature works, but I’m sure they left many bummed readers hungry for more.

Up until recently the sharpest drop off I’ve experienced in enjoyment of novels by the same author would be the peak of John Irving’s The World According to Garp to the valley of his A Son of the Circus. Garp is not a very easy book to live up too, but Mr. Irving has managed to come pretty close over the course of his stellar career with brilliant works such as The Hotel New Hampshire, The Cider House Rules, A Prayer for Owen Meany. So he is easily forgiven by me for efforts that I find less impressive, especially since his worst is still better than many writers’ best.

Pat Conroy is an author who has dazzled me with the gift of his prose in the past. The Prince of Tides was a revelation. Like his other books The Great Santini and The Lords of Discipline, it was made into pretty good movie. So I dove into his latest novel, South of Broad, prepared to be floored. But this was not to be. Although the lushness of his prose when describing his beloved South Carolina continues to be on full display (various other setting elements are carried over from his previous writings as well), I did not find myself to be nearly as invested in the characters who populate South of Broad as I was in those brought to life in The Prince of Tides. Rather than feeling I was getting to know new people intimately, which is what the best of fiction does, it seemed to me that Mr. Conroy merely presented a lineup of caricatures this time out. Each of them was a specific type who spoke and acted according to predetermined dictates. The book is full of melodramatic events, and this sentence may be the greatest understatement I’ve ever made. Pretty much every tragedy other than the holocaust happens to these characters. Incestuous rape, abandoned orphans, stalking by pscho killer, flaunting of extramarital affairs in faces of spouses, suicide, AIDS, caught in a hurricane, victim of pedophile priest - you name it, this book has it. And I’d be happy to consider all of this to be a plausible series of events among a small group of friends so long as I did not feel the majority of them were cardboard cut outs rather than real people. Pat Conroy appears to be going through the motions when it comes to developing them, far more interested in putting them through the roller coaster pace of his plot while paying homage to the beauty of Charleston every few pages. There is a gay male character who perhaps literally is not given a single line of dialogue that is not sexual in nature. We get it, Pat, he’s gay. Gay people talk about more than just the fact that they’re gay, you know. The movie star is a self involved diva from beginning to end, always performing for her friends and for Conroy's readers rather than simply being a human being from time to time. The snob is a snob in all he says and does. How he doesn’t manage to permanently alienate himself from a group of people he considers himself to be far superior to is beyond me. Why he continues hanging out with people he barely finds worthy to wash his car is beyond me. Pat Conroy wrote that they will remain in each others lives for the sake of the storyline, so they do. The African American characters are noble and overachieving from beginning to end, no flaws other than an inability to tell the snob to go screw himself when he says something racist. One of the orphans becomes an upstanding citizen, the other goes crazy for no particular reason to be gleaned other than that at least 50% of those with screwed up childhoods surely will go on to become screwed up adults. The protagonist is the one character we get to know a little, although he is remarkably unemotional and reacts to pretty much everything with a flip comment. His specialty is always having a joke at the ready, delivered with a straight face. His father is a saint, his mother a bitch except for when she’s being a nun, and Toad somehow ends up as a gossip columnist who every now and then reacts to tragedy by being admitted to a mental institution when he can’t come up with a punchline. We see these characters at two points, when Toad and his friends are in high school, then years later when they go on a rescue mission to San Francisco for a couple weeks and then return to the greatest place on earth - South Carolina [Sure the south has its bigotry and rigid class distinctions separating bluebloods from the riffraff, but it’s also really really pretty]. In between these two points they have married off in pairs, sort of like the TV show Friends. Poor Toad gets the crazy one because it's his lot in life to catch bad breaks. He also lusts after the one who marries the snob because it's her destiny to be Mrs. Snob.

In Conroy’s latest effort I found far too much reader manipulation for my taste, a soap opera rather than Masterpiece Theater. Am I being harsher on this book than it deserves? I’m not sure. Perhaps if I did not come in as such a big fan of The Prince of Tides I would have given it more leeway. But regardless of how I feel about an author’s previous work in instances when I’ve read it, I can still recognize heavy handedness when I see it. I’m able to notice when an author is taking short cuts to draw emotion rather than carefully building tension, can spot border line absurd dialogue in place of what feels more natural for people to say, am capable of detecting paper thin character development when it’s evident. All of this was discovered in South of Broad. Pat Conroy’s sheer talent at constructing sentences got me to keep on pushing through to the end, and the novel's final 50 pages or so are probably the strongest. I think this is because Conroy was just about done with his plot machinations (just a twist or two or three left), so most of the characters are dispensed with, sent to the backdrop of Toad’s life, allowing the reader to spend a little one on one time with him. When he doesn’t have anyone around to make inappropriate wisecracks to, we get an extended peek at Toad’s inner thoughts and he finally starts to become interesting just in time for the book to end. Pat Conroy is an enormous talent, but South of Broad is one of his off days in my humble opinion.

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BREAKING NEWS: Patches of Grey is now available for download to a Nook at Barnes and Noble.

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BLACK SMOKE RISING

2010-09-30T07:29:00.000-07:00

BLACK SMOKE RISING
By Roy L. Pickering Jr.
(Copyright by Roy L. Pickering Jr.)

Artwork provided by Erin Rogers Pickering

You can get lost staring at flickering flame atop a candle. You can forget everything that happened while captivated by the fire’s hypnotic shimmer. As the flame dances and sizzles and candle wax drips to form new fantastical shapes, you can forget the entire world, forget that it has crumbled. But eventually the candle will burn out, and as black smoke rises from the extinguished wick you will begin to remember all over again, to feel the pain as if experiencing it for the very first time.

My bottle is empty. It doesn’t seem that I could have consumed its entire contents already, but no other explanation is feasible. I did not spill a drop and the gin certainly didn’t evaporate. Yet I have never been more sober. I take a swig of the tonic I had meant to use as a mixer but somehow forgot to open until now. I’ve become quite absent-minded of late. I used to always be on top of things, a slave to the diction of the clock, organized to a fault. I was a master of minuscule details often overlooked by others. Now what I look over is a hole in the sky that used to be occupied by two testaments to the industriousness of mankind. The twin towers of Babel were taken away from us. Nothing left in their place but the rubble of decimated architecture and broken dreams.

I light a cigarette in order to have something to do with my hands, although I know better than to smoke inside. Rules, like brick and steel and concrete and glass, often prove too fragile for the exploits of desperate men. Merciless time inches forward. Eventually I notice the nearly inch long ash clinging to the end of my cigarette. I have not been bothering to tap it off as it grows. I have probably not even been inhaling and exhaling the toxic vapors, but merely watched the nicotine clouds floating upwards, spiraling towards the Heaven that I now hope exists more than ever, dispersing before managing to reach the ceiling fan.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door of the china cabinet. When did I start crying? I suppose it doesn’t matter. The tears will stop on their own, just as they will no doubt resume flowing when the whim strikes. My stubble is near the point of a full-fledged beard. I’ve been clean-shaven my entire life. My face has always suited me just fine as is. I’m the sort person who has known who he is and what he wants from day one. Never had to go searching for myself. No need for experimenting, whether with my appearance or the ideologies I follow. It’s as if I was born completed, no growth of any kind necessary. This is the sort of proclamation that pisses certain people off, but they tend to be people I couldn't give a damn about impressing anyway. Many would say that I was full of myself, an accusation I don’t find completely fair. Let’s just say I had a rather narrow set of self-indulgent priorities. Now my lone objective is either surviving this heartache or else succumbing to it.

Why was it fated that our last words to each other would be spoken in anger? Do I not have burden enough to bear? Did she understand that I did not truly mean the awful, hurtful things I said? I try to convince myself of this, but the attempt is in vain. I know how convincing I can be. The next day I would have arranged for a bouquet of roses to be sent to her. Later I would have apologized in person, on bent knee if necessary. Not merely to appease her, but because I’d had an epiphany, like the song goes, was blind but now could see. But the next day would turn out to be no ordinary day. The next day would drastically alter my existence along with the lower Manhattan skyline. Many other lives would be forever ruined as well. But with all due respect, this is not their story. It is mine.

The day I first met Alexandra, I was left breathless by her beauty. I resolved on the spot to win her over, was determined not to rest until she was mine. To consider a lifetime or even a single night with anyone else was out of the question. If I settled for someone else, someone lesser, I would forever be haunted by the knowledge that my ideal was in the arms of another man.

There are men who take what they have for granted, but this was not the case with me. Even after dating for a year, then moving in together, then getting hastily married when she missed her period, I gave a silent prayer of thanks to no god in particular every time I awoke and gazed upon her face in the morning light. As she continued to sleep, barely disturbed by the alarm clock that I would quickly silence, I placed a gentle kiss of gratitude upon her supple lips. You could say that my life was Camelot. I do not recall what specifically went wrong in King Arthur’s idyllic world. But if memory serves, it did not last.

I am ashamed to admit that as Alexandra grew with pregnancy, resentment defied my will and began to settle in my heart. Gone was the lean, flexible, amorous goddess who set my body ablaze on our four poster bed. My wife did an awful lot of eating for someone who knew she wouldn’t be able to hold down the fatty foods she now relentlessly craved. I missed the passion, the excitement, the ecstasy that had once marked our days. I could not wait for her gestation to end and my nirvana to return.

Hope was indeed the most precious child ever born. I doted on her every move during the first few months. The slightest change in her facial expression would fascinate me. I loved experiencing the world through her new eyes. In addition to being a very proud papa, I was also quite anxious to resume loving my wife as in days past. But it seemed that unlike the weight gained in pregnancy, Alexandra’s carnal desires had abandoned her. Every night I would literally receive a cold shoulder from my bride. I accepted her unresponsiveness more readily than you might think, for my desire was muzzled by the loose vagueness of her flesh. So you see, everything had changed from what it once was. Alexandra appeared to have minimal interest in returning to the role of my fervent lover. My own longing was for a woman who no longer existed, one who had been swallowed whole by a woman who bore only a passing resemblance to the great love of my life.

At first I was silent on these matters, confident that they would right themselves soon enough, that her true form and fire would return at any moment. But over time it grew increasingly clear that there was a holding pattern on my domestic torment. And so my frustration began to manifest itself in bitterly muttered remarks and less than subtle glances of disapproval towards a body once comprised of sinewy feminine muscle, now doughy and stretched out to unappealing proportions. The woman beside me in our unruffled bed was not the one I had fallen for. I felt as if I had been robbed of something precious and did not have the luxury of resenting from afar, because I lived with the thief. I found myself lingering for longer than necessary at the office, accepting offers for after-work cocktails or whatever else might come up to keep me away from home. When I did return to my wife each day, a fresh wave of disappointment washed over me. My God, it feels so harsh to have felt this way, so utterly cruel. Yet I will not lie, mislead, or sugar coat the dread that engulfed me. Point your finger and accuse away. The poster child for shallowness, that’s exactly what I was. And I earn no points nor stray any closer to your good graces by owning up to my faults now. I did not abuse my wife, did not cheat on her, did little outwardly that would earn your condemnation. I simply mourned for what I had lost and ceased to appreciate all that was still mine.

I suppose I instigated our argument with some snide comment, but on that night Alexandra refused to let it pass as she had on prior occasions. Instead she demanded that I speak my mind, that I hold nothing back, and once I got started there was no slowing down, much less turning back. I’m not exactly sure how I put it. I cannot recall precisely what I blamed her of doing. It seems ridiculous now, but at the time it seemed remarkably crucial. Alexandra had changed in shape and substance. Regardless of whether her metamorphosis was caused by conscious decision or hormones now flowing in a different direction than before, it was interpreted by me as a personal attack, as unwarranted rejection. I needed to get the heavy feeling of abandonment from off my chest, for nothing is worse than being abandoned by someone who is still there. Whatever was said, I vividly remember that I pleaded my case with limitless zeal, and what I earned for the effort was seeing my wife cry.

We eventually went to sleep, she in our bed and me on the sofa. The war of hateful words was supposed to be temporary. Everything would work out in the end. Couples fight sometimes. We hurt who we love precisely because we possess the power to do so. The truth was, I felt more relieved about having finally spoken my piece than concerned that irrevocable damage had been done to our marriage. Now that Alexandra understood the depth of my confusion and hurt, we could begin to work on making our life as it had once been. Now that I had spoken plainly rather than making veiled insinuations, perhaps the things that troubled me would come to weigh less heavily on my soul.

Her early morning appointment at the World Trade Center had been set up weeks earlier. Whether or not I argued with my wife on the night of September 10, 2001 had no bearing on where she would end up the following day. I was able to foresee no better than anyone else that terrorists would attack, striking with our own planes, bringing those two majestic structures down.

Did I love Alexandra for the wrong reasons? No, I do not believe this is so. When I saw the wounded look in her eyes on the night of our argument, I recognized that it was there because she loved me unconditionally and believed I did not feel the same. But she was wrong. I did love her, in spite of my pettiness, my anger, my frustration over a situation that it seemed she had purposely spoiled. For a time, it was difficult for me to see past Alexandra’s extraordinary beauty. For another time, it was just about impossible to see past what I perceived as the ruin of her near perfection. But in the moment of clarity that occurred seconds before she banished me to our sofa for the longest night of my life, I understood that the love I felt for my wife was indestructible. Loving Alexandra was what I did best, no matter how badly I botched the expression of it. Loving her was what I would do forever.

I rise to my feet, command them to bring me across the room, then lift my child from her crib. Hope is too young to recognize the chaos about her. She does not comprehend that the empty space within view of our living room window is actually filled with what cannot be seen – fear, uncertainty, pain, loss, rage. I believe she understands that her mother has not returned to her, for she cries much more frequently than she used to. Does she realize that I am barely holding on, that she is the sole reason I haven’t surrendered to the hurt, to my guilt, my regret? If she looked upon me with the slightest hint of sympathy, this might be enough to convince me that I am worthy of release from these mortal coils, worthy to join my beloved Alexandra. But Hope shows me no mercy, only need.

And so I will change my daughter’s diaper and fix her a bottle of formula. I will take a shower and shave. I will move on with my life because I have to. Perhaps that is not the best motivation, but it’s all I am equipped with right now. It will have to do.

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In the Alcove

2010-09-14T07:49:00.000-07:00

I had the pleasure of being interviewed at Lexi Flint's Author Alcove. Curious about what she had to say regarding Patches of Grey, what she chose to ask me, and what my answers were? Then hop aboard the merry go round and read on...

Sometimes life isn’t simply black or white, meaning can be found in THE PATCHES OF GREY, a novel by Roy Pickering

Author Roy L. Pickering, Jr., a native of the U.S.V.I of St. Thomas was raised in the boroughs of New York and currently resides with his wife Erin in New Jersey. Roy, a former English major at NYU writes short stories and novels that examine the human condition.

Patches of Grey is his debut novel which follows the life and struggles of high school student Tony Johnson who dreams of a life outside of the box that his address, race, society, and family places him in. Constantly at odds with his father, Pickerings main character wonders ” With everything the world had to offer, Tony marveled at how the golden nectar of barley and a box filled with moving pictures managed to placate his father. Why didn’t he need more, or at least comprehend why others might?”

Tony’s attempt to escape his current life through higher education is further complicated by his interracial relationship with a classmate, increasing the tension between father and son. “You think a couple of new laws and some tokens in high places makes everything fine and dandy?” Lionel asked. “You don’t actually believe that changes what they think of us, do you? Getting good grades in school don’t mean you know shit about life, boy. I could have five PHD’s, but that wouldn’t change nothing. I could click my heels and think good thoughts all day long, but they’ll still see me as a nigger. You’re my son, so how do you think they see you?”

This novel should be required reading for all students inspiring them to not be limited by their circumstances but to rise above and succeed despite the obstacles they must overcome on their life’s journey.

I had the pleasure of picking this author’s brain this past week. I enjoyed our interview and am happy to introduce you to this wonderful “new” author.

Thank you Roy for visiting Lexi’s Author Alcove we will start with the easy questions first…

PROCEED TO INTERVIEW

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What did you just call me?!!

2010-08-20T11:57:00.000-07:00

I don't know much about Dr. Laura Schlessinger. Based on this conversation she's an obnoxious idiot. She does make one valid point, although by making it in such an offensive manner she stomps on the value and makes herself a target for outrage rather than an instructor. If you want to make it clear to others that calling you by a certain name offends you, don't then call yourself that same name. Confusing to fools, a huge opening for jerks. Yes, intent is key. Yes, two people can use same word in very different ways. But why provide excuse for confusion even if it's fake confusion? If I chose to call myself an asshole I'd have a weak argument getting pissed at someone else for calling me an asshole. Simple logic. Everyone knows blacks who habitually use N word don't mean same thing by it as head of KKK. Still, it gives bigots opening to feign ignorance.

~~~

I do wonder how someone who listens to this woman & has phone # for her show doesn’t know that's the type of answer she'd give? Not giving Laura an excuse to be obnoxious since she already gave herself convenient one, but it is rather curious.

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If it's okay for a black person to say a word but not cool for white person to say it, that's endorsing inequality, just as vice versa would be. Demanding equal rights & special privileges simultaneously is a form of hypocrisy. If a word offends ANYONE, even if not you personally, don't use it. e.g. The C word that rhymes with hunt doesn't offend me personally, but you won't hear me saying it casually because I know people who hate it.

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One of these days my petition to have the N-word refer to NUBIAN rather than what it currently refers to will be realized. #KeepingHopeAlive Biggest problem I suppose is that current usage of N-word rhymes with a lot (trigger, figure, bigger, dig her). WTF does nubian rhyme with?

~~~

Sarcasm aside, the fact that blacks fight with other blacks over appropriateness of N-word is sufficient reason to abolish it. Why promote division from within? How can you focus on being angry at another race (if that's your thing) if you keep getting tripped up by members of your own? #Think

~~~

I doubt any habitual users of the N-word who happen upon this blog entry will be convinced to cease and desist. They believe they have every right to vocalize their re-interpreted version of a word that hurts and angers us more than any other when spoken by non-blacks. Now surely what people have the right to do and what they SHOULD do are not one and the same. Nevertheless, experience has taught me that people usually remain entrenched in initial opinions until something dramatic happens to alter their perspective. Strength of conviction is good, but inability to concede there are valid points other than yours equals refusal to learn what you don't already "know".

~~~

I don't listen to radio/TV shock jocks yet suppose they serve purpose of shedding light on opinions that are not exclusive to them, but disturbingly common. Eliminating N-word would not solve myriad problems. But like the election of a certain President not too long ago it would have meaning & be a start. Every long journey needs the initial steps. I always side with freedom of speech, which includes the right to insult yourself. I just wish people weren't so eager to insult themselves. I don't claim to be more enlightened than anyone. I just know I'd rather be called Mr. Pickering or Roy than nigg**.

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All being equal I might say self-deprecate away. But even the most optimistic don't claim all is now equal, so proceed with caution. After all, people who brag on themselves are sometimes believed, somtimes not. But people who insult themselves are always believed. "Freedom is the right to tell people what they do not want to hear." - George Orwell

~~~

I suspect that by quitting her job, Dr. Laura is purposely drawing attention to herself as promotion for an upcoming project, call me #Cynic. She's a fool that may serve a useful purpose though. If a black person said what she said, minimum attention is paid. White person does, ears perk up.

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I don't care if black people stop using N-word out of pride or to spite a foolish white woman, so long as they stop #MissionAccomplished. It's often more effective to shock people into action by being offensive than convincing them by teaching/preaching. C'est la vie.

~~~

Americans have right to free speech & all Americans have right to the same words. Sorry if this upsets you but that's how it goes, folks. I can say fuck/bitch/cunt/shit/nigger/dago/kike/etc. You can of course be offended. You can unfollow/block/respond, but not silence me. Censorship is unpatriotic.

~~~

Yet there are limits to free speech. You can't shout fire in a crowded movie theater or niggers in a movie theater in Harlem. Endangers people. So yes, Dr. Laura has right to say N-word. Yes, she should reserve her right NOT to say it because she knows it's offensive. Simple stuff made complicated by emotional response. People have the right to say N-word & mean "something different & inoffensive" by it. People also have right to find this hypocritical. A rose by any other name...Words hurt as much as we allow them to. N-word is not really worth defending by anyone of any race really. I'll defend your right to say most anything because that's what being an American is about. But some things I wish nobody was compelled to say.

~~~

As for those who support how Dr. Laura chooses to exercise the freedom of speech guaranteed to all of us by First Amendment such as @SarahPalinUSA - Hi Sarah. Please keep saying whatever it takes to make you increasingly irrelevant & unelectable. But I can't work myself into a lather over latest displays of ignorance by Palins-Becks-Limbaughs etc. of the world. They're simply doing what they do.

xxx

Sorry if anyone was offended by salty language of my rant. Necessary to make my point.

AMARETTO KISSES

2010-08-13T19:26:00.001-07:00

AMARETTO KISSES

BY ROY L. PICKERING JR.
Copyright by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

She took me in with emerald eyes, slanted ever so slightly from a partial Asian ancestry. Her tongue habitually licked her pouty lips whenever she was about to smile, and each time I imagined those lips in the location and activity of my choosing. They say a woman knows well in advance of the proposition if she will sleep with someone. I strongly believe this to be true. I can’t make a woman’s mind up for her, but I usually know what she has decided far before she officially informs me. My radar picks up the slightest indication of desirous inclinations. A touch on the elbow, a lilt in her laughter, the directness of a gaze, the subtle whisper of invitation beneath her words. Or sometimes not so subtle.

“Come on, let’s get out of here”, she said.

It was then that I received my first taste of Lola's amaretto kisses.

Her apartment was just up the street. We went there to explore one another, to see if what we'd find would hold up to the exquisiteness of what was promised. It did. So much so that I remained for three days. Three days of raucous love making that left me spent and supremely satisfied.

Playtime is always too brief. Reality invariably intervenes to stake its claim on one's priorities. Enough was enough. I returned home to settle the argument with my wife in a more civilized manner than walking out.

Vanessa and I are quite the pair. When we disagree, which is often, no one fights like us. When times are good, no one loves like we do. We each serve as a magnet to the other's fiercest passions. She courses through my veins, infecting my bloodstream with a sweet poison to which there is no antidote.

In the past I had exchanged relationships at a faster rate than I switched television channels. Only the slightest provocation was required to call it quits. On one occasion after another I would suddenly and irrevocably decide that time was up on my liaison of the moment.

Vanessa changed all that. I could not get enough of her. The craving was a phenomenon beyond logical explanation, unless one gives credence to that fairy tale notion known as love.

I opened the door to our home with the scent of Lola seemingly still clinging to me in spite of a shower and cologne. My wife lay naked in the middle of the living room, a sight to behold, beauty beyond comprehension, clearly lifeless. In a daze I dropped to my knees and crawled forward, the shag carpet feeling like ten thousand razor blades.

Who could have dared to destroy such perfection? Our home appeared undisturbed, nothing of value removed. Not even Vanessa’s engagement ring had been taken from the finger I had so recently placed it upon. But if robbery was not the explanation, what else could account for how this horror came to be? My wife had no enemies. Who would choose to be the foe of an angel? Only the devil himself.

I cradled Vanessa's limp form, kissed her fervently, sobbed prayers of desperation. But neither my lips nor my tears possessed the power to resuscitate.

The kiss sobered me sufficiently to begin thinking straight. I would be blamed. The whole building knew of our altercations, could not help but overhear our heated disputes. I am six foot four inches tall; two hundred and forty muscled pounds; with searing eyes that gaze straight forwardly from a cleanly shaved, ebony skull. My mostly Caucasian neighbors instinctively perceive me as menacing. Their stares never mask the disapproval they feel of one of their own; a five foot three inch, one hundred and five pound, blonde haired and blue eyed white girl; living and loving with the likes of me. I would have to grieve later. First things first. I needed to get in touch with my alibi.

It seemed the cab I took missed not a single red light. Every driver in front of us was determined to keep their miles per hour in single digits. Finally I arrived at Lola's apartment and began knocking on the door. Ten seconds later a man stood before me, wondering who I was and what I wanted. Over his shoulder I spied Lola on the couch, staring at me with shock and worry. Immediately the situation grew apparent. This man was her husband, come back from wherever he had been. I had no alibi. What I had in my hands, on my shoulders, in my lap, was a heap of trouble.

What I needed was time to think. Once Vanessa's murder was discovered, the cops would be all over me. They would naturally assume I had done it, and use their brutish tactics to force a confession which matched their conclusion. The cops I could handle, having dealt with their legally authorized brand of racist terrorism on more than one unpleasant occasion. Badges, clubs and guns didn't intimidate me. But I knew sufficient evidence could be gathered to put me on trial, where my chances of proving innocence would be slim.

I returned home, entering as conspicuously as a shadow and proceeded to do the unimaginable. I placed Vanessa's body into the bathtub. Disregarding the memory of her submerged in bubbles upon which rose petals floated; her glorious face illuminated by candle light; sipping a glass of Moet as the music of Vivaldi massaged her senses; I commenced to hacking her into pieces with a miter saw and butcher knife and placing each chunk of flesh into a garbage bag. It was tougher work physically than anticipated. As for the emotional challenge, mourning and revulsion had to be put aside. I operated in strict self preservation mode. Before removing my wife's head from her torso I caressed the bruises on her neck. They were no doubt caused by the choking hands that had ended her life. When all was done, I tied the dark green bag shut on what had been my world.

Much cleaning up was required. I began washing away the gallons of blood, working quickly and efficiently, performing as if my life had been spent in preparation for such mortifying acts. I was beyond shock, beyond fear, in a morally comatose state which allowed me to move as purposeful as a well trained soldier.

Three hours later I sit in an airport lounge awaiting my flight to exile. Vanessa has been carefully and permanently disposed of. We are both pulling disappearing acts, neither of our paths traceable. A part of me insists that I feel some measure of guilt, but I am certain I can drink this part into submission. The death of my wife was a tragedy. For me to take the fall, to be condemned by strangers for destroying what was most sacred to me, would just make two tragedies. No point to that. Vanessa's spirit would not be able to rest easy if on top of the heavy duty of coping with her loss, I was also blamed and punished for her unfortunate passing.

I continue to drink my spare time away but soon find an accompanying diversion. A lovely young lady sits next to me, starts up a conversation which grows increasingly intimate. Her feline orbs are topped by mile long lashes. Her skin is the same tone and seemingly identical texture to maple syrup. Immediately I make plans to immerse myself in her sweet, sticky stuff.

“So where are you off to?” I ask.

“I’m headed back home to Austin.”

“What a coincidence. I’m going there as well. I was offered a great job. I suppose I’ll be pretty lonely at first, since I won’t know a soul.”

“You know me”, says Sharon, her voice a little slurred from the cocktails she’s been imbibing to settle her nerves for the flight ahead.

“I’m beginning to. And we do have a long flight to get much better acquainted.”

“I just hate to fly. I know the fear is somewhat irrational. The odds are greater of being killed in a car accident, or slipping in your bathtub. So they say, anyway. But that doesn’t make me any less nervous.”

“Fortunately you have a new friend to help make the flight go a little easier”, I say. “I’m great at distracting.”

“Sounds promising.”

Next thing I know our tongues are exploring the inside of one another's mouths. The taste I come upon is familiar, remindful of the recent past. Succulent, tantalizing, irresistible amaretto kisses. My memory floods so quickly that it gives me an immediate, sharp headache.

I should have walked away from Lola's door. It would not have been difficult to stammer a quickly conceived fib about having the wrong address. But I panicked. I needed an alibi to prove my innocence of Vanessa’s murder. Lola's secret from her husband would have to be revealed, my liberty was at stake. I had no choice but to truthfully state my purpose.

Ideally there would have been a more civilized manner in which to handle the whole tawdry affair. Once tempers flared and the situation grew hectic, it became obvious that control was necessary. So I took it. I quelled matters before they went from bad to worse, not bothering to clean up afterwards because I had no intention of sticking around long enough to be connected to Lola by the bartender and a couple observant alcoholics upon questioning.

It's funny how certain events can slip one's mind until another scarcely related happening sends it spiraling backwards. Not until I was through hacking Lola and hubby to death with the butcher knife I’d held on to in my gloved hands for safe keeping did I realize that she was not a valid alibi after all. We actually met each other more than an hour after my wife's death. I knew this now because the precise time and reason and cause of Vanessa's execution had crept to the top of my consciousness. What I was certain my neighbors would falsely believe and the cops would erroneously suspect, turned out to be in fact, the truth. It was I who choked Vanessa to death, directly after making frantic love to her on our living room floor.

I had grown mighty curious about the many hours spent by Vanessa in front of our computer terminal. The evidence I unearthed proved my suspicions to be well founded. At least her adultery was not yet one of the flesh, but still confined to sweet nothings typed on screen. Each romantic declaration found in the emails they sent one another was now branded on my skull. I had to determine if it was possible to reclaim Vanessa's roaming heart.

But in the argument which ensued after I made love to her one last time, my hands somehow wound up around her throat. My actions seemed too strange to be anything but the product of an overworked imagination. This could not be reality. It had to be a macabre nightmare from which I was finally awakened by the scent of perfume drifting in the air of an unfamiliar tavern as a beautiful woman sat in the stool next to mine. I have yet to figure out how I get from place to place during my occasional black outs, but more often than not my feet guide me to a place where alcohol is being served and women are generously partaking.

Now that the full story has been told you probably look upon me as a monster. It is easy for you to sit back in judgment. If I dwelled upon these heinous deeds, perhaps I too would be horrified. The very act of continuing to live would grow unbearable. Which is why I don't look back. I simply clean up all traces of the past as best I can, and then move forward. I head to the only place where relief can be found, the beautiful state of intoxication, though it is only temporary salvation. Eventually I will find myself with someone else's blood to wash from my hands. Though I may once again say "never again", I can't seem to make the oath stick. I am no stranger to airport lounges, another city and identity awaiting me. Again I will fall in love and I will have to grow used to a woman moaning the latest name I’ve assumed to stay incognito. Again something will happen to ruin it, and to deal with the pain my darker impulses will take over. Only my death will terminate the cycle, but I am nowhere near ready to die just yet.

I refuse to ponder further such morbid thoughts. Euphoria inducing spirits are swishing around delightfully in my head. The headache has faded as quickly as it arrived and I’m now feeling better than ever before in my life. After all, I am delighting in a beautiful stranger's sweet amaretto kisses. What more could a man ask for? What more could I possibly need?

~~~

THE END

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Are You Ready For Some...Contract Renegotiating?

2010-08-09T19:59:00.001-07:00

Those of you who follow this blog (yeah, both of you) know that while I may venture to the topic of sports somewhat frequently, when I do so it’s to comment on an issue that transcends the games themselves. I’m not a play-by-play guy, hold minimal interest in chronicling happenings that take place in every city on every team each and every season. I may follow the minutiae of football and basketball and boxing and tennis because of my passion for them, but this doesn’t mean I care to report on the daily grind that others already do quite adequately. I only raise my voice and pen if I feel there’s something unique and compelling about a situation. My two cents are always at the ready, but I try to use discretion with offering them.

There is very little one-of-a-kindness to Darrelle Revis holding out for a new contract from the New York Jets rather than fulfilling the obligations of the one he’s currently working under. Every year in each professional team sport there are a number of athletes who want to renegotiate their contracts. Rather than waiting until they become free agents, if they’re coming off a big year they opt to capitalize while the getting is good and their bargaining power is at its peak. If this sounds a tad unreasonable of them, I suppose we should keep in mind that they can be traded to undesirable locales at any point management decides more bang for their bucks can be obtained from someone else. Even in the case of coddled superstars, when they’re nearing the end of their careers and their talents are on the decline, they are suddenly seen as expendable when just a few years earlier they were treated like royalty. The modern day athlete has concluded it makes the most sense to be primarily loyal to self. Athletic careers are short, especially in a rock-em sock-em game like football, so players need to make as much as they can as fast as they can before their run is over. For every athlete with a post retirement plan (coaching, broadcasting, starting a business while flush with cash to put into it, or perhaps actually entering the career his college major was to prepare him for in case the sports thing didn’t work out), there are many more who come up with no better plan than to make as much as possible in their playing careers and hope it won’t run out before the ultimate retirement.

Since this scenario is so commonplace, why am I writing about Revis’ tussle with the holders of purse strings for the Jets? First, because this is my beloved Jets we’re talking about. Second, because Darrelle Revis is a phenomenal talent. Only so many of those come around, a pretty small percentage end up in green and white. Third, the Jets look as good coming into this season as ever, their future no less promising than it appeared back in 1999 when they were supposed to follow up a trip to the AFC championship game with one to the Super Bowl. Jets fans know all too well how that worked out and why things fell apart. Over a decade later and we find ourselves in the same situation, fresh off a trip to the AFC championship, poised to take the next big step so long as nothing goes wrong. Revis holding out for the season would definitely qualify as something going terribly wrong.

If only there was no pesky salary cap to consider, the Jets organization could simply follow the blueprint laid out by the Yankees and spend what needed to be spent to secure the best available talent. What does that get you? A championship about once every four years, that’s what. Yet even with a salary cap in place, dynasties are possible when talent is combined with smart decision making. Several NFL franchises have managed to field repeat champions, but the Jets sadly are not among them. They won it all in 1969, Super Bowl III, a mighty long time ago. If the long delayed trip down the road to glory is to finally be traveled upon once more, surely the Jets need to be at full strength. They can’t afford for one of their top players, arguably the best player on the team on either side of the ball, to sit this dance out. But the longer negotiating drags, the more difficult it becomes to believe things will work themselves out for the best.

Most Jets fans aren’t rooting for Revis to get every last dime he’s asking for, nor are they pulling for ownership to put him in his place. They just want this dilemma to be worked out fast so that come opening day Gang Green will be operating at full capacity. Those who say different (no shortage of opinions being given on Twitter and Facebook) are either shell shocked from years of frustration and are now venting incoherently, or else they aren’t real Jets fans, or knowledgeable football fans for that matter. Anybody who has paid any attention to the sport knows how few and far between cornerbacks of Darrelle Revis’ caliber are, just as they know how difficult it is to put together a legitimate championship contender in the NFL. Sure, the Jets might still be fairly good without Revis. But with him they have the potential to be great, and nothing less than greatness will do this year for long suffering fans. Jets fans thinking about the situation at all rationally desperately want Revis’ services to be retained, but not at so high a cost that they can’t afford to place quality pieces around him going forward. If overpaying him means the team is not able to maintain sufficient talent where needed elsewhere, the future will not look exceptionally bright. The Jets may be screwed short term if they don’t make Revis happy, screwed long term if they give up too much to bring that happiness about. If you have a win now at all costs mindset (which the Jets themselves seemed to possess with acquisition of well past prime players such as Jason Taylor and LaDainian Tomlinson) then the answer is simple - pay the man what he wants. Compromise is necessary if a dynasty is the goal. If neither party is willing to bend, hope is lost before the season even begins. At least in 1999 Jets fans were able to make it to Week 1 filled with optimism before it was cruelly dashed.

My advice to Mr. Revis is to look at guys like Alex Rodriquez and LeBron James, superstars who invited scorn and ridicule from fans that once idolized them by attempting to make themselves bigger than the game rather than allowing the fans to inflate them the way they did with Babe Ruth, Michael Jordan, and the Jets’ own Joe Namath. Let the people declare you king, don’t put the throne upon your own head. That might work out fine in individual sports such as boxing where a charismatic guy like Muhammad Ali could effectively proclaim himself to be the greatest, but part of what fans value in athletes who play team sports is an ability to be a team player. And in the defense of A-Rod and LeBron, they at least pulled off their shenanigans when free agents. The Mets did their best to make Rodriquez look like a jerk when he pulled his diva routine on them, perhaps recognizing he was merely using them to gain greater leverage with the Yankees, but A-Rod did most of the work. By the time it was his turn to be busted as a steroid abuser there was little sympathy to be found. And LeBron single handedly transformed from icon to punch line while taking himself out of NBA GOAT consideration with “The Decision”. Take my talents to Miami indeed. The lesson learned? Handle your business quietly and respectfully, and if others choose to make a lot of noise about it, so be it.

Revis should not foolishly alter his image from spectacularly talented yet impressively humble guy to yet another Me First Schumuck so long as the Jets are trying to do reasonably right by him. Brett Favre doesn’t need any more competition in the largest ego category. It’s still possible for Darelle to remain likeable, be highly compensated for what he does exceptionally well, and to possibly win one or more Super Bowl rings in the bargain. From this endorsement deals will flow and money will be the least of his problems. That is how sports legends are created. Revis deserves to get as much as he can get, but also needs to recognize when enough is enough, that it’s time to stop being a businessman attempting a hostile takeover and resume being a football player. And whatever he does from here on out, I’d highly advise staying far away from the Latrell Sprewell “I need to feed my family” card. It simply doesn't look so hot on a millionaire. If this hand is played right by the participants, everybody in Jetsdom can be a big winner. If played wrong then everybody involved loses yet again, and the chorus shouting SAME OLD JETS will grow louder. The thing Jets fans desire most is for their team to avoid finding yet another new way to screw things up.

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First Steps

2010-07-29T05:34:00.000-07:00

The journey of my novel Patches of Grey from concept to printed paperback has been interesting, enlightening and surreal. Perhaps I'll share the story with you here someday, but not now. At the moment I just wish to say that there's a great deal of difference between being a writer and being an author, and the difference is probably equally great between self published author, indie published author, author with a book put out quietly by a big publishing house, and author with major backing from that publishing house because they believe they have a Best Seller on their hands. I've been a writer for almost as far back as I can remember. My earliest publication credits go back quite a ways to when the submissions process had nothing to do with email attachments and promotion had nothing to do with posting a blog entry, updating my Facebook status, or scribbling a tweet. My short stories have been read and discussed and written about and even imitated in high schools and colleges. There are people I've never met and probably never will who have seen my name attached to pieces of fiction. People have paid hard earned money to read my words well before having the opportunity at long last to read my debut novel. To them I've been an author, but to myself I've just been a writer. I say this because being an author means doing book signings, readings, giving speeches at workshops, teaching writing courses, being interviewed for magazines/radio/TV, discussing strategy with my agent and editor and publicist. In short, being an author means living the dream. I'm not there yet, and this has been in large part a deliberate choice rather than circumstances I have no control over. Plenty of writers have transformed themselves into authors without needing the involvement of a major publishing house. If you're willing to put in the time, spend some money, hit the pavement and keep your feet moving and mouth running, we are living in an era when the author's life can be self-generated. Many have turned out to be naturals at being authors. As for me, while I'm not quite doing the eccentric recluse thing like Harper Lee or J.D. Salinger perfected, I'm not out there renting billboards either. My promotional efforts have been done just about exclusively on computer keyboard, putting out words that perhaps catch your eye and make you curious to learn a little more, perhaps not. If you follow me on Twitter, you know I wrote a novel. If you don't, chances are you have no idea who I am unless you know me personally. This situation in all likelihood is not radically changing anytime soon, but I am taking a first step tonight on the journey from writer to author. So if by chance you happen to be in Sparta, NJ this evening I hope to see you, tell you a little about my book or just shoot the breeze about whatever comes to mind. I'd rather be writing what I'm writing than talking about what I've written, but I don't believe that living exclusively within my comfort zone is truly living. Life is about taking chances, doing what frightens you a bit, maybe more than a bit. It's about grabbing hold of the reins, going faster than seems wise, doing your best to hold on, and when necessary, dusting yourself off and climbing back on after a fall. I love being a writer and have long dreamt about being an author. Tonight I'll get a little taste, and who knows, I might even like it and come back for more.

~~~~~

Afterword: It went great! Think I'm about ready to step my game up a notch.

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Shirley Sherrod, You're Fired! No, Wait, Never Mind

2010-07-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

Tweets by CNN’s Roland Martin first brought the Shirley Sherrod situation to my attention. It was apparent that he was being given a hard time by numerous people on Twitter for his stated opinion. I didn’t know what the subject matter was yet, but was in agreement with what he was saying in his defense about racism being a two-way street, that if you condemned it when flowing one way it would be hypocritical not to also do so when it went the opposite. If someone in position of authority abuses their power in the name of prejudice (or in the name of anything else for that matter), it’s plain wrong. I nodded my head along with this sentiment without knowing all the details of Shirley Sherrod’s case. As it would turn out, Roland Martin wasn’t fully informed either. Many people had been purposely duped, bamboozled, squashed by Plymouth Rock, including as I would eventually come to learn, the NAACP. Yet early on other people seemed to either know more than Roland Martin and the NAACP had been made aware of, or else they too were missing critical facts but nevertheless felt Shirley Sherrod did not deserve to be fired (technically, forced to resign) for a racist mindset that she had owned up to with a camera recording it. The video turns out to have been edited to make it seem that Shirley Sherrod was saying pretty much the opposite of what she meant to convey, which was that we need to protect the rights of poor hardworking people regardless of race, not cherry pick who to protect based on race. She briefly considered doing the wrong thing, then came to her senses and did the right thing. But the video only showed us the moment when she confessed that her thought process was unfair, leading us to believe she followed up with unfair conduct when in fact she did not. Basically Shirley Sherrod was taken out of context to the 1000th degree. Eventually the full video was produced, her supposed victims came to her defense, and she was exonerated in the court of public opinion. In the end, much more than learning a lesson in racism or repentance or politics in action, this incident revealed how easy it is to manipulate the media which in turn manipulates the populace. We live in an era where stories and non-stories alike are frequently doctored and spun to fit an agenda. It’s become nearly impossible to know the reality of “news” being reported to us because so much is slanted to form an opinion for you. We need to examine it all with healthy doses of skepticism, to think not only about what’s being told to us but about why it’s being reported as it is, what motivation someone may have for wanting us to believe what we’re hearing in the manner we're hearing it. People want to believe that the job of the news media is to deliver TRUTH, but truth can consist of many versions. Following are my thoughts as they unfolded one tweet at a time.

@rolandsmartin Some will NEVER get that racism doesn't only go in one direction & will ALWAYS feel roles of villain & victim r permanently set.

The goal is to END racism as much as is possible. Not reverse it, not justify it, not spin doctor it, not dress it up to change appearance.

Shortest distance between two points is a straight line. If that line goes in wrong direction one way, it's the wrong direction the other way too.

Changing minds may not be do-able, but opening some may be.

Question: If white person in control of $ denied aid to black farmer & specifically cited race as reason, what would we call that white person?

If white person in control of $ and black farmer end up mending fences & becoming good friends - Great! Story not about that, but still great.

Is it messed up to fire someone for something they said 24 years ago? Oh yeah. But I guess there's no statute of limitation on unwise comments.

It's safe to say I said some pretty dum *ish 24 years ago. Probably did 24 minutes ago. What you gonna do, unfollow? No, wait, don't go!!

Will Obama be asked about Shirley Sherrod resignation? Or will questions be limited to what Regie Bush thinks about LeBron's Decision?

If the "scapegoating" of Shirley Sherrod guaranteed Fox "News" folk would chill for a bit on the Obama is Hitler schtick, I'd say fair enough.

Bottom line: Political correctness is a terrible reason to base decisions on. Decision should be correct based on common decency & logic.

Let me get this straight now that I'm caught up fully on news. Some douche named @andrewbreitbart punk'd NAACP @ expense of Shirley Sherrod?!

Based on info on hand @ time NAACP & @rolandsmartin said nothing wrong in my opinion. They showed racism's unacceptable to them regardless of direction.

Good people are so much on defensive from constant attacks by conservatives that there was rush to judgment rather than careful weighing of facts.

I've said it about 1 million times here on twitter. Rushing to judgment serves no one any good. 1st glimpse of a case is simply its surface.

Whether the accused is a cop with blood on his hands, an athlete with finger of blame pointed at him, someone temporarily made infamous for alleged improper/illegal act, or whatever the case may be - Wait for facts, weigh them, then judge.

Our judicial system is based on examining evidence & pronouncing guilt if & only if proven beyond shadow of doubt. It's a good system.

Our media system is based on manipulating people to sell version of a story that generates the most attention, leading to increased ad revenue. Bad system.

Those who criticized NAACP reaction & firing of #Sherrod were correct to do so. Hopefully most were correct for the RIGHT reasons.

RT @BenJealous (who is head of NAACP if you don’t know) Watch the Shirley Sherrod video in full for the first time, and judge for yourself: http://bit.ly/9XMlK0

Reinstate Shirley Sherrod!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Pete Rose too!!!

Breaking News: Shirley Sherrod has already accepted another job after fielding tons of offers. She says she is "taking my talents to Miami"

If President Obama can turn off the internet can't he turn off Fox News, or at least make it illegal for them to use "News" in name?

Fool me once, shame on you, shame me twice... #SherrodScam

Can video lie? It certainly can when doctored, and even in some cases when it isn't. Lesson hopefully learned.

I'm sickened that Tea Party folk are going “tee hee, we got the NAACP back for making us look bad”.

But I also believe that in the end, more good than harm will come from #SherrodScam, and that manufacturing false news for political gain will ultimately backfire.

Glad I'm not @rolandsmartin tonight. Sure, I'm wrong & piss people off sometimes, but only like about 4 people. #PerksOfNonCelebrity

NAACP & Roland Martin were duped but it wasn't their job to decide if #Sherrod should be fired and act on it if she did, so let’s not send majority of heat their way. This woman's boss (Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack) should have his management technique seriously evaluated. Truth be told though (and full version probably never will be), I'm guessing he received order to fire her from some behind the scenes big shot. Hard to believe his first instinct was to immediately get rid of a long time employee based on such slight, ancient evidence against her, without even being interested in hearing her side. Why would someone admit publicly that they had disobeyed guidelines of their job & laws of the land? It was automatically assumed that Shirely Sherrod was not merely racist, but an idiot. Why would this be assumed about someone who had done nothing but show herself to be intelligent and thoughtful up to that point?

@BenJealous jumped gun with Sharrod to prove NAACP is even handed after Tea Party accusation, but he was still great as Elvin on Cosby Show.

As for those who blame Obama for this mess, I simply can’t fathom why, although I would like to hear his take at some point in the near future much as he tossed his two cents into Professor Gates incident. Chants for another beer summit have already begun of course.

Being POTUS = damned if you do and damned if you don't and damned if you can be remotely connected to it. #ObamaShrug

It's only a matter of time before Fox "News" runs fabricated story on how Rosa Park liked to kick puppies, though just white ones.

As a wise man once said "Don't...Don't believe the hype!"

While we're passing blame around, why did Sherrod agree to resign when she did nothing wrong? I would have said “you'll have to fire me”, and then sued.

I'm about done with Shirley Sherrod indignation. She was wronged, is now a celebrity with book deal probably to come shortly. Meanwhile people are still dying unnecessarily. Keep eyes on places like Haiti and all that oil spilled in the Gulf.

RT @sinbadbad (as in Sinbad from TV, stand-up comedy, and hanging in warzone with Hillary Clinton fame) The shirley sherrod situation shows that we have to make sure we have all the info before we react...can't trust the news to give us the 411.

Once a topic has become so trendy that lightweight celebrities are chirping in to earn cool points while reminding public of their existence, I’m ready to move on to whatever comes NEXT.

Good re-cap of story that provides some of the nitty gritty details not covered in my tweets: RT @AlfredEdmondJr Reverse Racism, or Hatchet Job? http://nblo.gs/62fTR

Shirley Sherrod’s response to inconvenient untruth: http://bit.ly/aoECbg

* * * * *

Update: Shirley Sherrod says Agriculture Secretary Vilsack has directly apologized http://on.cnn.com/bt3I22 Cue Justin Timberlake's Cry Me A River.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

EPILOGUE

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I didn't know who Shirley Sherrod was before yesterday, felt she did kinda wrong for a couple hours, then felt strongly that she was railroaded & screwed.

***

Today she's a beloved figure (at least by those who know what a good person should look like), her true admirable beliefs well known, her triumphant personal journey chronicled for posterity. It was only others on both sides of the divide & shouting from sidelines who made asses of themselves.

***

She was out of work for a day. She'll be offered it back & either accept or else go on speaker tour, get book deal, really get paid. Not too bad a deal considering she doesn't appear to be far off from retirement age.

***

I'm glad the Shirley Sherrod situation happened because it showed what Obama's opposition will stoop to & highlighted the worst possible way to react.

***

Little to nothing can be learned from perfection but a royal screw up can be extremely informative. In end nobody was legitimately harmed.

***

Politics is not a game for the faint of heart. It shouldn't be a GAME at all, but unfortunately it is, one with very high stakes.

***

When next race themed drama arrives, & there's always another ready to pull into station, remember it will be unique & not an extension of prior situations.

***

The most interesting thing about the Fox "News" propoganda team is that several of their hired guns may not even be racist. They simply prey on the fears of bigots who listen to them & tend to vote Republican because racists are stupid and stupid people are the easiest to manipulate and rile up. Fox primarily wants to get republicans elected and will attempt to do so by any means necessary. If warning people about Cookie Monster was more effective than telling tales about scary Black people, they'd focus their smear campaign on Sesame Street.

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@AndrewBreitbart I'd insult u but you'd probably get a perverse form of satisfaction. Just keep looking in mirror. IF LUCKY you'll feel shame one day.
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Just so we're all clear here, Shirley Sherrod did not prove black people cannot be racist. She just proved she personally isn't racist.
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No single case makes broad statement about mankind even if we translate it as such. Breibert is a jerk, Sherrod is not, that's basically it.
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Breibert couldn't find video of discrimination by black person against whites so edited one selectively. He isn't ALL whites; she isn't ALL blacks.
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Irony would be if lesson learned from Sherrod’s non-racist mindset is to be angry at all whites. If that’s what you take from it, Breibert wins.
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The enemy is not a race, a color, a creed. The enemy is the person who promotes division by any means necessary.
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No war will ever be as destructive as a Civil one. Look how long ours has lasted. Oh, you thought it ended ages ago. To some, yes. To others…
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If lesson gleaned from #Sherrod case is that THEY continue to oppress, WE continue to suffer, then you have selectively edited tale...same as Breibert.
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I'm not asking anyone to grab neighbor of another shade by the hand & start singing Kumbaya. Just asking for perspective rather than strictly biased emotion.

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RT @CornelWest (real smart guy) If you don't muster the courage to think critically about your situation, you'll end up living a life of conformity & complacency

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RT @CornelWest Morally, all racisms are the same. We must never allow black suffering to blind us to other people's suffering.