Tag: Black Writer

Nanowrimo 2017-Day 1

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I just completed my Nanowrimo Day 1 goal. Actually I EXCEEDED it by a whole 227 words and yes I’m patting myself on the back because I know there will likely be days where I barely hit one thousand words in a day so: YASSSSS to small wins.

 

We were (AB and I) invited to a housewarming party. She reminded me slightly before 4pm about the 6pm invite and originally I was going to do a 1K1Hr at 6pm. Normally I would have taken a whole nap before going out but this time I took a 20 minute rest and sat down to write.

I used Dr Wicked’s Write or Die and didn’t really have any issues getting the words out once I sat down and turned off my WiFi. 

N-T-Ways I’m in the car now headed to the party so I’m signing off but if you’re a writer and are writing today my wish for you is that the words flow like water through your finger tips onto the page. 

XO Peeps #GetErDone 
S/N: I know my nails are off brand but I had to do them myself until I could get in to see Daisy on Friday. (Mind ya business)

On Taking A Break

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Lately I’ve been feeling really overwhelmed with the state of the world. I’ve always been really sensitive about what’s going on in my community and in the world. Like most little girls I planned to change the world by solving some major human problem when I grew up. Fast forward to now and I can honestly say that I am doing the work. On a daily basis I am making strides to help solve issues in my community.

The work of an activist of any kind can often be emotionally tolling. Many activists suffer from burn out, nervous breakdowns, and even suicide. So it’s very important to take time out to relax, treat yourself and get your mind focused. Which I’ve been trying to do since Girl Talk in The Park was completed. The event was a success but very challenging and heavy to pull off.

Except, my social media accounts don’t really allow for mental breaks. I’m constantly bombarded with the ills of the world, America in particular.

I don’t watch the news because it is inundated with the negative aspects of what humans do to each other. For many years this has been my stance and my salvation. Besides most of the news stations don’t really share the news. When’s the last time you heard a real report about global warming?

All of the stations seem to share the same things that humans seem to love, Donald Trump, Kim Kardashian, Kanye West, and Police Brutality. Throw in racism, children being arrested for being children, and any new technology that’s on the horizon and you’ve got yourself a piece guaranteed to bring in the ratings.

For me, That’s what my social media accounts have begun to look like, click bait. High interest topics designed to elicit a reaction. And honestly I’m cool with it. I strongly believe that people should share what they want to share on their accounts. However, It doesn’t work for me. I don’t always want to read about the horrors of the world. In fact I would much rather go back to the days when people filled their pages with pictures of their new babies and their latest vacations. Anything to get me away from the many many social media activists. People who sit behind their computers and thoughtlessly share pictures and videos of people being horrible to each other. Who share news articles about politicians being straight out racists without talking a quick jaunt over to snopes to verify that tmz- anything is a bootleg version of The Onion. All the while being noticeably missing from doing the actual footwork in their community. I.E. Tampa peeps what have you done about the widening of 275?

I’m not judging… just asking

So I’m taking a break. I won’t be back on my personal Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter Accounts until May 1st and prior to that I’m going to go on a massive unfollowing spree. More than likely if you share fight videos or old news about something the KKK did ten years ago claiming it happened last week,  we’ll still be friends but I just won’t have your shares clogging up my news feed.

I’m also going to take the time to work on my novel, take lots of naps, work on my house, spend REAL and PRESENT time with my family, go to the beach, and read sooooo many books. If you have my number I hope that you’ll reach out to me and connect with me in the real live world.

In the mean time I wish you peace, love, and loads of laughter.

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Adrien

A Return to Arms aka An Inside View of Intersections and How All Black Lives Matter

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I rated this book:  * * * * *

A Return to Arms is the story of Toya a black lesbian activist trying to navigate her way through both life and the passages of the Black Lives Matter movement. Her life is a daily struggle of a young person trying to convince the rest of America that Black Lives Matter while attempting to convince the Organization, Rise Up of which she is an active member, that ALL Black Lives Matter. That women, queer people, children, men, single, straight, asexual, all of the intersections of Black Lives must Matter.

As Toya navigates her way through the rising tension and societal that arises after the killing of an unarmed teen by a police officer and the subsequent unrest she deals with the uncertainty of her relationship with another activist who believes that the cause must come before anything else, even her love life.

I hate spoilers so I hope you can get the gyst of the story from what I’ve written above but in two sentences: A Return To Arms is a love story, Love of self, love of community. And a story about the measures so many under represented activists go through to demand equality both in their communities and in the world.

I’m a Sheree L Greer stan. I LOVE everything she writes. I’m sharing that with full disclosure mostly because during a conversation with Sheree about why I don’t really like to review books by people I love, I worry that that love will interfere with me giving an honest unbiased review and she advised me to do the review as authentically as I could, “You call yourself Authentically Adrien be authentic.” Or something like that. Anyways,  This book is phenomenal. It is her best work. It is the work that I sit back and wait patiently to be dissected by  major blogs. It is the book that should land her on the New York Times Bestsellers List. (If it doesn’t you hating)

From the opening paragraph through the last sentence THE LAST SENTENCE I was hooked. I followed Toya’s story like my life depended on it possibly because I am Toya, Black, Queer, Woman, Activist. But also because Toya is so well written. I read somewhere once that an author’s job is to make you feel something and OH did we Feel something. We felt ALL the things. Including the music. I couldn’t quite pinpoint the words to the soundtrack of this book but I could feel the rhythm in the center of my back. I could sense the tempo under my palms as I inhaled this novel from tense movement to sexual moment to heartbreaking earth shattering moment.

I lived through these characters. I understood every single one of them and I even empathized for the characters that I hated. Sheree’s writing makes sure that you understand and relate to both antagonists and protagonists alike. It took me to the different settings and left me with vivid guttural images of the protest scenes. If you have never been to a rally you can officially make that claim after you read this book and I hope that it will help you to understand the importance of the Black Lives Matter movement if you don’t already.

Be prepared to have some interesting dialogue after you read this book and if you know Sheree personally and you text her in the middle of the night to say things like “Seriously? I hate that dude.” or “OH MY GOD.” Let her know that you didn’t get the idea to do so from me.

 

Purchase A Return to Arms Here.

Read more by/about Sheree L Greer Here.

I received this book to review in exchange for an advanced copy of the book. (Ya’ll know I like books!)

12 Commandments of Happy Adrien

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Cleaning my office I found a list of commandments that I created for myself while reading  Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project. I’m posting them here because I find a lot of inspiration from others and maybe you do too.

  1. Be Adrien
  2. Let it GO!
  3. Act they way you want to feel.
  4. Do it not.
  5. Be Polite. Be Fair.
  6. Enjoy the process.
  7. Spend Out
  8. Identify the problem.
  9. LIGHTEN UP.
  10. Do what needs to be done.
  11. No calculation.
  12. There is only one life. LIVE IT!!!

How Many Times Can One Soul Cry? My Reaction to the Sam Dubose Video.

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I said I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t watch one more video of a black person being murdered by the police, but today while I was reading an article the video was embedded in the article and of course I clicked on it. I watched it to the end and then I cried from my soul.

Sam Dubose's Mother being consoled.

Sam Dubose’s Mother being consoled.

Soul cries are reserved for the very best and the absolute worst of situations. Lately I’ve had more of the worst kind than I’ve ever had in life. I didn’t live during slavery, or segregation. Didn’t have to worry about protecting myself during the civil war. The worst racial experience I ever had to witness up until these last couple of years, was when Rodney King was brutally beaten in Los Angeles in 1992. I was born in 1984 so when that happened I was eight years old. How badly did that really effect me? Honestly not much I was a kid, I didn’t really comprehend what happened. Or maybe it was when Amadou Diallo was murdered in cold blood in 1999. Again if you subtract 1984 from 1999 you will find out that I was fifteen years old. I remember feeling that his death was horrible but I didn’t soul cry I seriously doubt that I cried at all.

As with most millennials if you’d asked me a few years ago I would have told you that while we were nowhere near a post racial society we were doing much better than we’d ever done before, hell our President is black. His election had to count for something. Right? Wrong. Everyday when I turn on my television or log onto the Internet I have a hard time figuring out if we are in 1958 or 2015. It’s 2015 and white men hiding behind badges are still using fear as a justification for shooting black people in broad daylight. Wouldn’t it seem that if you were too fearful of a population that you were not properly suited to protect and or to serve that population?

Being forced to witness or hear about these deaths on a daily basis  is absolutely horrible. I’ve suffered every stage of grief in what seems like a consistent pattern for the last couple of months. I can’t catch a break. Black people can’t catch a break. It doesn’t matter if we speak properly, face the officer, address him with respect, or pull our pants up and skirts down. It doesn’t matter if we know our rights, demand that the officer tell us why we’re being pulled over, nor if we question their judgement or knowledge of the laws. Whether  you are a respectability politic preacher or a militant minded, fuck the police they’re going to respect me, advocate there are enough videos online of black people doing both and ending up dead faster than you can blink. And most of the time the murderous officers are walking away acquitted. They’re murders justified in one way or another. Even if they do lose their jobs they’re getting book deals and being paid millions of dollars.

So what then? What must happen in order to stop this massive onslaught of police brutality? Every idea I have on this topic doesn’t seem good enough or quick enough. Legislation takes years and has to be decided upon by a system that has shown time after time that black people are not its favored people. Trying to humanize ourselves to people who don’t understand why we pay so much attention to the murders of “thugs” and “angry black women” isn’t the answer. I’ve stated more times than I can count recently that I’m not here for educating people who don’t want to be educated about how #BlackLivesMatter when #AllLivesMatter. In my humble opinion those people will never get it. I don’t know what to do but I’m tired of protesting, and blacking out my profile, and stating their names. I’m tired of crying, of being on edge, of praying that this doesn’t happen to me. Of hoping that I don’t get pulled over so strongly that I’ve slowed down significantly and placed all of my proper legal car papers in a place where reaching for them won’t seem hostile. I’m a black woman and I need to make it home to my child so I’ll continue to do these things and more but I’m really starting to wonder if America will ever get to the point where black people and other people of color won’t need to do these things.

Adrien’s Adventures in Home Ownership 07.18.15

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I did it!!!!

Last Thursday I achieved one of the things that a large number of Americans want to achieve: I purchased my first home. It’s been a very interesting process. I’ve had what seems like millions of conversations with various home owners and none of those conversations prepared me for this journey. It has been surreal.

Today was moving day. I can’t even count the amount of times that I have moved over the years but moving into your forever home has a vastly different feel than the feelings of moving into a new apartment. I woke up at five am and begin flitting through the house excitedly while I waited for my movers to arrive.

Moving day taught me a few things:

No matter how much you prepare you will forget something.

– Usually one of the most important things on your list. In my case it was the power drill which I really needed to drill the legs onto my new couches and toilet bowl cleanser.

There are some amazing people in this world.

– The College Hunks who moved my junk actually took the time to help my son assemble our mailbox before rushing off until their next appointment. My electrician helped DJ assemble the couches after discovering that we didn’t have a drill. He moved the power cord for the stove so that he could push the stove back making it flush with the wall. He also made the stove level after discovering that the Sear’s delivery men basically dropped the items off, did the bare minimum, and high tailed it out of here.

Some people are only looking to do the bare minimum.

– I  had two deliveries from Sears today, a mattress for the master bedroom, and a refrigerator and stove. Both times the delivery guys came in, placed my items down as quickly as possible, and jetted out after getting quick signatures. What they don’t know is I had planned to tip all of them. They didn’t get the gratuity because they didn’t deserve it but also because I barely had time to ask questions before they ran away. Maybe they had busy schedules. Maybe they wanted to get home to their families. Either way a few extra minutes would’ve equaled  a few extra dollars in their pockets.

Those dollars ended up with the most deserving person though: My electrician. I forgot to mention that he straightened my doorknob (unscrewed the knob and made it level) because it was slightly off-center and “Getting on my last nerve. You may not notice it but I do.” There are definitely angels on this earth.

FLEAS: I have found at least six fleas in this house. I know they didn’t come from the new furniture. We noticed a few before the deliveries started arriving and kind of brushed it off but after everything was situated and we sat down to eat we noticed a few more. We don’t have carpets, or animals, and we didn’t have any at the other house. I also didn’t notice them during any of my walk throughs, during the inspection, or any of the other times that I have been to this house. I have no idea where they came from but I do know that I can’t call the office and request pest control. I am officially maintenance, security, pest control, the manager, and all other duties that arise.

*CHALLENGE ACCEPTED*

Lastly I was reminded that if you don’t freak out at the first sign of trouble you can think clearly and the Universe will provide for you as it always does. I needed to be at both houses today on three different occasions and between pushing the car to the speed limit, awesome repair and installation people, and great timing I managed to meet every delivery person, be here long enough for every installation, and manage the movers at both houses. Most of these things were happening at two places simultaneously.

*Cues I am a God*

Stay tuned, I’m tired and I feel like I’m rambling but I plan to keep you guys updated on this home ownership journey.

Special Thanks to College Hunks Hauling Junk, Wayne the electrician, and Verizon for the superb patience and way above and beyond service. And to Kelly Parks of Keller Realty for the gift card that helped me purchase my stove and refrigerator.

Also to my neighbor slash homey/lover/friend Mo for coming through with the flea bombs. Something tells me where there are six there are more.

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My plant Alice. I named her after my great grandmother. Keep your ancestors close. They help ground you.

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College Hunks do more than just haul junk.

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How many people does it take to put together a mailbox? At least five.

Wayne the electrician.

Wayne the electrician.

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New fridge and stove from Sears Outlet.

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DJ would you like to use a drill?

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Delivery equals bringing items to your home and plopping them down as quickly as possible. -Note to self ask what that delivery fee covers.

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Wayne The Great

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These Hunks were awesome!

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DJ unloading the car.

To Know Me Is to Love Me But You Don’t Know Me

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I am not your fucking Martyr for girls who make it out the hood. Am Not-Look how far she made it./ That shit you see on Facebook is Cliff Notes.

Do not fall in love with the me of Instagram Pics and Twitter Quotes. You could not possibly know me from hugs given at Open Mics.

It is not flattering to hear you spout my praises from your throat with someone else’s words.

I am not soft. Not Easy. I am Rose’s thorns and slip knots.

You have no clue of the nights I cried because I did not know where I was in the city I have lived in for twelve years. Have not bore witness to viscous rants or the time I broke the window out my ex-girlfriend’s car.

Sure I have grown. Have no desire to hurt those who hurt me but all that stuff is a part of me. Like penny candies and loosies. Salt water taffy and blue crabs.

You think you’re attracted to the fire and ice that flows throw my veins but you shouldn’t get too close. Everyone granted a close up has failed to stay the course. Do not think you are any different.

Do not attempt to appease me with your pleas of love. To know me is to love me which is something that you don’t.

It is not something that I am even requesting of you. Not expected. Not admired. Not even frowned upon.

I have no interest in being loved for my wittiness nor my prettiness. Could care less if you like the way I laugh. You are falling in love with things that can not be guaranteed making your love undependable and the last thing that I need is false promises.

I Feel Blessed

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Today I was reminded that I need to pull my head out of my ass and acknowledge my blessings. There are so many people around me that would kill for the life I live and so many days I forget to acknowledge how truly blessed I am. I forget that all of the little nuisances of life don’t matter five minutes after they happen. During my drive home from work being cut off in traffic doesn’t even cross my mind as I chatter away to my best friend in NJ. Had this same thing happened yesterday it would have probably pissed me off beyond belief.

I used to do a gratitude list everyday but of course as with most things, I got away from that. Even though I know I was a happier person when I was acknowledging my blessings on a daily basis. I don’t know if I will actually create a list but I’m definitely going to set aside a few minutes everyday to say thank you for my blessings. Try it. You might realize that you have more to be thankful for than you think.

I feel blessed way up…

Today I am grateful for my healthy child.

That all of my siblings are still on Earth so that hatchets can actually be buried.

Nettie is still making her own decisions.

People who genuinely care about my well being.

AB Facetimed me so that I could see the Sea Lions on the Beach in CA.

Smart Phones so that I can actually see Sea Lions on a beach 50/11 miles away.

Life. All of it. Good Bad and Otherwise.

FUCK. It’s my favorite word!

You. Someone who reads these words that I string together. A writer’s greatest wish is to be read.IMG_3384

Aspirations

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When I was five I wanted to be a Ballerina, and a Princess, and I wanted to learn to swim so that I could be an oceanographer and swim with the dolphins.

And when I was ten I wanted to be a fashion model, and a dermatologist so I could fix my brother’s skin, and to be the most beautiful bride ever.

At 17 I only wanted to be able to go with my friends to the movies and not be able to relate to the woman on the screen who had just gotten violated and was no longer whole.

I didn’t wanna be a tragedy.

Now I’m 30  and over the years I took enough ballet classes to be considered a ballerina, had my picture in enough magazines to be considered a model, learned enough about hygiene moisturizing and diet to call myself a dermatologist.

Learned to swim. -Went to sea world.-Swam with dolphins.-Oceanographer.

And I am a Princess.
And
In the very near future when I marry my GIRLfriend in her eyes I WILL be the prettiest bride ever.

I am funny and I am smart and I am loved and I am accomplished but no matter how much I accomplish I will never be WHOLE.

I wasn’t going to share this poem today but every time I see a picture of Bill Cosby circulating I think of all the women who wanted to be an actress, then wanted to act opposite Bill Cosby, and then wanted to not have been violated by Bill Cosby… and I think how fucking awful it must be to have to have gone through something as traumatic as this then to have millions of people chiming in throwing in reasons why this just DID not happen to them. Or stating that if it did it’s only being used now as some sort of conspiracy to bring down an icon.

No, I wasn’t there but I vowed at a very early age to believe the victim because I personally know how many people don’t believe the victim and how that makes you feel. How it feels when the police ask you the same questions over and over again because how could he possibly know what tv show you were watching and why would he leave his naked wife for a child. I remember the times I pondered being dead over having to look at my father in the face knowing that he believed that I was just a fast tailed little girl instead of someone who went to sleep and woke up with a man who was supposed to be on top of his naked adult wife, already on top of and inside of her.

Rapists, molesters, predators, and abusers come in all shapes and sizes. Many of them are married and in high profile positions. They are your teachers, your police officers, your pastors, your dentists, and some of them are even your favorite jello pudding pushers.

A Change of Shift

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It is pretty much a guarantee that as we age those who were caregivers will trade places with those who were formerly in their care. The child becomes the “parent” is a phrase that I’ve heard frequently throughout my nursing career. I’ve actually uttered it on more than one occasion while trying to help someone cope with the change of roles between they and their parents. Of course I knew that my day would eventually come but no matter how much you think about a thing you’re never fully ready when it happens.

My grandmother means more to me than most people in life. She has been so much to me throughout my life. My confidante, parent, role model, best friend, doctor, masseuse and the list goes on. The one person who I can tell anything without worrying about feeling any kind of judgement. My mother had me at an early age so in a sense I grow up alongside her calling both my grandmother and my mother; mom.

So the text that I received a few  weeks ago stating that mommy was having health issues caused my heart to stutter. Flashed me back to a memory of my cousins and I arguing over who loved her more. “If she died I would throw myself in the casket with her.” I vowed causing my cousins to yell at me for ever suggesting that she would ever die. In our young minds she would be around and healthy forever.

She’s so strong and up into a couple of weeks ago she was running around CT better than people twenty years her junior. Taking trains and taxis to the casino whenever the whim suited her. Traveling from state to state as if there were no barriers. Never needing any assistive device or any assistance from anyone. Now that has changed and I had been notified via text. Via text…

Even after I talked to my grandmother and she assured me that she was ok. “They’re always exaggerating. You ain’t got to worry about me baby.” Was how she phrased it laughing and downplaying the situation as my aunt continued to text message me about walkers and colonoscopies. The nurse in me needed to assess the situation with my own eyes.

Two flights later I was in her home wearing both the eyes of her daughter and the eyes of her nurse and while it was oh so easy to tell other people’s parents to get rid of their cat or their car, there are not many things more daunting than trying to decide how to tell your own mom that she needs to get rid of her throw rugs. That the table that she keeps lifting her walker over is unsafe as is the cellphone cord that she has stretched across the walkway to her bathroom. Or that yes, you do think that she needs one of those I’ve fallen and I can’t get up things.

I spent an entire twenty-four hours cringing every time she went to the restroom trying to find a way to broach the subject before I mentioned the placement of the table. Of course she lifted up the walker to display for me how light it was. It was not a problem and she would be “OK Baby.”

I don’t like conflict so when she went to the bathroom to get dressed for church I moved the table, plugged her cellphone charger up behind her bed and placed it on her nightstand, then I spent twenty minutes on Amazon ordering all of the things I had discovered she was low on during my assessment; toilet paper, paper towels, ivory spring bar soap, and her beloved beef ravioli.

I thanked God when she came out of the bathroom and laughed “I was going to ask you to put that table over there.” she said before sitting on the bed to finish getting dressed for church. I hope she meant to ask me to replenish her supply of Chef Boy A Dee as well. Either way I embrace the challenge of encouraging her to enjoy her autonomy while moving things out of her way for her own good.

I don’t however, embrace the fact that she may need a hip replacement for pain. I don’t believe that this is something that she has recently been struggling with. Lastly, I don’t know how I’m supposed to live in FL while she’s in CT where I can’t consistently see her with my own eyes.