Write Something: A Message From the Universe

Forgive this Kid President moment, but I woke up this moment and felt seriously compelled to tell you to get off your ass and be awesome already. If I were a carebear I would be Writerbear...with a keyboard on my stomach and it would light up when we did that stare thing and I would shout "Write Bitches! Infect the world with your awesomeness!" Well I am not a carebear (thank God), but I do have a steadfast belief in your weirdness and talent. Share it with the world! This is not a time for shyness.

So here is the plan in 12 easy to follow steps:
Step 1 Write something.
Step 2 Finish writing something.
Step 3 Read what you wrote.
Step 4 Appreciate the good parts about what you wrote.
Step 5 Edit out what doesn't work.
Step 6 Stop editing.
Step 7 Let someone else read your work.
Step 8 Contemplate other people's opinion.
Step 9 Contemplate your own opinion.
Step 10 Decide your shit is finished.
Step 11 Really finish...actually let it go.
Step 12 Put it out there.

Black Girl Nerds: BOOK REVIEW: God, Hair, Love and America

Black Girl Nerds: BOOK REVIEW: God, Hair, Love and America: I’ve never been a huge fan of poetry.   Throughout high school and college I had to challenge myself to read various works of poetry...

A Lesson In Boundaries- © rejj original poem

I hold this paper between us
like a saber
because we are already
standing too close.
I open my mouth
and there you are beneath me,
baby bird,
waiting to be fed
this regurgitated nutrients.
There is a need in you,
naked and primal,
a longing for what is mine
and I don't trust you
not to take too much.

So I hold this paper between us
like a barbed wire fence,
hoping as you press
your face against it,
the tang of metal,
the piercing of iron and electricity
will guard against
your wayward curiosity,
will poke your eyes shut
when they have seen enough.

I hold this paper between us
like an old lady opens the door
to her apartment,
never removing the chain,
locks still in place,
only cracking it a sliver
long enough to see who
is on the other side,
and shit it's you again,
like a bill collector,
no, like a loan shark.
You are asking for payment,
but willing to take limbs,
blood, pain.
You would just as easily
see me stretched and broken.
It would be equally as beautiful to you.

So I hold this page between us
as a reminder
that what I am willing to give you
is finite,
is not the never ending story,
all access Disney pass
to my soul,
is 9 x 11 with 1 inch margins,
a beginning, a middle, and
an end.

And as I whisper my words to you,
do not mistake me for soft spoken.
Feel the sledge hammers wrapped in velvet,
at the core of every stanza,
feel the bite of me,
the gilded ginzu knives
I juggle with a grin
and know
if I were to speak any louder
I might deafen you,
if I were to share much more,
the rain of falling knives
would slit you into ribbons,
so I hold this paper between us
as much for your safety
as for mine.

Putting It Out There...

Words on paper. There is something about taking your thoughts and putting them down in a place where you can actually see them, read them, edit and rearrange them until they are what you really want to say. Last week, I hosted the first of five meetings for the Soul Writers. The idea came about because I have so many friends who are writers that never write. They love writing, they are amazing at it, but somehow moment by moment life has made other plans for them, shown up with stuff that demands attention, like jobs, kids, spouses, and etc.

Top 3 reasons these awesome writers aren't writing:
1)Time
2) Busy Lives
3) Self Criticism

Through our free write we discovered dozens of ways to express those three things, but really that's what it came down to...we're busy, we don't take the time to write and when we do we don't think it's good enough to share.

So here is the secret I want to share with you today. All of that is bullshit. Of course we're busy, so what. Time exists as a vehicle to decompress every experience, so that not everything is happening all at once. Past, present, future...it's not all one line moving only in one direction and I can get all woo woo and philisophical about it, but the point is we do have one thing that we have control over...we have this time called NOW. We can make time, even if it's 5 minutes a day. That's 5 minutes when we could be writing. And the most difficult piece...being afraid of being judged or worse the judgement you pass on yourself...well if it's keeping you from doing something you love, then I question your need to commit to it. I'll admit it. I have been that closeted perfectionist, that person who missed a million chances to share my work because it wasn't just right. Then a few years ago, I got over it. How? Why?

Well it was kind of an accident. I wrote and published a book. It was a Christmas gift for my mom, but then once I saw it, once I held it in my hands and thumbed through it and it looked so much like a "real" book...that's when I realized that it was. Yup, the book I wrote turned out to be a real book. Then I read it and well...it was actually good. So then I threw myself a party and to my surprise lots of people came and suddenly I had sold 200 copies of my book, mostly out of my purse (I have a big purse). And then I put it on facebook and my friends in Chile, Japan, Guatemala and Spain ordered it online...then suddenly I had this book that was being sold internationally. Can you belive it? Well, believe it. It happened. It's still happening. I sold three books this morning!

Now what if I had just kept re-commiting to never being good enough? Where would that have gotten me? Nowhere...so I shifted my focus to just taking everything step by step, writing a poem, helping someone else write a poem. And now here I am again having just published a poetry anthology with about 80 teenagers I took to Guatemala, and I am just a few weeks away from releasing my second solo collection of poetry: Love and Guatemala.

I'm not bragging...okay I am a little bit :). But more than bragging, I'm trying to make the a point. Here it is: If I can do it you can do it. Who you are makes a difference. What you write makes a difference. So even if you can't join us for the next Soul Writers, please don't let that deter you from grabbing a pen and some paper and sitting down to let it flow. It is so worth it! And that is my long-winded diatribe for today.

Soul Writing- This Sunday Feb 3, 2013

Small steps take us from where we are to where we want to be. Do you love to write? Have you ever wanted to write a book but felt intimidated by the process? If your answer is yes to both questions then please join the circle for the first of what I hope will be a monthly opportunity to spend time on writing, editing, sharing, and self publishing. Please RSVP by Friday Feb 1 to rejjarts@gmail.com so I can know how many people to expect.

Soul Writing: Drop In Circle
Sunday, February 3

Noon-1:30PM

Amor Spiritual Center

2528 Beacon Ave S.

Seattle, WA 98144

What to bring: Your ideas and the writing tools of your choice (pen and paper, laptop, etc)

The Details: My name is Reagan Jackson and I will be facilitating the circle. In 2010 I took a collection of my poetry and turned it into a book called God, Hair, Love, and America which I self published through Createspace.com . The entire process was wonderful, from writing and selecting the poems to creating themes and titles and finally putting the whole thing together. In the end, I not only had a book that I could hold in my hand, but a product that is currently being sold online through Amazon.com, Barnes and Nobles, Ebay, and other sites. There is even a kindle version. Locally Left Bank Books, Santoro’s Books, A Poetry Emporium, and the Center for Spiritual Living Bookstore have stocked my book and it has been entered into several libraries systems.

All of this started out as just a fun and exciting project, a Christmas present for my mother who was forever asking me to share my work. But it evolved into something so much greater. It turned into an opportunity for me to share a part of myself with the world in a way that will last beyond my lifespan. I really had no idea what I was doing, but now I do. It is my intention to share what I have learned through this process with anyone who is interested and to help them create their own book. Though my focus will be more on self-publishing, I will also provide resources for those interested in publishing in a more traditional way. All ages are welcome.

Agenda for the first circle:
• Writing Prompt: I Write Because / Disernment Exercise
• Introductions and Intention Setting

• Group Agreements

• Goals and action steps moving forward

Excerpt from God, Hair, Love, and America

The Afro-petting Zoo Is Closed:

A Public Service Announcement in 3 Parts

1

Freedom of speech is all cool,

but sometimes my hair be talkin’ shit

Not when she’s twisted or braided down

and wrapped in silk,

but sometimes,

when freshly washed and oiled

smelling like coconut and ocean

all soft and luscious

billowing up and out

wild and free,

she gets an attitude,

starts talking to strangers.

She be like “Psst. Hey.  I look soft don’t I?”

She says “ Touch me, I’m like perfumed velvet,

You know you wanna touch me.”

* Now this is important: Don’t listen to her.*

2

The following is a dramatization

based on several unfortunately true events.

It was Saturday night at the club.

She was blond and sparkly

Shellacked into white go-go boots

and a pink spandex mini-dress

that was made to hold

much less of her,

but she didn’t care.

It was her birthday!

She was pink and special

And the tequila was free!

As she tottered out into the street,

Loosely supported by two equally drunk friends,

Her eyes fixed on me,

A vision of chocolate goodness,

The tremendous fluff of my ‘fro

So soft, so downy, black cotton candy

Cried out to her

Like a giant puffy siren

Singing her towards

Her own destruction

“Touch me.

I’m just as plush as that rabbit you had in kindergarten,

Pet me.”

It all happened quickly.

Startling the crowd of cool kids smoking by the door,

She let out a squeal of elation

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

She shed her friends,

like a beer stained coat and

came careening towards me,

the fat in her dress set into motion

like two warring sock puppets

tarped in pink,

A mass of bubble gum jello

jiggling,

JIGGLING,

Her two hands

like the metal grabby claws

in those glass bins filled with toys

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

Coming closer,

closer…

*SLAP*                

The slap reverberated through the street.

Smoking ceased.

The bouncer eyed us warily,

The only sound was

the throb of diva house spilling out from the club.

A smile was turned upside down.

Pink sparkly lips quavered:

“It’s my birthday,” she whimpered “You didn’t have to…”

OH… but I did!

Don’t let this happen to you.

 

3

It’s big, it’s invisible,

And it surrounds me constantly

I like to call it:

“My personal space bubble.”

In the words of singer, song writer

India Arie

“I am not my hair.”

All views expressed by my hair

are not necessarily my views.

Any invitations issued by my hair

are subject to interpretation

and possible recrimination,

So to avoid potential litigation

and / or possible bitch slapping,

treat me like I am the VIP lounge

complete with velvet ropes

and burley men named Thor

forming a barrier between you and my hair.

If you’re not on the list,

Don’t touch me.

Thank you for your time and attention

GV Poetry Anthology

In many ways my last job was my dream job. I was doing something meaningful, taking teenagers to Guatemala, teaching social justice and helping connect young people to their communities and beyond. But there were some things I missed, like painting, writing, and having a life outside of my job. So it was not entirely altruistic that at the start of my second year that I chose to add poetry to our curriculum. It helped that one of my participants was also a poet who had competed nationally through Youth Speaks. He was both a help and an inspiration.

Ultimately though my biggest motivation was somewhat selfish, because if I made the kids sit down and write, then I too would have to write. And write we did. That was the easy part. I had a few reams of blank paper, a Ziploc bag filled with pens and a few prompts hastily scrawled on a white board. They did the rest. 

What we discovered is that even those who were self-declared poetry haters, when given 20 minutes of mandatory silence, a pen and a piece of paper, had something to say...something to write about, an experience to share. Even participants who rarely talked during our group reflections were able to express themselves on paper and the poetry they created was brilliant, too brilliant not to be shared.

So we formed a committee of other dedicated youth and together after months of editing and meetings and voting on everything from the cover art to the font size and type, we finally finished it. Click on the link for a peek. It is available for purchase.GV Poetry Anthology 

All proceeds will go towards the scholarship fund to ensure another class of visionaries can afford to embark on their journey. Hope you love it as much as we loved putting it together.