She was one of the most promising writers to come out of the 1920s Harlem Renaissance, but died alone in obscurity. Her writings today are being revisited as they delve into the idea of race and sexuality in the black community.
Tag: writing Page 3 of 4
As the rock cliff is undercut by erosion, overhanging rocks break off. No one can predict when the next break will occur, so view the cliffs from a safe distance.
When I left the Star-Herald in June 2019, I knew there was a chance I would never be able to write professionally again. I had to do it in order to save my physical and mental health. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly. Writing is the one thing in life I have always had confidence in. Despite the fact that my life may have been falling apart in other ways throughout the years, I could always take solace in my writing regardless of genre.
For most people, December 31 is a time to reflect on the events in their lives and look forward to what lies ahead. Some participate in making New Year’s resolutions and make goals to do better and be better in the new year. I’ve never participated in these events. I believe if you discover a change in life is needed, do it in that moment rather than wait until some apportioned time set by society.
Since 2017, my new year has been set to November 9. On that day, everything changed. It was the day something broke inside of me, but I do not view it as a bad thing. Over the past year, I have made significant changes in my life, which have helped me to grow as a person and allowed me to start down a path I have chosen rather than settling for the circumstances life threw at me.
There was still a little bit of light outside. I suspect in a week or two, it will be dark outside at 6 p.m. Fall is in full swing and winter is nipping at the edges of the day, anxious to arrive and take over. The temperature was in the mid-forties. I parked my car in the empty K-Mart parking lot, got out and dialed her number.
I sat on the cold, concrete parking bumper. The chill instantly went through my blue jeans. I was shaking, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or everything else.
She answered on the fourth ring.
Every artist has a their own way of creating their masterpieces. Some sit in quiet rooms, diligently plugging away at the ideas in their head to make their ideas real. Others prefer the outdoors or public places. They also have ways of destroying pieces of their creation or completed projects. Each artist has their reasons for doing so. Rarely does the artist ever think about what the public or future generations will think about their actions.
Walk to the car
just walk to the car
there’s no one inside
it’s safe there
speak the words
to quell the thoughts
silence the memories
crush the flashbacks
keep the constant dialogue
to get the fear the fuck out of my head
I have turned in my key. I have made my peace. I am no longer a reporter and photographer for the Star-Herald.
For the past five and a half years, I have written on a variety of topics and always put my best foot forward. That time has come to an end.
I have found it rare to have a colleague that is hard-working, but also finds time for fun and friendship. Spike Jordan is one of those people. Spike originally joined the Star-Herald as a copy editor before moving over to reporter. When long time ag editor Sandy Hansen retired, Spike stepped in to fill those shoes. Earlier this year, he moved on to be the editor of the Hemingford Ledger. I’m pretty sure he came back to the Star-Herald solely because he missed my awesomeness.
As a journalist, he has taught me a lot about copy editing, design, and digging deeper in investigative reporting. He has joined me on interviews, particularly one where we got to hang out with yaks, told tall tales, and educated me on the finer points of stealing cake. He has been there for me when my mental health issues strike at work and helped me along the way. So, with the help of fellow reporter Mark Gaschler, we spent several hours creating a welcome back gift for Spike to show appreciation toward him as only a couple of nerds could do.
Mr. Rosen taught 11th grade English, but his class was about so much more than grammar, spelling, and punctuation. We read Alive By Piers Paul Read and learned to look at the world differently rather than being repulsed by people who had to make impossible decisions. He read, then interpreted, Shakespeare – Macbeth to be exact – into his own brand of humorous English. He was a DJ on WPDH during the Christmas holidays. He encouraged us to use our imaginations. Most importantly, he introduced us to Walter Mitty.