My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Browsing Category Journaling/Writing

Being Unapologetically Me

by on ·Journaling/Writing, Opinion, The Writing Life

The thing about expressing thoughts in a public journal instead of a private one is that the public journal exposes otherwise insulated thoughts to everyone and leaves me vulnerable.

As I learned from at least a half-dozen family members and a couple of non-related readers, my last journal entry ruffled some feathers. Specifically, my comments about toxic kin struck a nerve. Truth be told, the truth hurts, but I won’t dwell on that topic.

I learned long ago that anything written for the public, whether a silly poem, an opinion piece in a newspaper, or a blog post, is susceptible to criticism. I also learned that’s why a writer must develop a thick skin. Since, by nature, I‘ve always been an easy-going, compassionate person, it took a while for me to grow that extra layer of epidermis. That doesn’t mean things my critics say don’t bother me; I’ve just learned to keep it in perspective. I know that, just like me, other people have their opinions. So, I’m not apologizing for having the audacity to express myself in a way many people might not.

Although I’ve been writing since childhood, my first published piece was an article in The Washington Post in March 1985, followed by a poem in an Anthology of Poetry in 1988. Since then, I’ve been in writer’s bliss. I find writing to be a cathartic and therapeutic experience. I write a public journal to express my feelings to others and get feedback from my readers who may want to share their opinions on the same or other subjects. Often, I will disclose details about past or present events in my life, reveal new goals, reflect on my anxieties, or express gratitude. (To God, I always give glory.) But whatever I write about, my intention remains to be honest and open.

One of the most challenging things I had to overcome when accepting the suggestion to create this blog was the fear of what people might think about something I wrote until I learned that the fear of saying or writing the wrong thing, making mistakes, or being criticized stifles my creativity. Since discarding that asphyxiating security blanket, I have become stronger and more self-confident.

For too many years, I was a go-along-to-get-along person. To avoid being seen as illiberal, I felt inclined to support issues I disagreed with or believed were morally wrong. Now, I refuse to be one of those people who pretend that the emperor is wearing clothes when it is perfectly evident that he is butt naked. I am and plan to always be unapologetically me.

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New Year Rising

by on ·Blogging, General, Journaling/Writing, Lifestyle and Culture

Wham! And just like that, we have crossed the threshold of 2022. Bearded Father Time handed to Baby New Year much of the same baggage from ’21:  The pandemic. Gun violence. And the incivility of ill-mannered politicians, athletes, and other malcontents

Author Anne Lamott in her book Dusk, Night, Dawn, suggests, “We summon humor to amend ghastly behavior and dismal ongoing reality.”

What Anne is saying is, “Chill!” I like her attitude. But everything doesn’t work for everybody. Some people are born with the gift of gab, other folks have an innate sense of humor. On the other hand, I am usually unfunny and can rarely tell a joke without blowing the punchline.

By the way, since this is a new year, and I hope to welcome new readers, let me tell you newbies a little about myself and Potpourri101. Potpourri is my online journal. Unlike a private journal, there is a limit to how much personal information I disclose in my public journal. I know folks like to read juicy stuff and get a full course meal, but I’m only serving hors d’oeuvres on this site. Because even Simple Simon knows that the writings on a blog are immortal, they will outlive the author and be around for as long as the Internet exists.

I’ve been composing poems and short stories since I was a child. I am 12 years a blogger (not to be confused with 12 years a slave unless you count low-wage earning jobs I held while employed in corporate America). I am also a published author. I would love to be on the New York Times Best Seller list one day, but since I’ve got more years behind me than in front of me, I may not live long enough to write the great American novel. That’s the small stuff that I don’t sweat because the reality is that we are all terminal.

Still, who knows, some of the books that I have in progress may one day be published posthumously. That brings me to an interesting tidbit about authors. It is common knowledge that many famous authors were alcoholics. Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allen Poe, Patricia Highsmith (author of The Talented Mr. Ripley), and Carson McCullers (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter), and that’s not even half of them. Since I don’t drink alcohol, perhaps teetotalism stalled my writing career. Nah! Caffeine is my addiction of choice despite the clever quip written by a possibly alcoholic anonymous author, “Step aside coffee. This is a job for alcohol.”

Many of my close friends will tell you that I am ambitious, opinionated, competitive, and transparent. What you see is what you get. Speaking of friends and associates, I believe it’s mostly true – you know, that saying about birds of a feather. But, of course, sometimes odd birds sneak into the flock the way the FBI infiltrated the Black Panther Party during the Sixties. Still, subversion aside, we tend to associate with people whose character and interests mimic our own.

People tend to think that I am an extrovert, to the contrary, I am very much an introvert, and I guard my privacy like the secret service protects the White House. I even prefer being around plants and domesticated animals to people. Strange bird, huh?

Unlike some baby boomers my age, I love computers and enjoy other contemporary devices like tablets, iPods, and iPhones. Speaking of cell phones, I prefer text to talk. Texting seems much more time-efficient than having a discussion comprising more filler phrases than meaningful conversation. I especially like the talk-to-text feature, except when I speak too fast and don’t enunciate clearly. Then, the message can be entirely different from what I intended to say.

Another thing that annoys me about texting is group text messages. That’s when a sender sends a text message simultaneously to multiple parties. Most of us have received one of them at some time or another. I am no fan of group texts because every time someone responds to the original message, the entire group receives the reply instead of just the sender. I find that so annoying, especially when I am busy writing or trying to sleep.

Group text messages remind me of when folks used to send chain letters. Remember those? Someone would send snail mail letters to several people with the instruction that each recipient make copies and send them to others. I never complied.

I am very competitive. I enjoy playing word games online, especially Puzzly Word, Words with Friends, and board games like Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit. I also enjoy stimulating conversations with open-minded people who discuss fact-based topics and don’t base their arguments solely on conjecture and prejudgment. I respect other people’s personal opinions but have no patience for foolishness.

I like to dabble in political and social activism, but I am not the die-hard type to sit at the lunch counter while agitators pour catsup on my heard. I am a peace-lover, and I appreciate the sacrifices made by those protesters during the civil rights era, but non-violence has its limit.

When I was a timid, early adolescent little girl, growing up in the projects, I was taught that you don’t start a fight, but you don’t let another kid chase you into the house either. If someone hits you, you hit them back. I knew that if words came to blows, I had better knock the grit out of whoever I was fighting (draw first blood Rocky would say) because it was likely that if I didn’t come off swinging hard, I’d get my skinny butt beat. Strangely, I can recall being in only four fistfights during my youth and with whom; they were three girls and one boy on different days.

We were all in the same age group and attended the same school, and I remember their names. Teresa, Sandra, Patricia, and Ricky. They all lived in the neighborhood, but they had a reputation for starting trouble, unlike me. At one time or another, I fought with each of them, only once and that ended our rivalry. In those days, kids mainly fought with their hands. Socking. Scratching. Kicking. Biting. Sadly, today the cowards settle the score with guns.

I am an advocate for the underprivileged and downtrodden. I have empathy and tolerance for the needy, not the greedy. Greedy, selfish people are my nemesis.

Well, enough about me. All things considered, 2022 is the most remarkable year ever, considering that as I write this, we are only 16 hours into the new year.

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The Rhythm of the Stroke

by on ·Journaling/Writing

People who think it is easy to write a book need a serious reality check. I am not trying to discourage aspiring authors, but seasoned writers like Steven King, Nora Roberts, or the late Toni Morrison, who have what I call the gift of the pen would likely agree with me. Quasi-authors, as I refer to those who lack the time or skill to write but are financially able to hire a ghostwriter might also agree. If anyone asks me – no one has, but I’ll say it anyway – I think it is akin to cheating to print a person’s name on the cover as the author when someone else wrote the book. Celebrities are notorious for hiring ghostwriters, and numerous ghostwriters don’t mind remaining anonymous as long as they get paid. So the celebrity gets credited as the author and reaps the benefits from publication, the ghostwriter gets paid, and everybody is happy. Well, that is unless a ghostwriter decides to sue like Courtney Love’s ghostwriter did.

Three decades ago, I was offered the opportunity to ghostwrite a book. My mother even encouraged me to do it, but I didn’t take it seriously. Mistake. Big mistake. The book that I will not name was eventually published. Gosh darn!

According to an NPR article, So You Need a Celebrity Book. Who Ya Gonna Call? Ghostwriters, Madeleine Morel, a literary agent, estimates that at least 60 percent of the books on the nonfiction bestsellers list right now are ghostwritten.

Everybody has a story to tell, and many folks want their story told and sold in book form. It doesn’t matter if it’s a hardcover, an e-book, or an audible version as long as the book brings a financial return; who cares? Unfortunately, wishing and hoping won’t write it for you. It is probably easier for a beginning fisherman (or woman) to land a 30-pound bluefish with a lightweight pole than for a novice to write a book.

Because I persevered, I published my first book six years ago now I am working on a second. And speaking only for those who, like me, are fresh out of the gate, I’ll be among the first to tell you that writing a book doesn’t get any easier the more you do it. Unless you have someplace to seclude yourself away from all disturbances, interruptions will be your first nemesis. The phone, the doorbell, noises outside your window, the television playing in the background, and anyone who lives with you could be a potential interrupter to your train of thought.

Another thing I would tell would-be authors. Writing a book is more than typing words on paper. If you are going to produce a publishable product, then writing, researching, and editing is essential before you even think about sending your book to print.

My other nemeses are procrastination and its sister, writer’s block. When I am in their grip, my mind immediately flashes back to a poem that someone wrote in my high school autograph book at the end of my senior year — “Can’t think. Brain numb. Inspiration won’t come. Bad ink. Worse pen. Best wishes. Amen”

During unproductive times, I call on my muse to motivate me, or being the music lover I am; I hum a few lines from a song to stimulate my writing gene. Lately, I’ve been reiterating, “Get the rhythm of the stroke,” to encourage myself to avoid procrastinating and get with it. That is a phrase from the song Aqua Boogie, released in the late seventies by Parliament. Aqua Boogie was the short title for Aqua Boogie: A Psychoalphadiscobetabioaquadoloop. Whew! That’s a mouthful to say and a brain teaser to write.

Well, enough journaling. It’s time to get back to the rhythm of the stroke on the keyboard and work on the book.

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Booking the Book Deal: First You Have to Write It

by on ·Journaling/Writing, Lifestyle and Culture, The Way I See It

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things.” Words of wisdom from award-winning horror genre author Stephen King

The first book I wrote was for my mother. I took my time researching and writing it and gave mother some of the first draft’s initial chapters to read. Several months later, we learned that she was terminally ill. I rushed to complete the book, but death won the race. Mother died 11 months before Legacy was published.

Not long ago, I reread the book and discovered what I perceived as some editorial shortcomings. The downside of being a perfectionist is that you want everything you produce to be flawless. There are times when I contemplate updating the book, but then I imagine mother reiterating what she used to say often throughout her life, “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

I’ve been working on my second book for a while. But procrastination is my nemesis. I can create a blog post in a few hours, but writing a book is ten times more challenging, as anyone who has attempted it knows. As passionate as I am about writing, it is a time-consuming and tedious process, and I have to be in a creative frame of mind to tackle it.

I was a bookworm long before I learned Stephen Kings’ advice about reading to improve writing. However, unless you are fortunate, like some renowned authors, to have a secluded retreat where you go to ply your trade, your writing time could be hindered, as mine often is, by constant interruptions. And interruptions aside when it comes to writing books, time is not our friend.

For instance, I am currently reading The Dead Are Arising: The Life of Malcolm X. It is a fantastic five-star worthy publication. It clears up factual disputes and provides the reader with significantly more details about Malcolm X than the autobiography. The author, Les Payne, worked on The Dead Are Arising for 28 years. Sadly, in 2018, he died of a heart attack before he could finish the final draft. His daughter Tamara Payne, her dad’s research assistant, completed the book with their editor Robert Weil’s help. It was published last year.

Speaking of time, who hasn’t read The Catcher in the Rye? J.D. Salinger took ten years to finish it.

Writing her book was also a decade-long journey for Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell.

Alex Haley co-authored The Autobiography of Malcolm X and later wrote the acclaimed, 704-page Roots. Factoring in research time and intercontinental travel, it took Haley twelve years to write that book. And boy! It paid off in numerous ways.

Aware of the truth that time waits for no man (or woman), it is inspiring to know that some people don’t hit their literary stride until they are senior citizens.

J. R. R Tolkien took 16 years to finish The Lord of the Rings. He was 63 years old when the book was published.

Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Frank McCourt, was 66 when he wrote his bestselling memoir Angela’s Ashes.

And the oldest debut novelist on record award goes to Lorna Page. She was 93 years old when her first novel A Dangerous Weakness, was published.

The time it takes to write a book depends on many things, the book’s length and genre, the period spent doing research, and the author’s day-to-day writing routine.

Occasionally, one of my friends will ask my advice on how to publish their book. Here is my two-minute rudimentary pitch.

There are two methods of getting your book in print: self-publishing or traditional publishing.

Self-publish, and you maintain ownership of your book and can keep much of the profits. However, self-publishing necessitates that you do a lot of leg work after writing your book. That means everything from producing a professional product (editing, cover, format, etc.) to marketing it. If you have money to spare, you can pay professionals to help with those things.

Traditional publishing is more costly than self-publishing. It involves hiring a literary agent. The agent will help you put together query letters, a book proposal, a contract, a  marketing plan, book tours. He or she will be your overall pitch person. Literary agents charge a commission (about 15%) on any money that you earn. For every amount they get you in advances or royalties, speaking engagements, or other perks, they will take their cut. They will handle the heavy lifting. You may get an advance, but you’ll give up rights to your book, and everybody makes money off of it.

When I self-published my book, I had to learn the ropes through trial and error. I am still learning, but this time I am a little bit wiser.

Unless you have name recognition (say Terry McMillian or Walter Mosley), self-publishing is the way to go. The investment in self-publishing could be anywhere from a few hundred dollars to a few thousand. How much you want to spend on your book is your call. For Legacy, I hired a fantastic copy editor before sending my book to a premier (POD) print-on-demand service for self-publishing authors. Comparing the royalties earned from self-publishing to traditional publishing could be like equating a child’s piggy bank filled with pennies to a five-gallon jug filled with quarters and greenbacks. But everything is relative.

With determination, perseverance, and a little bit of luck, any well-written book could mean the difference between a mediocre publication and a Pulitzer Prize-winner. There will be time for learning the ropes of getting your book published, but first, you have to write it.

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Looking Back at The Funeral

by on ·Family, Journaling/Writing, Religion, The Way I See It

I wrote the entry below in my journal on May 11, 2014, the night before Mother’s Day, weeks before my ailing mother died, and days after her doctor called my siblings and me to his office to tell us what I had already presumed. (The fact that this is being published on Father’s Day is coincidental.)

Mother’s cancer had returned after three years in remission and a few months following her breast surgery. It was terminal. Her doctor said that chemo and other interventive efforts to prolong her life had been exhausted. The ire that led me to express angry feelings in my journal later that evening was not the result of the doctor’s disclosure. I became enraged after my sister told me over the phone that she and our mother were writing down service arrangements for mother’s funeral.

I knew that my exclusion from the planning was intentional because my sister and mother were members of the same religious organization and I purposely have no membership with any organized religion. The deliberate slight led me during that telephone conversation to decide that I would not attend my mother’s funeral. (Circumstances, which I’ll later explain, changed my mind. I did attend the funeral. My sister did not.)

My sister, brothers, and I each dealt with my mother’s pending death in our own way. I, as I often do, wrote through my pain, confiding and psychologically transferring my feelings to my private journal. Now, as the fifth anniversary of mother’s death approaches on June 18, I’ve decided to share, in my public journal, a condensed version of the entry I wrote on that Mother’s Day eve. For me revealing these thoughts and pent up emotions is cathartic. Others may see it differently, and that’s okay. And as much as I know I should resist saying this about that; I’m going to say it anyway – Whatever.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. What a time to be writing this.

I won’t be attending mother’s funeral. People will wonder why — let them. While the service is underway, I will be here, at home, feeling a lot of things, but guilt will not be one of those emotions. I’ll probably be reminiscing.

Like every good mother, mom instilled pearls of wisdom in her children as she and dad raised the four of us. She never stopped giving us advice, even when we were adults. I remember following frequent news reports about the Jim Jones tragedy in Guyana that dominated the airways, mother and I had many conversations about how easily people are lured into cults. “Stay away from them,” she cautioned.

I detest the fact that mother ultimately disregarded her own advice when she joined an organization that in my opinion, is nothing less. Her decision curtailed our family gatherings and resulted in our family becoming distant in the past few years. I imagine that once mother leaves us we will be more estranged.

So often I think about family gatherings that we enjoyed at mom and dad’s home on holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas until her conversion changed that. I miss those get-togethers. What kind of religious organization restricts members’ from participating in what they call “worldly” activities, birthdays included? How crazy is that?

They like to take control. Mother let them take over her life, and I will always believe that she ultimately came to regret it, though she would never admit it. Dad tolerated them because of mother but he turned a deaf ear to her request that he join a study group and he refused otherwise to have anything to do with the organization. He and I sometimes discussed the irony of the situation. How unfortunate that when he died in August 2006, mother invited them to eulogize his funeral. I don’t think I will ever get over that. It’s part of the reason that I cried so hard at dad’s funeral. I’m still pissed-off about it because I felt that dad was disrespected. If he could have sat up in his casket, pushed the lid off and said, “Hold it one damn minute. I’m not going out like this. Not like this.” He would have.

Although he didn’t regularly attend church, he was a protestant, not one of — them. When arrangements were being made for dad’s funeral, I told mother that I wanted one hymn included in the program. Just one. My favorite, “Amazing Grace.” She told me that was considered to be a pagan song. Therefore it wasn’t allowed. Well, darn, dad and I were both pagans then, weren’t we?

Since mother has assigned my sister to oversee her funeral arrangements, I am certain that I will not be asked if I have any input. Just the same, I am going to keep insisting that the program include the congregation singing Amazing Grace. The same song that I wanted sang at my dad’s funeral. Nevertheless, this woman persists.

Dr. Wayne Dyer says that “The highest form of ignorance is when you reject something you don’t know anything about.” I studied with the organization for a brief period even before my mother did. It didn’t take long for me to decide that I wanted no part of any group that manages its members with what I consider nothing less than mind control. I’d say that exposure gives me props for knowing something about which I speak. Against the protest by my then friend with whom I was studying, I refused to succumb to the brainwashing and, I quit the sessions.

My presence at mother’s funeral would serve no purpose. Feeling as I do now, resentment would most likely lead me to show my annoyance during the service for the group that I feel stole my mother from our family long ago.

They profess to be nonjudgmental, yet they judge others every day, especially people who they label as pagans because pagans are of different faiths and are “of the world.” They spew a lot of hogwash about how they cannot fraternize with people of the world. Oh? Where the hell do they think they are on Mars?

I don’t see where they exclude themselves from taking part in worldly things – except those things they don’t want to participate in like jury duty or the armed services. Then, they quickly become religious objectors — if you can call it that.  They cheer for their favorite sports teams. They buy worldly convinces like automobiles and computers. They’ve even put their literature on the Internet. Are those not worldly things? And just like numerous other “Christians” some of them fornicate, lie, and commit crimes; and then they try to justify the bastardly deeds of their corrupt members by saying, “Oh that person was not truly one of us.” How many times have I heard that used to justify a wayward sheep?

I mourn for the person that my mother used to be. I feel that she was taken away from me a long time ago even though she had not yet left this earth. I have my peace, knowing that she will no longer be under their control. I hope that she has her peace.

An organization that philosophizes to its members that they are God’s chosen while putting other religions down is, in my opinion, hypocritical. Granted — it is every person’s choice to be a member of whatever religious group they choose – or to be a member of none. But what peeves me is when one religious organization condemns others while claiming that theirs is the only “truth.”

Ultimately, I did attend my mother’s funeral. It was my sister who chose not to do so. The unplanned situation that resulted in mother’s funeral arrangements being left to me by my sister was the result of some tense, back-and-forth conversation between us over my insistence that Amazing Grace be sung during the service. The minister my mother had requested perform the service strongly objected to including that hymn or any hymn associated with pagan religion and informed me through my sister that he would refuse to administer the funeral if I persisted. I did. In turn, my sister also refused to have anything to do with making the arrangements or attending the service.

You see her faith advises members against taking part in what they consider services associated with a “false religion.” A funeral is considered a religious service because it may include such practices as the congregation joining in prayer with a “worldly” minister or priest who is not of their faith, and God-forbid the funeral be held in a church. Mother’s was held in a funeral home.

People who purport yourselves to be God’s children — check yourselves. 

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