For my late blossoming mind, it took me 35 years to finally learn the writing process.
To write, to act, to love is to bring the proclivities within each of us, which we are taught to hide, out into the public.
To write, to act, to love is to bring the proclivities within each of us, which we are taught to hide, out into the public.
I took the year off to clean up the rubble left over from the destruction of my demons released while searching through the Wal-mart bin of within my soul. The years of stories I burned in a sacrifice, I also burned out my demons.
Now, I can begin to write...with God.
Now, I can begin to write...with God.
From what I hear through all my screenwriting education, you should know by the first page whether I did Jane any justice or have her getting a lawyer at my weary attempt.
Let me know...my email is nisye46@hotmail.com. But from what I hear, she might be happy about the writing. ;)
Until then have a sit, steal a sip of a page of my beloved Jane Austen-tribute (second draft) My Black Pride and Prejudice:
My Black Pride and Prejudice
After the day extended beyond her patience, Giselle washed half
of her impediments away in the shower. Still tempered by the
evenings occasion, she clears the mirror with the towel. Staring at
her naturalness and her poufy hair shrunken into a minor ball
amassed above her head.
“Total waste of time.” She said.
She takes some lotion and rubs it over her hands and arms. Her
slip dress is draped over the edge of the bed with the shoes thrown to
the side. She tosses it without a care into the laundry basket across
the room on the floor.
She clicked the lamp on the nightstand. Resting inactive beside
the bed were her blank pages ready to accept all of her frustrations of
the day just to be later burn and forgotten forever. Just as she
promised her late Big Mama.
Burn Letter Number #2
Adonis. The David. An half hour after our entrance into the
hotel's events room, and before I could catch my thoughts, those
were the impressions my senseless mind afforded me the moment I
saw our new neighbor escorted by another gentleman and a woman.
The music stopped and all activities ceased. Dancers formed a
line and every participant turned their full attention to our dear
neighbor, Mr. Washington, and his houseguest who appeared at the
entranceway.
Then the reason why the music and all life ceased upon their
presence was the living fact that they were the sole purpose for the
occasion. The snooty announcer walked up and pronounced that the
god is a Junior. His deceased father's name was just as important,
they made sure we all knew of their connection. Because of him, we
were all happy to be allowed to be in his presence for the charity of
children.He just looked straight ahead walking in step with his party
commanding the attention and the applause that followed. As soon
as they took their positions at their respectable corner, the music
quickly began again and the dancing returned with laughter.
He walked in without a trace of a smile wearing his thousand
dollar Italian-cut three-piece suit. Any person who describes him to
anyone else would say he looked like Bruce Leroy from my father's
favorite cult classic “The Last Dragon” played by Taimak Guarriello.
Only he looked to be in his late 30s or early 40s.
His nose and chin rose above the normal imaginary line we
others obey daily.
I was quickly told the man and woman with him, the Giovannis,
were the true owners of the house above our hill and our actual new
neighbors, the one receiving the attention was their guest. He walked
in as if he owned the place and all of us in it. Such arrogance!
This was my second opinion of him. Then my other thought, to
my recollection, was that such a man so beautiful in status could
exercise his smarts, but not be overly pretenious with figures, and I
was assured that no one with such looks could ever be in a long
committed relationship.
He would hold too high a regard for the efforts he puts into
catching the eyes of others. He no doubt is the sort that expects a
woman whose appearance were not so plain as mine, but far superior
to a model.
Everyone wants someone better than themselves, if even they
are half delusional of their own granduer. I have never met someone
who would want a partner that they thought inferior to themselves.
Even though father is a mayor, my silly sister's behavior in the
tabloids drops us way below the poverty line when it comes to
prominence in Manhattan.
As far as a match, I or any other lady present, except Velvet,would be ill fit to waste our time as he would not even 'see' us, even
though our wits could possibly outdo his. Who does he think he is?
Silly man.
I went to college for three years and was senior editor of a
California newspaper, not quite lower class, Buddy. I hate such a
man.
One who can't get past the first look of someone even though
she is more of a treasure than the halfwits who only put up airs. I
was so sure of my measure of him that I wanted to solidify it and
have a witness so I told Velvet all of my thoughts.
“Just watch. Beautiful, rich and minding his 'P's'' and 'Q's' and
as soon as he opens his mouth all of that will be in vain with such
ugliness inside.”
Of course Velvet's sweetness has not been challenged yet in life
and she still sees everyone through glasses still unbroken.
His friend beside him was an Italian gentleman who caught my
sister's eyes.
“I wonder who that is?”
“His lover perhaps?” I quipped.
My sister quickly stuck up for him saying I don't know him and
should wait to judge, if ever.
“No, I am sure I am correct on all accounts of him.” I told her.
I knew there was some truth to the matter. No two men should
look so wildly engaging with one another and be straight. But as soon
as I said it, he darted his eyes at the two of us as if he heard my
blantant comment and just as quickly turned away.
The pair of them could not be anymore different. I couldn't
believe someone so stern looking could have ever had a happy
moment in his life. The problem I had with the whole matter is I
couldn't stop stealing glances at him - even if it was in disdain.Any talent to offer conversation to such a man would be wildly
ignored. My sister and I were well aware of the fact that, be it as it
may, he was actually 'on the clock' helping the negro poor with such
events as these.
I just know in his afternoon hours, he was far from spending
time with anyone of that nature. Especially girls like my crazy sisters.
I can't even stand their cattiness. Of course Velvet would be the one
exception to any man's prejudices.
Just the mere presence of the beast made my blood curl. That
was not the worst of it all. He in fact could not clear his name from
my 'gripe' list as the evening progressed. So much to the fact that I
am here writing this letter with such contempt.
Mr. Giovanni, the light-hearted friend of Mr. Pompous, actually
had the decency to ask my fair-skinned sister for two dances. Every
guy wanted to partner with my sister, but Mr. G was the only one she
accepted. Of course with my mother's strong urging.
In between dances, Mr. Giovanni walked over toward Junior and
told him that there are so many women with whom he could dance.
He held onto his drink stiffly barely looking anywhere but straight
ahead like a soldier. His giddy friend was having a terrible time
convincing Mr. Washington to leave his safe corner and have a dance.
This is how the whole evening went.
I danced with a sweaty older man, a man shorter than I was and
a regular gentleman. I listened to mother gossip, I would refill my
snack plate, then repeat again.
Upon speculation I could not understand why the more I glanced
his way or thought of him my blood boiled even more! He just
reminded me of so many men I had come across in my travels. I hope
that after placing it here on this paper and burning it, every detail of
it will finally leave my memory.
I had left my senses and listened to my forceful mother andforged a conversation with him. She told me his name was Mr.
Washington. Maybe it was my own prejudice against him or his
against mine, but this is how it went. With a nudging from my
mother I approached him.
I walked up to him and nodded my head and introduced myself
as his neighbor, the first house beneath the Giovannis.
“Would you like to dance?”
He looked at me and had the nerve to look away.
“I assure you I am not dancing this evening.”
“My father and I are happy to receive an invitation. I love
having a reason to go about the city.”
He cuts off my conversation so coldly.
“If you excuse me.” Just like that, he walked away from me.
Even though I had no intentions of speaking to him in the first
place I had to admit that I felt a sting from the rejection. I don't know
what woman wouldn't.
I went to retreat in my own corner. He immediately was
bombarded by his lovely friend who was estactic about dancing with
my dear sister. I never seen a man who did not care that the whole
world could read his very thoughts on his sweet little face. I still
wonder how any Washington or Giovanni could have any sort of
friendship.
“You should not waste your concerns on me.” Mr. Washington
said holding his arms behind his back staring at some spot in the far
distance.
“I see you just enjoy showing up to such recreations, paying for
them and never partaking.”
“You should know by now, I don't waste my time in dancing. I
believe I am fine right here.”
Charlotte walked over to the food table that I was “protecting”
and grabbed a grape.
The only way to start a conversation with her was to repeat
mother's gossip, “I was told you met Mr. Washington and Mr. Giovanniearly this week.”
“Does the whole city know everything about everybody?”
“Yes, my mother is the whole city.”
“What do you think of our new inquisitor?”
“I wouldn't know. He is quite stoic and quite relentless to make
sure not a bit of emotion comes across his face so you can have the
slightest guess of his thoughts. Such a cold demeanor. I suppose his
high position in life requires such an effort.”
Mr. Giovanni was anxious to convince his friend, “You could have
your pick of any girl in this room. Why don't you show society you
could be social for once?”
Mr. Washington gave him a blank look.
“You have known I never cared for what anyone thinks.”
“Fair, fair. But, such beauty awaits you.”
“I dare say, since leaving, the city the pickings are farther down
the scale then I had wished. As for tonight, you were dancing with
the only one worthy of a second look.”
“Yes, yes. She is such a delight.”
Then his friend losing his wiles glanced at me. I of course knew
they had no possibility of knowing that I could hear their words.
“Look, her sister, who I believe is sitting over there, she is a
beauty as well, is she not?”
I pretended to look over at my teen sisters having too much fun
dancing with a few young men and showing too much skin as Mr.
Washington turned to monitor me.
“She's quite pretty. Nothing that would interest me.”
“But-”
“Wesley.” He laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and I thought he
was going to give him an uppercut or a jab with the other hand.
“Do not waste your time on me. I'll survive the night, but I'll
survive it even more if you would just be careful how much you show
your desire for any of these women. Each one of them in here knows
who you are.” He dranked the last of his water.
“Well.” He slaps his arm on his shoulder and for a moment I wassure they were in love and fighting the feelings.
Mr. Giovanni finally walked off in defeat.
“Dear, Sister!” My sisters screamed for me across the room.
I would have to pass Mr. Washington to keep from stepping onto
the dance floor. Why should I care anyway, I thought and proudly
walked by him almost brushing up against his masculinity. Velvet
grabbed me and wanted to tell me how great of a time she was
having and pointed to the unfortunate friend of the Mr. Washington.
I could have sworn the Greek god gave me a glance as we both
laughed at Mr. Giovanni's animated speak with his guests, which we
all adored. I just returned his glance with a quizzical look to make
sure there was not a hint of a smile attached before engaging with my
sisters once more. He of course looked away and never danced or left
his position the whole night.
I end this burn letter with great pleasure in knowing I was right
about that type of man. He confirmed it in every sense of the term. I
will not wave at him when they ride past our house, because he is
dead to me just as I am to him. His standard is so high he will never
find a woman to please him. Such manners! If he doesn't see
beyond beauty to be “interested enough” then I will be glad to be rid
of him. All memories of him are deleted!
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