In honour of all the ancestors who died during the Middle Passage, Grenada

There are historical incidences that ought to be remembered.  We often omit the terrors on the Middle Passage.  I was glad to chance upon this image.  It’s silently powerful…chilling, even.  It reminds us that of a bleak time in human history.  It reminds us how far we’ve come.  It reminds us how much more improvement and progress is needed.

On Writing by Stephen King

I’m a little over two-thirds done the book and it’s been a pleasant read so far.  Perhaps I’m not at the brilliant part, but I will give the book an easy 8.5/10 so far.  Initially, I got confused about the book’s overall direction.  It seemed autobiographical.  But considering this is only the second book I will be reading by Stephen King and I’m not enough along, I will give it my attention. My relationship with Stephen King is that of awed fear. I love his writing style. It’s vivid and vibrant and thus when I read Cujo, the book haunted my teen years.  The rabid dog and the child and mother slowly suffocating to death in their car in the sweltering heat was too much of a powerful image for me.  But this book is about writing.  I like when writer write about writing.  There’s always much to learn, especially since I love this craft.  I found the PDF version of the book online.  Let me leave you with an excerpt from the book.  Add it to your reading list!  Why not?  It is Stephen King, after all!

You can approach the act of writing with nervousness,
excitement, hopefulness, or even despair—the sense that you
can never completely put on the page what’s in your mind
and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched
and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down
names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry
you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any
way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to
the blank page.

Reflections: Grad School_1.0

My first year of grad school was rougher than I ever anticipated.  No joke.  Someone, I’m sure, tried to tell me about it.  I probably wasn’t listening.  How hard could it be? How hard could it be?  I should have paid more attention.

I have two semesters under my belt at this point, thus I’m halfway through the struggle, and every semester has taken my everything.  Between job hunting to pay for bills and making sure said job is not some retail gig at Macys (clearly at this point in your life, every job needs to have some relevance to building a career); to picking the right classes and maintaining good grades; to networking (you clearly want a good gig post grad school); to planning summer practicums …the list is endless …the point remains that juggling all that sapped me of a social life, cut into a love life, and consequently leaves me spent and wanting to crawl into a cave of further solitude at the end of every semester.

Yet, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.  Everything challenges me and everything makes me cry, yet I believe the gauntlet will produce something worthwhile that will take me to places where I will do important things.  I suppose this is the silver lining in all of this.  So here I am. Grateful for one year down, expectant and anxious about another year to come and hopeful for the years thereafter.

The end.  Not really.

Pacesetter Books

When I was perhaps in the third grade, I read Mark of the Cobra and I wanted desperately to be the Afro’d lady on the cover. This is what literature in Nigeria by Nigerian authors used to be: sassy, adventurous, modern, authentic, marketable… Now you cannot find a single Pacesetters book readily. We traded this awesome book series for Mills and Boon…