Well, maybe not WORDS per se but when people are feeling beside themselves, it’s quite possible one of your words can put them on the other side of beside themselves. If you are brave enough to call yourself a writer, there are going to be times when people want to pin you down and beat you for your own personal truth. Once, I wrote this play in college that was about the two sides of myself warring with each other…only I wrote them as sisters because I didn’t want anybody coming after me with a short white bus while I walked down Nostrand Ave in the BK. So I write this play about one sister that settles down for a stable man and another who’s all messed up and holding out for her perception of the right man. Well, I had a great time tearing out my insides and putting them on stage but my roommates, who happened to be sisters, blew up like yellow volcanoes (they were mixed–black and white). “Sistaz on the DL” was the beginning of my playwrighting career (albeit, I’ll never show that play again since it’s soooooooooooo amateur) and the end of me being able to write without somebody getting all hot and bothered. Those two sisters cussed me out on the corner of Nostrond and New York Avenue.
“How dare you write a play about us!” They yelled at me. First, you don’t own the copyright on being sisters. Second, you both are certifiable evidenced by the fact that none of your roommates ever stay friends with you both.
We no longer speak, me and those sisters. They moved on. One’s back in the D (I’m from Detroit, in case I didn’t mention that) and the other had some famous rapper’s baby and now lives abroad with her new husband and other babies. And that’s sad that we don’t speak because I lost them over some dumb stuff but also over the fact that they resonated so much with my own personal demons that they assumed I was writing about them. I can’t imagine how often that happens to writers all over without them even knowing it. I mean we all write, somewhat, about what we know and who we know, even if it comes out way different than the initial muse. How many times have you seen a movie and felt so in line with the story or the character that you were angry or felt like somebody put you in the spotlight?
I’m not complaining about the writing life at all, mind you. It sucks looking at a blank page. It’s joyous when a story moves on its own. It really feels like some level of chemical induced euphoria when somebody else believes in your work enough to buy it, sell it or talk about it. There is an underlying burden of putting your own truth on the page and having somebody hurt over your views. Especially somebody you love. But these are the breaks of being an artist because everyone of us feels that truth enough to let it come out in our own talented way. If we didn’t, we’d be a bunch of mannequin monsters. What I’ve learned though is this: If it hurts, keep writing through it until you’re laughing or crying tears of joy.
No more hotlists. People get salty.
Last time I felt good: Sliding my jeans on this morning and not feeling like I was being tortured, text messaging Jen, laughing with Marcella, seeing Tasha walk by this morning and hearing Yaze be secure over some stuff that didn’t even concern him.
Last time life sucked a little: Remembering my dad’s birthday is tomorrow. And fighting with a friend this morning over his demons running into mine.
Hope on the horizon: Joy.