Blog

Posted on

Where Do Your Words Need To Be?

I’m preparing to submit an original first-person POV essay to a literary journal for black women writers. It’s been about four years since my last submission to a publication. Not that I haven’t been writing during that time. I have. But I haven’t submitted work to places that pulse with the heartbeat of my community and experience as an African American woman writer.

A collection of things can account for the delay in my submissions: the whirlwind of life, work, relationships, new responsibilities, travel, the ending of a romantic relationship, health challenges, new beginnings, putting life into my growth as a runner. Yeah, that’s enough to keep anybody delayed.

As I’ve matured emotionally, physically and mentally, I realize it’s very valuable to me to select places where my words actually need to be.

I don’t want to publish for the sake of being everywhere. I want my words to be in the places and spaces they are meant to be.

Four years ago when I submitted a piece to a website, the publication kindly rejected my work. Reflecting now on what I wrote, I see why it didn’t work for them. And in some ways what I wrote about was prescriptive than reflective and transparent of my own journey.

Ahhh.

I didn’t realize it then but I’ve learned the lesson now. The best type of writing is that which connects in vulnerability and humanity with readers. Yes, there is a place and time for prescriptive words and ‘how to’ lists. But sometimes people just wanna know that you’re human, just like them, and see that you struggle too and you’re trying to navigate your way through this crazy-maker called life, holding onto as many of your marbles as possible.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

There are some gems in that rejected submission four years ago that I want to revist now.

Maybe there’s a new place for these words with a stronger re-write applied. Maybe what I offered in that submission was only a half-completed work (I couldn’t see it then) and it needs to find the proper resolution that will fill it out more. Maybe I need to wrestle with the issues I discussed in the piece more and find out where I am with those questions and even the opinions and judgments I held. Was that piece to judge or was it to invite more human wrestling to help others see where they are in their relationships and identity?

I do feel that good writers consistently keep their readers in mind. We can write for ourselves and never publish, holding all those words to ourselves. But when we do publish, there’s an intention in that because we want to affect others. We want to connect with others, to show them that they are not alone and maybe, just maybe, my words can connect to your story in a way that brings life, laughter and maybe just a bit of healing.

As I sit with the gift of reflection, I’m learning that where I may have thought I wanted my words to be in the past actually isn’t where I want them to be now. Submitting my words to publications that fit my voice accurately is both honoring to myself and a measure of stewardship of my gift. And that’s not only okay, it’s very, very freeing.

Featured Photo by Oladimeji Odunsi on Unsplash.

Posted on

The Good Cry

I feel sometimes you have to be with your process.

For me, that may mean getting a cotton facecloth, sitting down on my bed with my bedroom door closed and letting my emotions connect with my heart and grieve the desires in this heart that continue to live unmet, unfulfilled.

To cry and to lament what I want is not what I have.

And to express my sadness in that.

And the reality that right now, what God has given is what I have.

The tension of where hope and here co-exist together. The reality of the good and the tough tracks of life that we all live on at the same time, no matter the season. The inevitability of what it means to live actively in your waiting. And that this spiritual growth producer that waiting and longsuffering become in you continues with you, in every decade.

What is it about waiting that God deems so necessary for us as His children?

Why does it vex my humanity so?

I want things now but I’m guided to live in light of the yet-to-come.

My heart doesn’t always understand. My mind tries to make things logical, practical, strategic. My tears just know the wait has been long and ‘holding pattern’ feels like the answer that I keep getting.

Lord, I’m listening. Help me to hear the way you are speaking to me.

Modern poet Joekenneth Museau says, “People aren’t taking time to deal with their own issues because there’s always a distraction or something to take you away from what’s going on inside.”

I can feel things that need to be expressed in me before the words come. The tears are my indicators. I give them their propers. And respectfully move my logic and thinking to the backseat of myself and allow my emotions to drive me for as long as the good cry is needed, as long as it takes to truly out get it out.

I cry. I pause. I breathe. I cry again. Repeating this cycle, blowing my nose into that facecloth, embracing what the tears are helping me to do: deal with my life and what I’m feeling and what those feelings want to tell me.

Sadness isn’t bad. It’s a feeling just as joy is. I want to make space for my sadness. And to give my tears room to breathe.

Photo by JD Mason on Unsplash.
Posted on

I Leaned In

What if the journeys that we need to find are the ones that bring us back to ourselves in the most possible realest way?

These words rose up in my mind today and gracefully laid themselves down on my shoulders. Words to consider and to enjoy. I’ve been on quite a few journeys over the past two years. Some brought me great joy and some ushered me into pain that I hadn’t ever experienced before in my life.

Through the joy and the pain, I chose to GROW.

I leaned in and I lived intentionally. Through the brilliant and soulfully rich moments and through the tear-stained ones that I knew by faith would not always last.

I leaned in and those journeys were ones that have uniquely brought me back to myself in the most possible realest way.

Photo by JD Mason on Unsplash.

Sometimes I find that my body and my soul have a reckoning with each other. It’s like they both sit down and say to each other, “We have LIVED A LOT and this living stretched us and we’re older and different, but we’re also so much better because of it.”

That’s how I feel right now — that the living I’ve done, the places I’ve traveled, the people I’ve loved and some I needed to let go of — all of it brought me back to myself. Changed me. Caused me to reflect on who I am and the woman I want to become in the next two years and what will I do now to set that woman up well?

As I think about this question I also think about my story, the one God is writing for me and that I’m co-writing with Him.

I love a good story. Being a storyteller and writer, I come by it easy. Some of my favorite movies are favorites because of the story. Whether I’m taking a stroll with Holly Golightly down 5th Avenue as dawn breaks in Breakfast At Tiffany’s or accompanying Drew Baylor on his artful soundtrack laced road trip across America following his father’s death in Elizabethtown, story catches my heart and it holds onto me.

Stories are journeys that we all are a part of. They teach us lessons about ourselves and other people that sometimes we need to learn and sometimes we’re blessed to stumble into and uncover the gems hidden in the experiences.

In the movie Elizabethtown, the character Claire is one such gem. She consistently speaks truth to Drew that’s just right for the moment and I also feel is just right for those of us peeking into this story that dances with grief, sits with the questions that billow after an epic professional failure, and hits the nostalgia, stress, and belonging that come as a packaged deal with returning to your family roots.

Here are three of my favorite truths Claire tells Drew:

Sadness is easier because its surrender. I say make time to dance alone with one hand waving free.

We are intrepid. We carry on.

To have never taken a solitary road trip across country? I mean everybody’s got to take a road trip, at least once in their lives. Just you and some music.

Take some time this weekend and watch Elizabethtown yourself. Maybe you’ll come away with some gems from this story that help you see your own journey through a much clearer light.

Posted on

Dad Conversations

Note: This post is from blogging I did March 2016 for another writing space. I’m curating my content from past years and putting my work from different places all together on my blog here. Enjoy the read.

“Sometimes game is easier than the truth.” – W.C. Chaney

These words come from one of my “dads” William Chaney. He wanted me to know why, when it comes to their interactions with women, some men do what they do. Running game, aka propositions, full of empty promises is less work than being authentic about who they really are and what they’re about.

Oh boy.

Twelve years ago, he and his wife Michelle embraced me as one of their “honorary daughters.” In my early twenties, I joined their church plant and often babysat their little girl Courtney during her first years of life. That beautiful one is now a teenager.

Last fall he and I spoke during his visit to Orlando for a conference. Conversations with him are always like a great bottle of Coca Cola – refreshing and fun. As things usually do, the conversation moved to my dating life, and if there were any men he needed to know about.

Him: “If you meet a young man, I have zero requirements, but I will come down here.”

Me: “What if he’s in another state?”

Him: “Do you know how much I travel?”

Me: Blank stare. Promptly followed by an eruption of laughter from my belly.

Him: “When you meet a young man, and it’s serious, I will fly down to meet him. After talking with him, I then will take his picture for the FBI facial analysis.”

Me: “You’re not joking about that FBI thing, huh?”

Him: “I’m serious.”

Me (internally): “God bless the man who desires to date me. He’s going to need all those blessings.”

Photo by JD Mason on Unsplash.

In this month of Irish luck and four leaf clovers, I’m embracing my blessings. I’m grateful for the “dads” the Lord has brought my way because, 11 years after my father James’ death his absence, which I wrote about here, continues to invade my world.

Parents are very special. They know us intrinsically. We see ourselves in their eyes, and when we’re lost, their love helps us find our way back.

There’s many conversations I wanted to have with my dad. Things I wanted him to know. Questions I wanted to ask, like why did he choose my name and who does he think the best funk band of all time is?  What a conversation THAT would have been.

My dad loved music. As do I. One Saturday right before my tween years, we spent an afternoon together. The Whispers’ “Rock Steady” rolled through the Atlanta air while he cooked hamburgers from scratch. They were greasy and the mayo was heavy, but them burgers were better than good, and that sweet memory stays with me.

This side of heaven, conversations with my dad have come to a close. But I’m thankful for those that await with my other “dads” and the Lord. God is a father to the fatherless. Women need their fathers, whether we’re 26 or 56. And I’d surmise fathers need their daughters too.

Posted on

My Eggs & Such

Note: This post is from blogging I did February 2016 for another writing space. I’m curating my content from past years and putting my work from different places all together on my blog here. Enjoy the read.

Sister friends are the best. These are women who decorate your life with glittery sass, sharp wit, and frequent “girrrrrrrrrllll, did you hear about…” moments. You laugh with them, you cry with them, you shop with them.

And occasionally you talk about your eggs with them.

Yep, the ones in your ovaries.

A recent lunch with my sister-friend Ashley included one such egg conversation. Ashley is a spunky and hilarious black girl who enjoys her career, loves being married to her college beau, and nurturing their two young boys.

While enjoying our food we talked about life, relationships, and kids. She mentioned a married couple we’re both friends with and wondered if they’d started working on a family.

That question led to some words about our eggs, how they don’t get any younger and how a friend told her, “Everybody ain’t gonna have a testimony like Sarah’s from the Bible…”

Well, she right.

After more conversation about our ovaries, she asked, “Mel, how old are you?”

brian-chan-12169-unsplash
Photo by Brian Chan on Unsplash.

“36,” I replied as I ate more fried chicken.

“Mel, your eggs ain’t getting any younger either,” she shared, with a raised eyebrow, in her Chattanooga southern girl accent.

“Well, that may be true, but whatever babies the Lord has destined to come from these eggs, He’s already planned them out in eternity past and when He says it’s time they will enter into eternity present,” I responded as I ate even more chicken and dashed on some hot sauce.

“Girl, you right,” Ashley laughed. We finished up lunch. But her words stayed with me and I thought more about my eggs.

In this week of Valentine’s, there’s pressure some single women feel to jump into coupledom and find their happily ever after.

jakob-owens-1329256-unsplash
Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash.

Especially if you’re in the land of the 30s and people keep asking you when are you going to get married? Or do you want to get married, do you want to have children?

But life is not a Hallmark Channel movie where love and “the perfect man” find you when you want them to. Happily ever afters don’t always materialize. Often you have to trade the happy for the real ever afters.

I believe the real ever afters include surrender. God invites us to willingly enter into the story He’s writing for each of us.

This means laying down our expectations and entitlements.

As I choose to lay these things down, the life I live becomes richer than the life I felt entitled to receive. New developments in my story continue to encourage me.

Trusting God with my eggs and my future sounds pretty funny to say. But it’s true. I’m eager to invite Him into my rollercoaster ride of romance and relationships. His undeniable wisdom guides me well.