Go to firstname.lastname@example.org
|Posted by email@example.com on February 12, 2015 at 8:50 PM||comments (11)|
I write on my blog at http://horsemomma.blogspot.com/. Head on over and I'll meet you there.:D
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on December 14, 2014 at 8:30 AM||comments (0)|
It always bothers me when I go to visit a professional's website that the site has not been updated for months. I stand guilty of the same offense and repent. Perhaps I should be more diligent about time management; send the queries in the early morning, work on novels for the afternoon, and opine on my blog in the evenings. I'll give it a try so that I may keep matters current.
|Posted by email@example.com on January 28, 2014 at 9:00 AM||comments (0)|
Interracial Love Bothering You?
I recently watched a CNN report about the horrid experience suffered by a tearful Tamera Mowry who is married interracially to a white man. Someone accused her of being nothing but a, “white man’s whore”. Remember the recent controversy over the Cheerios commercial featuring an interracial family? How General Mills had to pull the hateful comments section from their website? Many ads today are include interracial/multicultural families, like Philadelphia Cream Cheese, Hershey’s Chocolate, etc. Now Procter and Gamble, the makers of the Swiffer duster has an interracial family where the white husband is an amputee. Lord knows what kind of hate mail that’s going to generate.
Which brings me to my point: And please indulge me while I get my vulgar Black Lady on. All right, y’all. I’ve had it. Now I axe you. Interracial love bothering you?
Society calls it racism when white people hate everyone who isn’t white; and there’s so-called reverse racism when non-whites hate whites. Stupid from the start. All racism should be called mirror racism, the racism where you, the hater, look at other human beings of different skin tones, and you project on to them what you hate about yourself.
Know what I mean? For example, and pay attention. You hate a white person because s/he is rich. That just means you hate yourself because you’re poor and too effing lazy to get off your people-of-color butt, get off welfare, get some education, and get yourself a damn decent job so you can be rich.
You hate that a black woman has a white husband. No, you hate the fact that you ain’t got no decent love of your own in your own damn life where you are being respected for who you are regardless of what you look like.
Keep going? Fine.
You despise that black person because s/he is highly educated. Well, you’re just pissed because you ain’t never had the discipline to get off your lazy ass-of-whatever-color long enough to learn to speak well, read well, and write well, so you could carry on an intelligent conversation and be successful.
You see? For the most part, racism is nothing more than a mirror in the mind-sight of the hater. It’s a twisted, wishful thinking contagion of envy, self-hatred, and vengeance of your own despised image. And you act out by ridiculing, persecuting, committing violence on someone who is both content and innocent. May you burn!
So what’s the best way to END racism? Man up or quit your bitchin’, and marry a different race. And guess what? You don’t become white if you’re black and marry someone who is white. You don’t become black if you’re white and you marry a someone who is black. If you like your race, you can still keep your race. Period.
If that bothers you, what are you? Are you that stupid? How in the hell do you think we’re supposed to end racism when stupid racists bitch and moan about the love choices of others? You’re upset because of someone else’s choice in love? Damn. You need to put aside your ignorant, churlish, self-hating, arrogant, myopic, simpleton weenie-brained putz of an asshole mindset and grow up. Most people marry because of love. WTF is so hard to understand about that?
Now for those of us who are interracially married: We are happy, and doing our damnedest to laugh in the face of the egotistical, ill-bred losers among us, because we know what the problem is: Jealousy, plain and simple.
Our kids come out prettier, our hair is cooler looking, we love contrast, our cultural horizons are broader, and we eat better because our cross-reference recipes tastes better. We are different in the best way possible. And we are in love. Know what else? God and Jesus loves us, too. Now there!
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on October 21, 2013 at 6:20 PM||comments (1)|
I am a horse trainer. I showed horses over fences for many years. I view getting published from the same reference that I do when I enter the show ring: The first obstacle is always the hardest.
So many of us want to be published authors; to see our works with our name emblazoned on the cover, a dramatic graphic behind it, and a bar code.
I wonder when (not if) that day comes, what will be next? What happens after the contract is signed, the advance is paid, and the publishing date is announced. What is the future once the book is on the shelf and in eformat. Heck, what happens when I need to write the screenplay? Go on book signing tours? Look at my face on the back cover? (Yeesched!)
Is it all anti-climatic at that point?
For me, hell no! There is still the rest of the course to jump, and since I have way too many stories in my head that need to be put to paper, I'll be just getting started. And I mean I have good stories!
Yes indeed. Getting published is a lot like showing over fences. It's a challenge, it isn't easy, and it's damn addictive. I wonder if my creative well might dry up once everything in my head is in print and/or on a screen.
Ha! Perish the thought.
|Posted by email@example.com on October 12, 2013 at 11:15 AM||comments (0)|
With all the broo-ha-ha going on the the nation, it's sometimes difficult to remain focused on writing in an idealistic way. Damn the torpedoes! Keep typing.
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on October 7, 2013 at 3:25 PM||comments (0)|
I wonder how many times I can write and then re-write a book query letter. It seems as soon as I have what I like, a better idea comes to mind. Perhaps that's proof of natural adaptation.