Welcome to the Tea Party: My Fantasy Guest List

A while back, michellecole at the Tipsy Geekette wrote about her ultimate tea party invite list; that is, if she could invite any person to a tea party, who would it be?

It got me thinking about who I would invite to such a party. My list is a bit more modest than hers—I make no claims to “the most amazing tea party in the history of tea parties”—but I think that it could at least be a good time for all involved. So here is who I would invite to a time-travelling tea party that includes folks from the last 200 years:

The first person to pop into my head was the lovely and talented Audrey Hepburn.

Audrey-Hepburn-audrey-hepburn-6395876-1280-1691

A dancer during World War II, she smuggled intelligence across Nazi lines for the French Resistance, and then went on to have an impressive career in film. She could sing, dance, and act, and she was an amazing humanitarian; I’m pretty sure she could keep the conversation going.

 

Then I thought I’d love to sit down to tea with Jane Austen.

_76151120_waxworkmidlength(highres)

She was the author of some of my favourite books (I adore Persuasion), and her wit and cutting remarks would surely liven things up!

 

Next on my list is James Baldwin.
James Baldwin
I recently finished reading Go Tell It on the Mountain, and loved it!

 

I would absolutely love the chance to spend some time with Janelle Monae; her music inspires me. And have you seen the music video for Electric Lady? I couldn’t stop watching it when it dropped! ♥

061710-Janelle4-350

With a loving heart and quirky sense of humour, she would get along with the other attendees and bring her own special spin to things.

 

One of my favourite authors growing up was Tamora Pierce. I loved her complex female heroes, her casual inclusion of LGBTQ characters, and the rich, varied fantasy settings.

220px-Tamora_Pierce

 I’m sure she would bring compelling conversation and a welcoming, supportive air to the party.

 

My other favourite childhood author was Sir Terry Pratchett. Upon graduating to the grown-up books, I picked out his The Light Fantastic based on cover art alone, and I’ve never regretted it.

Prachettmain_2334426b

With his quirky, fun sense of humour, Sir Terry would surely keep us all laughing, and his casual badassery would be a great conversation starter. (How many other authors—or knights, for that matter—have crafted themselves a sword out of a meteorite?)

 

And, last but certainly not least, I would love to invite President Barack Obama.

President-Barack-Obama

I feel like he would be a great, down-to-earth addition, who could talk politics and also kick back and discuss literature and family.

 

Bonus: here‘s the video for Electric Lady; watch it. Seriously, do it.

If you could invite anyone to a tea party, who would it be?

Learning to Say No: NaNoWriMo 2014

NaNoWriMo is coming up and I’m feeling complex feelings about it. I am so super busy—do I really have time to commit to 50,000 words? On the other hand, I have participated in it the last 4 years, and won the last 3, so I really want to. A lot of my friends are doing it this year, and I want to support them as well…

It seems that I have so much to do, and not nearly enough time to do it in. Recently, dips in my health and energy levels have left me too fatigued to get things done. I’m juggling:

  • a full-time course load—I’m taking 12 credits, the school recommends 3 hours of study per in class hour: 48 hours per week
  • my job as the Queeries Program Coordinator at our QRC: 20 hours per week
  • writing, editing, and meeting for the Black Girl Dangerous EIT Program: 5 hours per week, minimum
  • writing for TheProspect.net—interview prep time, interviews, transcription, writing, formatting, editing: about 5 per week
  • volunteering with the Vanport Multimedia Project—interview prep, filming, interviewing, transcribing, editing, meeting: about 5 per week
  • work around ongoing protests in Ferguson, Black Lives Matter, Justice. That’s All, and Ferguson October—photography, editing, blogging, social media, organising, conference calls: 12 hours per week for the last 10 weeks
  • one-off events: Intersections event (about 3 hours per week for 5 weeks), OSP Poetry Slam (averages to about 1 hour per week for 3 weeks)…
  • sleep—I really do try for 8 hours a night, with greater or lesser degrees of success: 56 hours per week

That adds up to about 155 hours per week. There are 168 hours in a week.

Does anyone have a timeturner I can borrow?

I jest, but it’s true that there’s something wrong here. Eating, showering, other household stuff takes up that remaining 13 hours or so per week, leaving no self-care time. I’ve been struggling with my health a lot this past couple of weeks, and this much work is far too heavy a load.

NaNoWriMo is kind of a big deal: writing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days requires writing about 1,667 words per day. I’ve done it for the last four years, and even “won” the last three while handling school and my other responsibilities, and I’m so tempted to try again this year. But even at my fastest, that’s a solid two hours of typing, assuming I don’t take any breaks, and I know that I’ve never had such a heavy load before. With so much on my plate, can I really commit to something like this?

The answer is no.

Yet, I find myself so ready to be convinced to say yes. As my friends gear up, start finding writing buddies and planning write-ins, I find it harder to hold myself back from volunteering, from signing up and committing to this feat. Truthfully, my health is nowhere near good enough, and my housing is up in the air—meeting my current commitments is proving too much. My heart says yes, but I’ve got to buckle down and say no.

All of the work I’m doing, everything I say “yes” to is fantastic; I’ve gotten so many great opportunities and met so many amazing people. It’s really hard to say no to things you want, but sometimes it’s necessary, so that you can say yes down the road.

 

Do you have any tips you’d like to share about practising self-care and setting boundaries? I’d love to have them; you can comment on this post or send me a message through the contact form.

Poem: Movement Mothers

I mentioned in my newsletter that I’ll be at the Oregon State Penitentiary tomorrow for the Uhuru Sa Sa Poetry Slam. Here’s one of the pieces I’ll be sharing.

Movement Mothers
Not so long ago they lit us on fire for who we loved, visibility and invisibility doing damage differently: hateful looks end with murdered teens tied to fence-posts, sweet bois and grrls beaten, children taken from us too soon, the bully’s hand manifest in the making of nooses, the loading of guns. We lose and are lost.

These days when the struggle is too much and holding my head up is too hard I think of Assata and Angela, Marsha and Carlett, Stormé, Audre, Alice, Octavia, and Laverne, sisters in struggle, sisters in strength, sisters looking out for sisters. Our vulnerability is just one more source of beauty—though the world does not see it, speaking our truth is an act of radical self-love in a world that tries to burn us down.

New piece up on Black Girl Dangerous + upcoming events

Yesterday, a piece I wrote went up on Black Girl Dangerous! You can read it here: Black, Woman, Traveler: Safer In Strange Places Than In the City Where I Live

Other exciting news:

On October 23, I’m participating in Intersections: An Evening of Storytelling About Identity, Community, Culture, and Pride. The event is 6:30-8pm, in Room 228, 1825 SW Broadway at Portland State University. It’s free, and open to the public.

October 28, I’m reading in the Tell It Slant Reading Series. We’ll be at the Alberta St Pub (1036 NE Alberta Street) starting at 7:30pm. $2 suggested donation. Venue is 21+ after 8pm.

I’m working on self-publishing a book of poems. It’s called Fallen/Forever Rising. I’ll post here when it’s done!

#BinderCon: Too Short, So Sweet

The first ever BinderCon is over, and I’m feeling so much about this experience.

For those who don’t know, BinderCon is more formally called Out of the Binders: Symposium on Women Writers Today,and it’s amazing. The weekend is a space for writers, agents, and editors—most of them women or gender non-conforming—to come together and support each other in getting published and in publishing.

There was so much that was affirming about this weekend: being in spaces filled overwhelmingly with other writers from marginalised communities, in-jokes, understanding, teaching and learning and sharing. Everyone I talked to was so kind and friendly and helpful. The volunteers were amazing, and the #BinderCon hashtag was constantly running with quotes, thoughts, and connections made.

The only hardships for me were related to limitations largely uncontrollable. Being new and run on a tight budget, only one meal was provided by the con, and that was a little hard to navigate, especially as a non-New Yorker. The workshops/panels happened in different buildings in disparate locations, and there was a lot of walking, made more difficult because of my lodging difficulties: I carried all of my luggage with me for the vast majority of the last three days, and my body is not happy with that, and I ended up missing both of the Sunday keynotes because of my pain and walking issues. The only explicit identity panels—one for/about trans folks and one for/about women of colour—happened in the same time slot at the very end, and I had to miss them to catch my flight.

Still, the space was great, overall. It’s so important for ppl facing marginalisations to have nourishing spaces like this one, where our identities, issues, and experiences are centred and discussed. I feel so loved and inspired from the last three days—I’m excited for all the writing I will do!

 

My question: do you have a nourishing space to go to for support? Can you find one? Maybe brainstorm where you could look for community that supports you in your needs

Let me know in the comments if you have a resource to share!

Where Did Nap Time Go? #Adulting

I miss nap time. It’s funny, because kids hate nap time. When we are young, we just want to play and run, and even though not napping makes us cranky, we still don’t want to lay down when there are so many other things we could be doing.

Now, I’m about a year away from graduating university, and I miss sleep. Somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to pull all-nighters (at about 23 years old, I suspect); now, if I get anything less than 7 hours of sleep, I’m exhausted and crusty in the morning, and slow all day long. I’m adjusting to this new normal, but I am also a bit of a workaholic, so I sometimes forget I can’t keep going, and then I spend the whole day really needing a nap.

But the thing that has made me feel like an adult more than any other milestone is travel.

The last two summers, I got scholarships to go to the Make Progress Summit in Washington DC, including travel and lodging costs. But since July, I’ve had cause to travel twice on my own, booking all of my own flight and lodging, and that feels like the crossover point, somehow.

When all the flight and hotel is taken care of, I just show up when and where I’m told, but when I book things myself, I have to think of timing and logistics and figure out all the little details myself, and pay for it all. Going through airport security makes me feel like a child: everything is so scary, and I keep waiting to be told that I’m in the wrong place, or that I’m doing something wrong. But booking things feels more responsible, more in control, and more adult.

I’ve been furiously calculating and re-calculating my funds for the weekend, trying to make sure my flight, hotel, and food are all covered. (Shameless plug: if you wanna help cover my costs so I don’t, you know, slip into a diabetic coma on the streets of New York City, you can do that here. I’d definitely appreciate the support.) I got scholarship to attend BinderCon, and I’m really excited to go, even as I’ve been stressing out about money and logistics.

There’s so much to think about for this trip. I’ll be missing a day of work. And I have so many variables and questions: How late can I leave to get there? If I leave for NY Thursday night and take the red-eye, it’s cheaper, but I can’t go to my hotel until after 3pm on Friday, and how will it be to wander NY on little sleep? Can I get coffee and see friends on Friday? How late can I leave on Sunday and still get home at a reasonable time? When will I get homework done? It makes me feel very grown up.

I don’t like it. I’m tired and cranky, and I want someone else to take care of me.

I vote we bring back nap time.

Sharing Stories Saves the World

A lot of the work I’ve been doing lately centres on helping others tell stories, and telling my own story.

Recently, I started working at my university; I am the program coordinator for Queeries, an LGBTQ2 speakers bureau organised through the Queer Resource Centre here on campus. Queeries brings panels of folks with various orientations, genders, and intersectional identities to speak about their lives and experiences in college classrooms and the community. I just held the first training session for panelists, which focuses on orienting them to the program and helping them think about how to tell their stories in a time-limited but compelling way.

I also joined the Vanport Multimedia Project, collecting stories from survivors and family members of those who went through the 1948 flood of Vanport, Oregon, for a digital multimedia archive. Vanport was a war-time housing project for shipyard workers and their families. It was the second-largest city in Oregon, until it was obliterated by flooding on Memorial Day in 1948, and many of the residents scrambled to find housing in the aftermath. Some were also survivors of Japanese internment who had already lost all of their belongings, some were recent immigrants facing the difficulty of navigating a new place, and some were African Americans heavily impacted by redlining. We are performing video interviews, editing the videos, and then creating a video and transcript archive that will be freely available, so these stories can be shared instead of being lost.

I was accepted into the Black Girl Dangerous Editor-in-Training program, where we are learning to be editors for online publications, helping authors who submit refine their pieces for an internet audience. We are learning to be better writers ourselves, and will learn what makes an effective piece for online reading: what length to shoot for, what kinds of titles to use, how to shape pieces for BGD’s audience, and so on.

And now I’m in a group performance project about intersectional identities: 4 weeks of workshops ending in a performance where we will each share a personal story about our intersections and journeys. We’ve picked stories we want to tell, and have started generating important details to shape the narrative into an interesting, entertaining stage piece.

I’ve always believed in the power of storytelling: I’ve been participating in speaker’s bureaus for the last decade, and I’ve seen the understanding and interest that can be built through talking about our own identities. Recently, it’s become the focus of a lot of my life. This may be a natural extension of my work as a writer, but it’s the first time almost all of my work has focused on one thing, and it’s a pretty novel experience. I’m so excited for all of it, even if my workaholic tendencies are leaving me a bit frazzled.

I’ve seen over and over folks who have been told they’re uninteresting or unimportant gaining release and healing from sharing their stories and having them validated and affirmed by listeners. Especially for those of us from marginalised communities, who’ve often been made to feel pushed aside or ignored by oppressive systems, it is important to have spaces for this. These stories matter.

So here’s a question for you: what story do you want to tell, need to tell? What story is weighing down your heart? What story is resting like a stone in your belly? What story is buzzing in your brain, sticking in your throat? What story is filming over your eyes?

Whatever that story is, it’s important. I encourage you to tell it.

Poets for Ferguson: a national poetry reading

Tonight, I will be reading poems in a national reading, a fundraiser for organisers in Ferguson. We are poets of colour, poets using our art for change. It runs from 6pm ET on September 27th to 6pm ET on September 28th.

The livestream is up at Poets for Ferguson, and the donation page is here. Please support by watching and giving.

Top Ten Tuesday: Books To Read This Fall

This week’s Top Ten Tuesday is ten books that are on my autumn to-read list.

In addition to the books for my classes, I want to read the following in the next three months:

  • Breaking Chains: Slavery on Trial in the Oregon Territory by Gregory Nokes
  • Beloved by Toni Morrison
  • Kindred by Octavia Butler
  • Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
  • Undersong by Audre Lorde
  • Another America: The Politics of Race and Blame by Kofi Buenor Hadjor (currently on pg 109 of 219)
  • The Guardians: An Elegy by Sarah Manguso (at my partner’s recommendation)
  • Shadow and Act by Ralph Ellison
  • And We Are Not Saved by Derrick Bell
  • The Black Count: Glory, Revolution, Betrayal, and the Real Count of Monte Cristo by Tom Reiss

It’s a bit heavy on recreational reading that is closely related to my major, but that’s because my major is awesome.

Vogue and Sara Baartman and a Poem

This morning, I woke hours before my alarm. It sometimes takes me a little bit to realise whether I’m awake because of anxiety, adequate rest, or low blood sugar. Often, I struggle to get back to sleep until I figure out which one, and address it (if possible). Sometimes I never get back to sleep.

Rather than lie in the dark waiting, I checked the time on my phone, and noticed I had a notification on Twitter. I checked that, and spotted a tweet from someone I follow about an article posted by Vogue Magazine, titled “We’re Officially in the Era of the Big Booty”:

Vogue tweet 09-10-2014
The original tweet from Vogue Magazine’s Twitter account

The article is as bad, if not worse, as I anticipated. And one of my first thoughts was about Sara Baartman.

For those who don’t know about her, I encourage you to read about her, though I warn that the story is a hard one if you dig deeper into it. Sara was a young African woman in colonial South Africa who was sold into English and then French hands, and displayed as a sideshow attraction under the demeaning name “Hottentot Venus” until she died six years later. After her death, her body was given to a scientist for dissection. He concluded that Sara—and other Africans like her—was subhuman, and her skeleton, brain, and detached genitals were displayed at the Musée del’Homme for the next 150 years. But even once they were removed, it took 20 years of fighting for her body to be returned to South Africa and finally laid to rest.

I could not go back to sleep, because I felt sick with anxiety and sorrow and anger, and so I wrote a poem.

 

Mourning the Living and the Dead

today, I mourn the life and death of Sara Baartman
my rage at the indignities she suffered
rests at the base of my throat
chokes my voice with tears unshed
today, I cannot strangle down my anger for her
Sara, Saartjie, name unknown
forced from family after her fiancé’s murder
she was a slave sold to sideshows
spending six years poked and prodded
examined and talked over and mocked
lied to, looked on, lost
this woman of six and twenty years
dead
it is 200 years since she passed
from alcohol or pneumonia
or a broken heart
and even in death disrespected
dissected
her most intimate parts displayed in jars
as curios for detached Europeans
to view
this history of colonial gaze
of taking and keeping and displaying
the most intimate parts
continues to this day
the roundness of Sara’s body fascinated
and repulsed the gazers
now vogue divorces this largeness from Blackness
makes it safe for mainstream commodification
makes it safe by denying Black women again
taking this aspect of our bodies
claiming our identities for themselves
passing profit over our heads
and leaving us to die like Sara
alone
the world is not safe for my sisters
I know
so I am left to mourn

Update: Writing from the Core, Ferguson…

As you may have noticed, I haven’t updated about Writing from the Core since Day 12. The last day I got serious writing done on it was Day 14, six days ago. This is because I had a paper due last Saturday and two more on Monday, and all of my spare thought and energy has been devoted to the ongoing struggle in Ferguson, MO.

I am talking with a local organiser who’s in touch with a national network of folks, and we’re in the process of organising a ride from Oregon to Ferguson with supplies and assistance for labour day weekend. I have started fundraising to that end, and have several donors on the line to donate supplies once we know exactly what folks on the ground need.

My intent is to bring needed supplies, and help out wherever possible. I’m honestly not sure how much writing I will be getting done between now and then, though I will keep writing for myself as much as I can.

I want to thank everyone for the support you offered on my Writing from the Core posts, and the personal support that has been given to me outside of this blog. If you are willing and able, please donate to our effort or your own community’s effort to support Ferguson. This situation has had far-reaching effects and implications, and we need to band together to get through.

Thank you.

Campaigns for #MikeBrown #Ferguson

bgrs79's avatarSpaceship Dreaming

Here is a list of donations, protests, and petitions that you can do to help the people in #Ferguson and to assist #MikeBrown and #EzellFord all others who have been killed by the hands of the police. I will try to update as much as possible.
Donations for Mike Brown’s Family:
Michael Brown Memorial Fund:
These funds will assist his family with costs that they will acquire as they seek justice on Michael’s behalf. All funds will be given to the Michael Brown family.
College 4 MikeBrown’s Siblings:
This effort will help support Mike Brown’s siblings, 2 younger sisters and a younger brother go to college. It is run by Sara Goldrick-Rab, UW professor of the Wisconsin HOPE Lab ( http://www.wihopelab.com) and Michael Johnson of the Boys and Girls Club of Dane County (Madison, WI) can vouch that all funds will go directly to the family.
Other Donations

View original post 776 more words

Writing from the Core Day 12

I disappeared off here for a couple of days, but I’m not going to apologise, which is my first instinct. Instead, I’m going to open up to you more than I have before.

I have been pretty seriously stressing out about the situation in Ferguson, Missouri. My PTSD was pretty heavily triggered by a series of events last week—encountering a White supremacist in a local diner, hearing about a stabbing on the train I usually take to school, and following the ongoing police riots in Ferguson. I haven’t been able to get much writing on this challenge done. Instead, I wrote and shared a poem for Mike Brown; I’m having trouble focusing on myself with everything else going on.

Day 10‘s prompt was: Write a memory of beauty and/or love associated with your topic.

I didn’t get any writing done on this one. I’m honestly so upset and anxious that I couldn’t think of a beautiful moment related to touch—still can’t, actually. I might go back to it later, but I’m not in a place to write about it now.

Yesterday‘s prompts was: frailty.

This one was easier to work with. I can be honest, because I know that what I write for this won’t be seen. I wrote about how much I struggle with showing weakness.

I had a panic attack last night and the night before. On Tuesday, I called a friend to pick me up and give me a ride home, and I used a motorised wheelchair to go grocery shopping, because my legs were weak and unsteady in the aftermath of my attack. Last night, I made a Facebook post for some of my friends about support I was hoping to receive around my mental health.

I hate to admit when I can’t do everything, or I need help. I tend to downplay how serious my needs are, or act as though I can meet them all myself. I don’t necessarily invite help; I just share my struggles, or vent about a small portion of my frustrations. I’ve gotten into heated debates on social justice issues on social media, and when I later expressed that I wished for someone to step in and support me, more than one person has said they felt I was very capable and they didn’t think they could do as good a job, since I seemed to be doing so well.

I continuously bear up under pressure, and it’s come back to bite me: everyone assumes I don’t need help, even when I do. I need to work on this one, have needed to for years. We’ll see how well I do, now that I’ve articulated some things.

Today‘s prompt is: What have you never said?

Oof. I’m gonna let that alone until I’m in a better frame of mind. I’m honestly just too fragile for this prompt.

Lisa writes that she understands if folks are having trouble with the prompts and our topics, and encourages us to write, no matter what we are writing about. I have a paper due today, but my personal writing will probably be more poetry.

 

Is there something you’re struggling with right now that seems to be eclipsing the rest of your life? I hereby give you permission to take care of yourself. You can ignore the big thing, or you can take time to decompress. You can tell the folks you care about that you’re having trouble, or you can withdraw to a private space and stop taking care of everyone else for an hour or an afternoon, or even the rest of the week. Take care of yourself.

Previous posts here.

Writing from the Core Day 9

Saturday was hard, y’all. There was a stabbing on the train near my house, a murder-suicide in a nearby town, and an extra-judicial murder of a teenage boy by police officers in Missouri. I took Sunday off to decompress from my anxiety and sorrow, but I did get some writing done last night.

Yesterday’s prompts was: What are you hiding from? What are you protecting?

I wrote about my fear of being trapped. Here’s an excerpt:

I feel most uncomfortable with touch when I have the perception that I am trapped, or I might be unable to stop someone from hurting me. I mostly need to be in complete control of how others engage with my body, and will disengage if I start feeling the itchy, prickling sensation on the back of my neck that arises when I am unsure I can get away.

Avoiding touch is a way for me to make sure I am always able to move away from someone who might hurt me as soon as possible. I have been in situations where I felt like I couldn’t move away from someone without provoking violence, and ones where I was packed in among others during rush hour on the train, and ones where someone was over or on top of me. I have been trapped, and I fear being trapped again; controlling how and when I am touched is one way to minimise the chances of it happening again.

I might go back and add more, but I am going to continue on and work on the writing for today. (It’s supposed to get really hot today, so I’m going to spend as much time inside as possible, which means more time for writing.)

Today’s prompt is: If you could change one thing, what would it be? If you could change everything, would you?

How’s that for loaded? My first instinct is to say yes, but I think the real answer depends on what comes out in the writing…

 

Think of your biggest regret. If you could go back and change it, would you? If you did, would you be who you are today? Are you okay with the possibility you’d be a totally different person?

Previous posts here.

Writing from the Core Day 7

Today’s prompts is: When did you begin to put up protective walls? How did you build them?

This prompt is similar to the first day’s prompt, but it draws out a different aspect of the experience and my difficulty. I think this one will be a bit more likely to yield meaningful writing than yesterday’s—I can already tell where it’s taking me, and it’s an important distinction that is teasing out things I’ve not really thought about.

We’re a third of the way through, and this writing challenge has definitely been hard. The only thing allowing me to get through the prompts is knowing that no one besides me might ever see what comes out. The honesty of some of this writing makes me cringe, because I know it could hurt people in my life if they read it.

That’s one of the hardest things about writing out trauma: knowing that you’ve been hiding things from yourself and those you love, and worrying about how they may react to finding out. I’m trying not to let the worry stop me from writing, though. I need to write my truth. I’m 17 years past my first big trauma, and the past two years have been getting harder and harder. Writing is my path to healing, and I’m determined to try to traverse it.

 

Is there something you’ve been having trouble writing about? Try writing about it honestly, maybe using one of these prompts, in a place only you can access. Write in a file that is password protected through email or on a thumb drive. Write on paper and then destroy it. Use code words and false names. Get the feelings out.

Previous posts: Day 1Day 2Day 4Day 5Day 6