A Novel's Case for Cursing (And What About the “N-word?”)

                                                                                  

DVD cover of "The N Word."  See http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0417003/

What kind of cursing is okay versus not okay when writing? I raise this question because when I was joining GoodReads, it asked me to rate my upcoming novel.  Judging by that website’s criteria, my novel is borderline R-rated.

This was not intended, mind you.

Growing up I was told that cursing was for people who lacked a big vocabulary.  I don’t think I ever heard my parents curse, or if I did, by now, I have blacked it out.  Expletives just didn’t figure prominently in my childhood.  Growing up in a family of 6 children, ideas were discussed, thoughts shared; it was better to express ones thoughts in full sentences—to debate, more than berate.  So I’ve never been a good curser.  I’m not averse to cursing; I just can’t really do it in mixed company, except with my closest of friends and family—and, when I do, it’s for dramatic effect. I don't slip it into my conversations normally. If I use a curse word, I’m usually trying to pontificate upon a matter that requires an accent of sorts – in the form of a curse word.

I’m not sure how it happened, but some of my characters seem to want to express themselves using “flowery” language, and I’m not sure why.  Their use of foul language is not gratuitous, but fits in the conversations of the characters using them, even if I can’t say the curse words to good effect out loud.  

Let’s face it:  cursing is also now part of our daily lives.  I hear my friend’s children use it in front of their parents, something I couldn’t fathom doing when I was younger.  When my oldest sister started doing it, I had to make a mental adjustment (“Aha, she’s a grown up now.”) Mainstream bloggers curse in their blogs; even news anchors are prone to use it sometimes in their broadcasts. Of course, there are some words that are verboten, in mixed company—like the “C-word,” one that makes me cringe every time I hear it.  So, there are no words of that salacious sort in there, but the curse words we’ve all used or thought to use as part of our cursing parlance—well, they do have a place in my novel.

It could be my setting: rural Louisiana. But in my real-life travels there in northwest Louisiana, I’m not sure I heard curse words there anymore than I did any other place.  Granted, I didn’t know anyone in Natchitoches (pronounced, "Nagadish"), except my friend’s mother, whom I visited one evening, to get some insights into the rural community upon which my story is based, but I didn’t get one bad-word peep out of her.  Perhaps because I was a tourist there, people likely put on their best behavior. I didn’t sit in the bars by myself, and chat with people, as I was doing lots of traveling, taking a look at the terrain of the place, and interviewing people during the day, mostly.  Another guest of the hotel where I stayed, who, along with me, was invited by the hotelier to dinner, did introduce me to the term “coon-ass,” which he said was reserved for swamp-dwelling rednecks of Southern Louisiana.

So, why the cursing? Not sure.  It just fits, in my opinion. Should I feel guilty about it?  My novel would otherwise be considered a cozy, a procedural-type novel with little sex and violence, per se.  Yet, the elements are there… just not graphically—except that there may be some readers who might find some aspects of the novel gruesome.  But it’s not intended to shock or offend; it is matter-of-fact, and in the proper context of the plot.  I believe the cursing is, too.

One word I do not use is the “N-word,” believing that the less we use the term, the less the world will use it, too. That term, to me, is more derogatory than most other terms, no matter how friendly it is bandied about by people of my racial background.  Of course, not all Black Americans use the term, but just to be sure, I censor them from using the term, mindlessly, so that readers don’t feel justified in thinking about the word, of even having it in their conscience. Only in one chapter do I use the term, for effect, when some kids are debating how to pronounce it properly, using celebrated rap stars as role models for how they use the term.

Kanye West set the nation back decades when he used the term in a popular song that we mentally chanted even when it was bleeped out; the word was rhymed with Gold digger. And the world bopped to the song. Perhaps in Kanye’s twisted epistemological genius, by turning it into a commonplace word, does it somehow take away the sting?

I doubt it.  

Maybe if he associated it with a less derogatory adjective, like “brilliant n*gger,” instead of broke “n*gger.”  Broke ones are the ones who are either unemployed, or who die, shattered, dead and broken in the street, at the hands of a police bullet, or too tight a chokehold.

Well… West is making millions, so, in his estimation, he is doing something right.

Cursing is just cursing, to some. Hopefully, my use of the term is poignant in its context, but even in making my case, it still bothers me a bit. I still might take it out – I have six months to decide.

I at least want to explain myself, something I wish West and Jay-Z would do.

N*ggas in Paris.

New Slaves.

Damn right.

Here are links to blogs that delve much deeper into the question of the N-word, in particular:

http://www.disqorse.com/topic/181-should-it-be-illegal-to-use-the-n-word/

http://thyblackman.com/2014/05/07/why-i-decided-to-give-up-the-n-word/

http://www.chicagonow.com/vociferous-envoy/2014/03/we-shouldnt-have-to-tell-people-not-to-use-the-n-word-at-work/

http://black-socrates.blogspot.com/2011/01/doing-things-with-n-word.html

Post script: I had an interesting conversation on Twitter with @Malika_Polter regarding the etymology of the N-word; she sent me this link: http://www.africaresource.com/rasta/sesostris-the-great-the-egyptian-hercules/the-original-meaning-of-the-n-word-by-pianke-nubiyang/

It's a quite fascinating take on the history of the word; I still don't condone it's contemporary profligate use, but it's worth the read:

And Before I'll Be a Slave....

Artwork by JerriAnne Boggis****

I cannot put into words how I feel right now. I want to go to sleep, as it is late.  However, I can't help but memorialize the debut of my blog, this blog, hours after experiencing a climactic event.  Today's (Sunday) event is profound for many reasons.  I attended a celebration--the culmination of an historical event that precipitated my writing frenzy of the last 12 or so years, that has also found its culmination in the past week, because I finally finished it. My novel, titled, "Severed," is ready to go to the 2nd Editor.  The symbolism of my experience today is profound to me, and I am being self-indulgent in sharing it, I feel, but I shall continue, nevertheless.


The event today was the culmination of a long journey home, for thirteen (13) African slaves whose coffins were found under the streets of historic Portsmouth, New Hampshire. It was a momentous event when they were discovered, sometime in 2003, and after much to-do about what to do with the bodies inside the coffins (they had been dug up in the 1800s, and unceremoniously returned to their hiding place, to be found over a century and one-half later), they were sent to their proverbial home, the universe, this time, free of anonymity.  A memorial will now stand on the street, where they will eventually be reburied--this time for good, in Spring of next year, when my novel will be available for publishing.

I came to New Hampshire as a caregiver to my mother who had lost her husband (2nd) of only 4 years. The day he died, in 2001, I hopped on a plane from California, where I was attempting to pursue a writing career, to be with my mother.  I have not left her side since.  Whereas I was born in Oberlin, Ohio, raised in the suburbs of Los Angeles, and lived over a decade in Washington, D.C. (Arlington, VA) -- I am now from Dover, NH (six miles from Portsmouth).

My creative juices were inspired by that historic Big Dig, so much so that I created a character, Lula Logan, a forensic anthropologist.  I changed the setting, however, probably because it was too close to home:  she is a Black female, single and childless, like me, navigating through life in a small town; however, not in New Hampshire, but in Louisiana (I came to learn that the connections between the two states is deeper than one would expect, but I digress).

My novel is not about the slaves, per se, but the people who came after them and our incarnation in the present day as a people free, but still enslaved.

Finally, my writing is over, at the same time, that these slaves have gone back home, into the universe. I feel my characters are free, too.

****
I must acknowledge the above-referenced artist JerriAnne Boggis, who is more than that: she is the Executive Director of the Portsmouth Black Heritage Trail (also a champion of my writing efforts), who worked frenetically to make this event a truly one-of-a-kind event.  That all people could commune with their ancestors the way I felt I experienced today. Thank you, JerrieAnne.  You,  Portsmouth's treasured historian, Valerie Cunningham, and Rose Downes, have created history in a big way. I feel honored to have been a part of it as a spectator.