Why Reading Other Novelists Helps Improve One's Own Writing

A Conspiracy of Paper by David Liss
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

As someone who has written an in-depth novel with lots of characters and intrigue, I can see my own shortcomings as a writer as they mirror my criticisms of the shortcomings of A Conspiracy of Paper.

Years ago, I had decided to read it while I was reading novels to learn how to tell my own story of complexity. This novel is recommended on its jacket as a novel similar to An Instance of the Fingerpost, the latter which I consider to be one of the most brilliant contemporary historical fiction novels ever written. Mind you, An Instance might be the first historical fiction that I had ever read, to my memory, so that could have been part of its mystique. But that book is brilliant.

I love brilliant writing. This author does a commendable job of writing in an English prose of perfection for the time period, although certain phrases are used ad nausea ("for the nonce..."). Nevertheless, Liss has a way of using witty, sophisticated dialogue, in a Jane Austen manner that makes you want to hear what the characters are saying. He also catches the time period brilliantly, and transports you to 18th Century England. You can almost smell the putrid smells of London, and the visuals of the time-period are like a movie. The clothing, the hackneys, the beggars, the streets, the filth, are conjured up admirably. He literally places you there.

The problem with the novel is the problem with my own: there are way too many characters. In his case, however, because they are all in the same field of employment (relating to business and stock-jobbing, in things of a financial nature) they all blend into one another. There are so many names, but the faces all look the same to me. So, I did not care for them. Luckily, my readers have told me differently about my own characters, thankfully.

The characters that did interest me were better defined and quite memorable, usually persons in whom the protagonist had an actual friendly relationship: Miriam and Elias, in particular, whose friendships with the protagonist Weaver were human and relevant to the story. As long as one of them was in the scene, I could be guaranteed to pay attention.

The theme of the book does come across, albeit in a muddled way, but just when you're about to give up, the author inserts a paragraph that sums up where we are in the book, and that guided me along. I wish, however, that I could have gleaned what was going on without his paraphrasing. I also didn't like that I could read the mind of the author as he was writing, not knowing exactly where he was going in telling the story. You could tell where he was stuck, where he had to pivot, and when he was lost in his own story-telling. His character spoke too much about this, which was part of the mystery, but which I could not help but hear the desperation of the writer. I could be wrong, however. But those musings jumped out at me.

Writing about fraud is very difficult. I know that as an attorney who takes on complex cases. He's done a commendable job, however, of explaining where financial fraud's beginnings lay: in England in the creation of the stock markets. Overall, the book is a cautionary tale for how we find ourselves where we do now, as a civilization, creating value in worthless paper that is manipulated by central banks, employed by persons of questionable repute.

I doubt I'll read this book again, whereas I will read An Instance of the Fingerpost again. I'm not sure I recommend the novel except for the complimentary aspects I mentioned above.

I will say though, that David Liss, as an American, has done a good job of copying the brogue and the feeling of the English, through the eyes of an outsider, a Jewish Englishman. There was no trace of his American background in his writing, except for his location for some of the major meetings in the novel, in a restaurant called "The Laughing Negro." Unless there is an actual place in English history, I would say his need to insert American pejorative parlance in a novel about England was totally out of place, and an indicator of why he may aspire to be English, but cannot think like a Brit, in the long run.

I should give this 3.5 stars, and maybe a 4.

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An Amazing Book Review of Severed, A Novel by RedHeadedBookLoverBlog

An Amazing Book Review of Severed, A Novel (Author VL Towler)

Severed, A Novel - The Trailer

The novel that has stumped every single reader.

www.severedanovel.com

For Black Diaspora Reading Aficionados, There's No Place Like Home: Sister's Uptown Bookstore.

Proud to be feted by the only Black-owned bookstore in Manhattan

I still fancy myself as international, although I haven't travelled overseas in over 15 years. I traded in my passport for being my mother's caregiver. I miss the sights and smells of traveling overseas. Moreover, I miss the freedom of feeling...well...free. More free than in my own native country. I have lived in the Philippines and Thailand, traveled to Brazil, Jamaica, and Nigeria, and can say that I felt more secure and at home in all of those places than in my own USA.

Pitiful, but true.

Now, I know there's some falsity in my assertions because, when I traveled, I was perceived as a regular American. Here, not so much. Also, I had money to spend, and the color green seemed to overwhelm any trepidation people may have had about my brown-colored skin. So, in many ways, although I didn't look like a white Tammy-tourist, I was still "the other". But no one seemed to make a big deal about it.

I felt comfortable even in England, where I lived for a year as an Atlantic Fellow in Public Policy, although I didn't escape from being noticed by one drunkard at a formal dinner who slurred loudly enough for me to hear him say to a man next to him,"What is that?" referring to me. I guess my neatly twisted hair made me seem other-worldly to his jaundiced, inebriated eyes.

That question should have been my retort about him, however, as he looked like a W.C. Field's caricature, with his pregnant belly and his toupee askew. He was quite comical. I pretended not to hear because I didn't want to embarrass the man who received the remark, and who, shocked, immediately made an overt gesture to speak with me as a social balm to deflect the perceived wound his uncouth colleague had attempted to inflict upon me.

But I heard him. We hear it all the time.  Black people don't need supersonic ears to hear the insults lobbied about us over our heads. We catch them so quickly because we must be alert wherever we are...because we are hated, pilloried, envied, and shunned for being Black, enslaved, then freed (kinda sorta).

But I digress.

What I really want to talk about is where Black people can go to find their own safe places. One of them is Sister's Uptown Bookstore and Cultural Center, in Manhattan, New York.

Book-lovers at Black-owned Sister's Uptown Bookstore

Ironically, it was a White book buyer and writer Kurt Thometz (who was introduced to me via word-of-mouth - "call him and he'll tell you who is who, etc.") who told me about them, as I am generally a stranger to everyplace in New York except Times Square, where my sister lives. I only know Harlem to walk down the street and to visit Adam Clayton Powell, Jr.  Blvd., searching for the Juice Bar when it was there. It was a place where you could get vegetarian soul food. I'm no vegan, but I loved going there (it moved to a different location, but wasn't the same, but I hope it's still doing business). After living for 15 years in New Hampshire, feeling almost a foreigner to Black environments, I just liked hanging out on the street, talking to the vendors to get my dose of Blackness. A recharge of sorts.

A family for our Family of book lovers

Have you ever slipped into a warm, heated towel after a shower or bath, and wanted to stay in it, forever?

Or, have you ever felt like Cinderella when she actually fits the magic slipper to wed the prince?

That's Sister's Uptown Books.

It is an oasis.

It is heaven on earth.

It is your grandmother's sofa and hot corn bread that never gets cold.

It is mother Africa hugging you to her bosom.

It will put you in a place where you feel safe and secure. Without prickly safety pins.

It's just...home.  It touts as much, as it's not only a bookstore. It's a community center. A cultural home.  And the fact that it embraces not just Blackness but Black literature makes it one of the most important places on the planet for me.

The owner and manager are a mother and daughter team, Janifer and Kori, who receive you with open arms, something we are not always open to doing as a people, as we have been taught to guard each other with suspicion, like the slave masters taught our slave ancestors, and as some of us still unconsciously do.

My book, "Severed, a novel" had been named as a finalist in first-fiction for the Phyllis Wheatley BookAward at the Harlem Book Fair, and I traveled during the award-ceremony weekend with copies of my novel, which Janifer and Kori accepted without reservation. The few independent stores I've approached locally have loved the cover, as it is quite professional (thank you, Ingram Spark), if just a tad difficult to place by genre. It is a mystery that I hope is part-literary, so it's difficult to typecast, and to sell for that, matter.

But Sister's accepted 7 paperbacks on the spot. When they called a couple of months later and said they needed more copies, I was ecstatic, of course. And when I was invited to speak about my novel over Thanksgiving weekend to their book club members, I was even more overjoyed.

The book club members are extremely well-read critical-thinkers: my favorite audience. They were rapt at attention, ingested my story, and gave me their own insights into the novel. They were the audience I have waited for my whole life: intelligent, they love and support their race. My novel is not an easy read. There's a lot of information to digest. That these readers embraced it so gleefully was worth the fifteen years it took to write it.

Kori - committed to the cause of Sister's

Sister's is the only Black-owned bookstore in Manhattan and is only one out of 54 in the country, down from 400. Our bookstores are dying out, as Black Americans become consumers without a conscience. Like most Americans, they "want-it-now" and "want it easy," which supersedes the thoughtfulness of helping another Black business. We seem to owe allegiance only to our desires. The problem is that we don't realize how we are destroying our history and legacy, which, according to Janifer, fits easily into America's system. We will become obsolete, by design, as our history and contributions to the country diminish.

Sister's Uptown Books is trying to take things to the next level, for people to understand that supporting Black businesses, and writers, in particular, is as necessary as keeping our race alive.

We Blacks must find our own safe places; we need not look for well-meaning Whites to provide them for us. We must create them ourselves. Sister's Uptown Bookstore and Cultural Center is one such place. Never forget that during slavery, slaves could be killed for learning to read. And American history is continually being doctored, with current textbook efforts to dilute history by saying that enslaved Africans were "migrant workers" to the U.S. (SMH) But shaking our heads isn't enough.

Sister's Preparing for Future Readers

Janifer explains our current mindset: "Why is it that it's left out of our equation to support our own? We don't care who we purchase from... it doesn't matter if it's a Black owned business."  Her store is determined to change that behavior: "It's not just consuming.... we need to think, too... or we will become extinct. We don't get it. It started so long back. We think if we emulate what others have, we've arrived. When that's gone, you have nothing." She mentioned the climate change misfortunes that have created mudslides, Katrina, and other catastrophic incidents. "What do you have if [those possessions] are gone?" She talks about our forbears, when they die and "go to the other side" without time to tell us that our legacy must be kept alive, after our purchases, that we covet so much, are gone.

Janifer and Kori's goal is to "take the chains off our brains, the same ones that used to be on our (ancestors') wrists and ankles." She continues: "My premise is to find a way to work with our minds." It isn't her goal to just sell a book. "It's not just have someone buy from me, but to help each of us get out of survival mode to free our spirits up... that's what we came here to do."

"I was looking at Hidden Figures (about the Black female), mathematicians helping the U.S.)  get to the moon. There's nothing we haven't done. But if we don't read., (we'll) never
know." And most of our stories are not made into movies. When Janifer decided to open her business, people murmured that she wouldn't make it, because Black people don't read.  Seventeen years later, "Sister's" is still around.  Janifer is also grateful for Troy Johnson of African American Literature Book Club, who suggested that Sister's Uptown Bookstore sponsor the Medgar Evers National Black Writer's Conference.

The colors of Sister's are vibrant like its patrons

The Cultural side of Sister's Uptown Books

Janifer says Black Americans have survived everything. "Ain't no way... we're no weak people." But she aims to inculcate in everyone who visits her store that we need to take it to the next dimension: to reverse our thought processes. "I'm in observation mode. I ask the creator to open the way and reveal to me how to help. Send more people who are awake. We're going to get it. This is our time. I believe that if I just continue to hold on and hold out... it will be revealed".

We must find our places.  We must find an underground railroad for Blacks, by Blacks; not to fight the power, but to rest.  To rejuvenate.  The diaspora needs a divan.

As the nation continues to gentrify and Blacks get pushed into the margins of the cities in which we live, we must go out of our way to support Black institutions like Sister's Uptown Books.

"More brothers are coming now. They're hungry for the information." Citing the books they're leafing through and buying: the Black Marxist, the story of Assata: Assata Shakur's biography, and books like A Taste of Power, Blacks Against Empire...these enlightened brothers want to support the store. Even ones who haven't opened a book in 5 to 10 years are asking for help in being re-introduced to reading. These new avid readers are Janifer's "consolation." "Those folk. More and more sisters are coming with book clubs.  Janifer became even more excited as she talked about the new clientele making themselves known.

"So that's it. That's my freedom, to see people hungry for knowledge." Sometimes she can't even sleep she's so excited. She puts books out in front of her store for free. Just to get people reading again. When they open her store's door to confirm the price, she tells them, "Sure it's free. But come back to me when you're done reading the book and let's talk about what you read."

Make your pilgrimage to Blackness in all of its greatness when you go to Sister's Uptown Bookstore and Cultural Center in Harlem. And buy a book (or two, or three, or four....), or even arts and crafts (there's lovely hand-crafted artwork there, too).

I'm so glad that Sister's was revealed to me.  I'm grateful for Sister's Uptown Books for embracing my novel, but, more importantly, for embracing our people. In all of our diversity. Blacks in the diaspora have traveled the world, but few places in America truly feel like home.  Count Sister's as one of them.

My Review of Kindred, by Octavia Butler

Kindred by Octavia E. Butler
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

(If you have not read the book, you might not want to read this review, although I'm cautious about what I reveal).

Kindred

This book is extremely well-written (should be 4.5 stars) and thought-provoking on so many levels, but I hope that any reader of this review can reserve my criticisms of this unique story as navel-gazing theorizing, and not an indictment of Ms. Butler.

As Black Americans, we tend to guard each other such that every work of Black authorship must be lifted up, as lifting up the rest of us, to the degree that we fail to allow criticism that we would certainly entertain after reading non-Black authors.

So, before I am deemed a hater who is jealous of Ms. Butler I will say I am nothing of the sort. Her writing is peerless in her narrative. It's engaging to a fault. But I do find some "kindred" in our backgrounds that makes me understand her unique voice (my use of the term "kindred" is not to be mistaken for how it is used in the novel, which is for you to decipher).

I grew up in Carson, California, a neighbor to Pasadena, where Ms. Butler also grew up. As a newly-minted fan of hers, I would like to think that our families' lives intersected somewhere in our ancient histories. My mother was born there, and my grandparents were scions of the local AME Zion Church in Los Angeles. Ms. Butler and I could have passed each other on the streets or highways of Los Angeles County.

I hear Ms. Butler's voice and it sounds somewhat like my own (although I freely admit that my editors, including my voracious reader mother, helped liberate my writing voice for my own novel). Lower and middle-class, even upper-class families in Pasadena and Carson speak the Kings English as perfectly as any Boston Brahmin, and our accents are indecipherable from that of our Southern California white neighbors in many ways. That's how we sound. I say this because Dana "sounded White" to me. But as I've been accused of the same, I mention it only to say that I found her voice to be familiar, but strange, at the same time. But maybe that was intentional, on her part. Again, this book is deep on so many different levels. I don't grade my accent as a sign of my having arrived. Rather, I see myself as a microcosm of the American dream. As children of the 60s (and 1970s in my case), we went to integrated schools, our friends were of many different races, and we were, overall, Southern Californians. So, I definitely vibe with Ms. Butler and her voice, in general.

So, on some levels, I really get her. I would even go so far as to guesstimate that her plot might have unconsciously been influenced from the same cartoons I used to watch growing up: Fractured Fables--one in particular in which, whenever an adventurous turtle got in trouble, he would yell for "Mr. Wizard" to come save him. However, Ms. Butler's story is far from cartoonish. In Kindred, we're transported to the slave-holding South, where a family of slave-holders resides, and where our protagonist, Dana, finds herself. She is bonded to a young boy to whom she shares a genetic history, one which makes their lives cross over and over again.

This revelation is not really newsworthy. The story is not about the fact of Dana's time-travel. The story is about what she sees and experiences as a freed-woman turned "worker" on the white boy's family's land. It is the realness of the slave experience that is so riveting. The slaves had names. They had families. They had relationships. And they had no freedom.

None.

They were chattel to be worked, beaten, raped, and desired in a way that should make anyone feel the anguish, anger, and repulsion at not being able to control your own sex.

This country is still steeped in the taboos of Black sexual prowess and mystery--currently lionized by a blonde-tinted gyrating, hip-shaking multi-millionaire named Beyonce who flaunts her sex for all to covet and/or admire. But you can't touch, now, where you could in Kindred's time. How terrible was that institution that has its mark on so many of us--in our skin color, our eyes, our hair, our expressions, borne of white men who had their way with so many of us. Our popular television shows depict the same. We are still the mistresses of white men of power. But I digress.

So...my "critique" of the book has to do with some of the relationship choices Ms. Butler made. For an author who decried Gone with the Wind and the "Happy Negro" phenomenon (I admit to being an apologist for the actual film because I'm a big Clark Gable fan and because Hattie McDaniel stole the show), I'm not sure that Ms. Butler deviated from that plot in her choices of relationships. Did she dare go where Margaret Mitchell didn't--showing how the emotional bonds and perverted bondage of sexual slavery likely entered too many of America's families' bedrooms, too?

Or were her choices because she's a product of the 60s, where everyone explored interracial relationships and it was okay to do so? Was she showing that Black women are always chattel in some sense, and if so, why would she continue that mantra in her choice of romantic relationships? Can a Black woman not be in a loving relationship with a Black man or is our "freedom" our choice of with whom to partner (I believe many a Black man feels that in his choice of mate, which too often neglects women of his own race)? What does it say about the impotence of the Black man in the book, and the message it sends to this day about the plight of the Black man? Or am I being too protective? Or condescending, even?

I am not a fan of science fiction, but if this is science fiction, then I need to explore it more. Overall, I am so glad that I finally read it. I feel richer because of it. And I am, indeed, I am proud of Ms. Butler. I remember when she passed away recently, gone too soon. I knew we were losing an icon, but I finally know why. I look forward to reading interviews and scholarly works about her. Her one book could be a full semester course.

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Global Outlaws: Crime, Money, and Power in the Contemporary World by Carolyn Nordstrom
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book is not an easy read, although it reads well. It's not "easy" because no matter how intelligent you think you may be about contemporary world affairs, you will be humbled. What you think is going on in the world, meaning: everything in newspapers and on television for twenty-four hours a day, literally—What you think is important?—well, you will learn that it is not. What you are watching on television is a mask. A subterfuge to keep us all occupied and busy, while the real theft happens right under our collective noses. And that theft is what keeps the global economy running. And it always has, for millennia.

Anthropologist Carolyn Nordstrom has travelled the world in a search of the end of a trail that begins when she sees a small Angolan boy in an Angolan street selling individual cigarettes. Mesmerized by his struggling enterprise, she explores how he got his job. And therein lies her understanding of the world none of us knows about. Africa is not as impoverished as we think.

Over two decades ago, I had travelled to Nigeria on several occasions, myself, as an attorney—not as an anthropologist. I learned myself that they do not have welfare (or they didn't years ago when I was there). Everyone works in Africa, if you begrudge me this generalization, please. I say this because there is a system, above-ground, and under-ground that employs everyone. Is everyone gainfully employed? Most likely not. But they have the dignity of earning a living. And that dignity of earning a living supports the food that you eat on your plate, the price of food in Wal-Mart or wherever you shop - yes, even Whole Foods. And it's the enterprise that even Congress knows very little about.

Even Presidents can do little even to intimate how the world truly works. It has always worked this way. But it is Ms. Nordstrom's explanation of "how" it works that is worth the read. I won't spoil it for you, because I want you to savor the "ah-hah" moment that I had in realizing how truly ignorant I was, even about the things that I "thought" I understood, both as a graduate of the School of Foreign Service at Georgetown, and as a lawyer who has practiced some form of international law for most of my career.

As for my review of the book, I learned that this type of writing that Ms. Nordstrom does is called, "creative academic nonfiction." We need more of it. The reason I kept reading the book (although it took me 10 months) because there was so much in it that I wanted to digest. Due to the fluidity of her writing style it read more like a novel than a nonfiction book. But the research was definitely scholarly.

My caveat is that the book repeats the same information over and over again to a degree that the mantra becomes a bit stale. But I think lawyers do the same, so I can't really complain. Perhaps she really wants us to understand, so she beats you over the head, almost as if to convince. The thing is that you don't need to be "convinced" because so much of the book is from first-hand information that she experiences. Ms. Nordstrom travels the trade routes, talks to the lorry-drivers, the merchant marines, the warehousemen, the people who make the goods on our table arrive to the stores on time. And at each stage she explains how they are involved in the unseen matrix.

There is no illuminati. There's business. And for those of us who bemoan the ascendancy of Donald Trump to the Presidency? Well, read the book. He's replaced the faceless bureaucrat with the knowledge of who truly runs the world—the people with whom he does business—and instead of being unseen engines of the world's economy, they have a new megaphone called "political power" now.

I think the book is pretty dated now as it was copyrighted in 2007. Almost a decade has passed, so I don't know if Ms. Nordstrom's paradigm still works the same way. I had heard someone on C-Span state that one area of unaccountability [that the book exposed as riddled with issues] has been "cleaned up". I'm not so sure. So, I might need to read a more contemporary read.

So, you think you know how the world works? Well, this may confirm your knowledge, as some of it did, in my case. But in other areas, I was actually taught something. If I can't learn something new when I read, it's a waste for me. So, I'm very glad to say that I read the book.

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Why Ingram Spark is Very Much Worth the Hassle.

I spent over one year deciding whether to use Create Space or Ingram Spark for print on demand.  I finally opted for Ingram Spark. 

I am so glad that I did. 

Mind you, there are better, more in-depth reviews about which publisher-on-demand is the better to use, but I'm only giving you my perspective about Ingram Spark as a "newbie" who will likely only publish 5 or 6 books in what remains of my lifetime. 

For those who wonder why I'm not trying to be published by a traditional publisher, here's why.

What do I like about Ingram Spark?

Ingram Spark expects you to rise to the occasion and act like a professional publisher. It keeps the bar extremely high. But the hassle of living up to their standards, though frustrating, is worth the superb payoff. I hired a great book designer, and Ingram Spark did a brilliant job publishing her work.  You will definitely need someone who can navigate through their upload questions, however, as there are many technical questions that only a professional book designer or graphic artist will understand.

If you want to be a successful publisher, then you should put as much time in the production end of your novel as you did in the writing of it.  If you want an easy upload of your book, you might go with another company. Ingram Spark asks lots of questions. And the company expects you to follow directions.  To the letter. Ingram's software is very sensitive, and my novel cover is very layered, with designs and colors, so the template had lots of red lines all over it. Not to worry. It's just sensitive to every nuance of the cover details.

The end result of my book cover upload was astounding, and went without a hiccup. It printed beautifully. My local bookstore owner immediately accepted my request to place my books in his store, because he was so impressed with the quality of the book design. Honestly, it looks as good as any book on any bookshelf anywhere in the world.

What makes Ingram so great? I'm not sure. The book feels weighty, like a book should. The cover is solid, not flimsy, and the cardboard stock feels weighty. The paper (I used off-white) is not thin and cheap-looking. The quality of the paper feels great.

Another reason to use Ingram is that you can order your own books like a wholesaler and make a bigger profit, or at least, not give away as much profit. This is a good thing. I have given many books away, entering competitions, giving books to people who have supported my writing, and I didn't have to pay the full price of the book to do so. I try to keep track of each book given away, sold, or entered in competitions so that I know how my money is being used.

I can buy my own books wholesale and make more selling on my own. I have ordered 100 books as a publisher and it didn't cost me an arm and a leg. It cost me about $6.00+ per book and $85.00 for shipping (I received the books within 5 days, if not less).  Of course, should I ever find the right distributor, then I will be able to order hundreds and still make a decent profit.

What do I not like about Ingram Spark (but will still put up with because the quality of my print book is so good?)

Think of Ingram Spark like a large dinosaur or a ship that can only move in one direction.

That's Ingram. There is no room for error, which makes it very stressful dealing with them. When I was conflicted about my book price and wanted to change the price over the holidays, I couldn't do so immediately. It would take one month to take effect!  I'm not sure how that makes sense, considering that the price isn't listed anywhere on my novel. So changing the price requires major planning on your part.

Considering the standards they use to produce your book, I think they should be as transparent on the back-end with record-keeping. I think they could be more detailed about where your money goes and how you earned it. 

Spark has some 'splainin' to do.

For my ebooks on Amazon, they tell you exactly how many sales I made and on which dates.  I made four sales over a 5-day period. Nice.

Amazon ebook sales can be tracked by the day!

Not so with Ingram:  You're on your own. You'd have to guess when the books were sold, therefore, it's difficult to see how the advertising campaign, if any, is working. You have to fill out a form with so much detail that you never get a coherent picture of what is working.  I filled out the form looking at sales and this is all I got.

Flatlined Print sales - not! But no details on Ingram Spark!

The actual total show 31 sales. But I have no idea of the date that I sold each book.  So, I have to take their word for it. Further confusing matters is that I can get a snapshot of how many books I've sold in the last 30 days, information that's not really useful. Because if I look tomorrow it will still include the 29 days prior.  I would have to look every day to see any changes in POD sales. Of what use to me is that?

Ingram is working on its Customer Service.

Ingram has had a rough start in recognizing that resting on one's laurels does not build a devoted following.  Many of us new publishers are unpolished and ignorant, and our fears were seldom allayed by the company in its infancy.  To its credit, Ingram has ramped up its customer support. I have called at least three times over several months, and each time the person on the other end seemed more kind and gentle.  I can't blame their frustrations in dealing with people like me who ask stupid questions, but that could be avoided by making things idiot-proof, which is needed for most things in this country. 

One of my biggest peeves is that they use their website on the back end in such a non-friendly way that I have made mistakes that have cost me, big time. Honestly, do not push a button unless you really know its purpose 100% because you might do like I did and keep ordering proofs (they cost $20 a pop!). They don't have any cancel order buttons, so you're stuck.  I don't think that's the most ethical thing to do, and question their morality in not allowing people to reverse their mistakes, but, that goes with the territory. In effect, you can't be a dilettante if you're going to work with them.

I believe the crux of the problem is that Ingram Spark is very much geared toward bona fide publishers who have more than one book to sell. Perhaps their format is for tried and tested companies that have a lot of inventory. I have one novel. And I will not have another one for another year or two, or three.

I won't be publishing a book a year, because I have my own standards, too. But I should not be made to suffer from mistakes that their website makes easy to commit. They claim to have changed their website, but that's just the window-dressing landing page. Everything else is very much the same.  

There you have it. I am not the definitive answer on the ins and outs of Ingram Spark. But I can't deny that I am extremely proud of my work as a writer. Moreover, I'm proud of the work that Ingram Spark has done to make this writer's dreams come true. 

You must be patient with them.  Amazon is a well-greased machine that understands that the customer is king. At Ingram, you might feel like a vassal, but once you see what they can do for you, you'll like your status. You're a vassal in really nice clothing.

I have no connection to Ingram Spark other than as a customer.  I tweeted that I might eventually blog about them, but warned them that I would be honest and objective. I hope I have accomplished this endeavor.

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Update. A very late update (as in, I should have written this months ago!). 

Soon after publishing this post, I received a Facebook post from a staff member at Ingram Spark who was grateful for the content of the article, stating, in his opinion, that it was the best and most fair review that he had ever read of the print-on-demand company (cool, huh!?). Not only was he impressed by my review, but he arranged a conference call with the Director of Ingram Spark, Robin Cutler. We spoke for at least a half-hour as she explained that the company was in the process already of addressing some of the issues raised in my post. It will probably take a long time, because, as I said, they are a monolithic dinosaur. But I do believe it will be worth the hassle dealing with them as they make the changes. My sequel will take a good two or three years to write, so I'm sure they'll be sitting perfectly pretty by then! Enjoy!

One of my Best Year s(EVER)ed. The ebook is here.

Taking a refrain from President Barack Obama's tune to almost any new policy he implements, I echo his lyrics:

"No one said it was going to be easy..."

Cheers, Mr. President. You said it.

But I did it. I wrote my novel.


I put pen to paper (more like fingers to keyboard), traveled, interviewed, researched, wrote, and researched some more—then traveled some more; worked with an editor, a proofreader, another proofreader, and a couple more readers with a critical eye. It's still being corrected as words here and there crop up that hurt "translation," as it were.  The paperback book won't even be ready for another month, most likely.


After 15 years of sorting out the mystery, taking months and sometimes a year to think about things— it has all worked out.  I did it. I put my ideas down, and now they are in print.

At least three people have approached me to help them write their books, now (as if it's truly that easy for me to write now that my first novel is published).

Everyone says that marketing is where the work begins.

Not for me. I accomplished my feat.

Sure, I want people to read my novel, but I'll deal with the marketing stuff next year (which is coming up soon enough). For now, I'm just learning how to live separate from something that has been inside me for so long. And I want to revel in the feeling.

My Editor, Phyllis Ring, told me that I would go through postpartum depression. And, it has been an emotional roller coaster for me as I re-assign myself a new identity from "aspiring writer," to "author."

But, I'm over that already, too.  I'm luxuriating in the new feeling.

I have so much to do, but, honestly, after 15 years of working on this, for whatever comes next—I have all the time in the world. 

I'm proud of my work.  It's absolutely the best that I could do under my circumstances. And right now, that's all that matters to me.

Oh yeah. And I was admitted to the New Hampshire bar this year. So, it's been a great year. 

Black Physical and Mental Health: Toward A Self-Help Paradigm

For my faithful readers who have wondered if I dropped off the face of the earth, this post is proof that I am still alive. That being said, it's been a rough year for me physically and mentally.  I had no idea how all-consuming it would be to finish the novel, and it has taken a toll on me: sleepless nights, fever blisters, non-stop colds--I'm basically drained. My predicament made me think about the travails of the health of Black folk, in general, which inspired me to write this blog post. 

Many articles have come out recently about the mental health of Americans, in general, which leads me to broach the topic of the mental health of Black Americans. The lives we live are not easy ones, despite all of our singing and dancing portrayed in the media. I know that dancing is therapeutic, and being in touch with one's body is a good thing. But we can't necessarily only dance  our way to better health. So, what do we do when we're at our wits end, fighting the fight: unemployment, food deserts, #blacklivesmatter protests -- just trying to stay alive?

Many of us may have better access to health care but still don't get the Cadillac services that other groups get. We are overlooked, under-diagnosed, over-drugged, and ignored. Many doctors don't know how to handle Black people, in general, as normal patients, which has inspired a term called, "cultural competency." It's another way of saying, "how to treat non-whites like humans."

If one looks at the history of government policies towards Black health, it's understandable that Blacks might have issues with trusting our health care system.  We were experimented on when we thought we were being treated, and our level of health attention is much poorer than in the mainstream, because our lives were never and are not now valued. The Nestle debacle in Africa and other developing countries is indicative of how the little babies of color's lives mattered: http://multinationalmonitor.org/hyper/issues/1987/04/formula.html

[Companies such as Nestle] used to hire 'milk nurses' to visit patients in the maternity wards of hospitals to promote bottle feeding. The business of these "so-called nurses is to sell milk, not look after the health of the children," said Dr. Cicely D. Williams, a British doctor who worked in hospitals throughout the Third World. "In Africa, I wouldn't let them in. They came to me about it, but I said no, not as long as I'm here." Williams said she found the same thing in Singapore where Nestle used women dressed as nurses to convince new mothers to use infant formula.

Blacks have always been pitched to by stronger nicotine-content cigarette manufacturing brands, like Kools and Newport, and higher alcohol-content beers, creating consumers who would become addicted to products that harm them.  But that's the American way:  the consumer can stop, we're told. Of course, that's easier said than done, as Americans as a whole have a wider away of health problems than our parents and grandparents had back in the day.


There's a movement afoot led by scientists such as Jennifer Hutchison, who are encouraging Black Americans to "heal thyself." She's not just wishing or hoping, however.  She attended Agnes Scott College, an all-women’s liberal arts school in Georgia, where she received a Bachelor’s degree in Biology.  Subsequently, she earned two Masters degrees (Biology and Physiology). Her physiology Master's dissertation concerned the cellular and molecular pathways involved in metastatic colon cancer.

Jennifer Hutchison of Senebti Botanicals

Jennifer has always had a passion to help others and a keen interest in medicine. After taking a graduate course called Mechanisms of Disease and learning about how the body has a natural ability heal itself, she used what she learned to investigate her own health problems. Eventually, Jennifer decided to incorporate her passion for medicine and health with her love for plants (a product of her mother’s green thumb).

Jennifer also began studying the therapeutic ways of ancient Africans and other indigenous peoples that used the earth for healing and renewal as a natural supplement to health.  She became certified as a Clinical Master Herbalist, and started her company Senebti Botanicals. The word Senebti comes from the ancient African language of Medu Neter “Ankh Udja Seneb,” which means life, prosperity and health.

"We must realize that Mother Earth and our universe is a biological system in which we are innately connected. No laboratory drug can safely balance the internal energy of your bodies in the same way plant medicines can."

At the same time, Jennifer believes that society is not a healthy one for Black Americans. How does that translate to the care we get from our medical system in the U.S.?

"[Black Americans] are susceptible to more disease because we are not in our natural environment socially or geographically. In addition, the way we are treated by professionals has a tendency to weaken our system on a spiritual level, too. In other words, when African-Americans go to the doctor, which is usually late, chances are they are in a worsened condition. That means, not only [do] they have a lesser chance of recovery, but the negative energy about their condition is 'in the air', transferred to them by the doctors and nurses who treat them. So what happens is, instead of being encouraged that they can get better, they get a vibe that things are worse, and they take that on and actually do get worse. And we have worse outcomes."

This is why Jennifer believes that Black Americans should have "our own medical system in place to help Black people."

When asked how that "treatment" would take place, given America's health care system, which is still the envy of most nations, she explained further how African-based traditions and beliefs need to filter into how Blacks are treated, and that we need more Black health professionals with whom we can work.

"Allopathic medicine is treating a symptom, whereas African traditional medicine (and all other healing practices) are formed from a culture. America has no real culture of millennial or centuries' practices that they can culturally rely upon as medicine. Africans and many other cultures focus on energy and balance in the life as a whole."

When I asked Jennifer about the dilemma of Black Americans who are divorced from our African homeland, she defended that Black Americans do have traditional African beliefs even though we are very westernized.

"Our people are confused and brainwashed. That energy I speak of has been modified to only respond to low vibration stimulation whether that be foods, music, or other people." The American system, which is rooted in the historical subjugation of Black people, must be replaced by an emphasis on the earth, which provides healing and renewal. "The earth has everything you need to survive – and we should use its healing power!" There is a whole world of medicinal herbs that can heal almost any medical issue, from Arthritis to zits, she explained.

"There's so much negativity that bombards us," Jennifer believes. "Meditation, spirituality, and prayer are essential to our well-being."

She posits that Blacks need to reunite with our ancestors, and look outside of the traditional norms to heal ourselves. As a student of those traditions, Jennifer holds online classes to educate others about health and well-being. She serves the public, but is especially committed to helping Black Americans.

You can hear more about her thinking by visiting her website: https://senebtibotanicals.com/; she also has a school http://www.senebtischool.com; nubiahoodradio.com also features her on Saturday talks; you can also hear her in a more informative blogtalkradio post: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/katinalove/2015/10/04/the-story-of-an-herbalist

A Book Review of "Igboland."

Igboland by Jeff Gardiner

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I had been eyeing this book for some time, mainly because I have always been interested in understanding what happened in Biafra in the 1960s. In the 1990s, I had traveled to Nigeria on several occasions, usually for an average of one week or so, but was always on official U.S. government business, so I didn't have much in the way of knowledge or history of the country. I was just doing my job as a functionary, as it were, and wasn't permitted to travel outside of Lagos or Abuja, the capital.

Mr. Gardiner has done a good job of weaving the history of the war with the lives of a British missionary (Clem) and his young wife (Lydia), the latter who is still coming to terms with her beliefs about God and religion. As she's only nineteen years old, she has a lot to learn, and gets swept up in the lives of the Igbos of her community. She learns a lot about the Igbo "religious" traditions, which are not religious at all, but a way of thinking that pervade their being as a people that makes her feel a bit self-conscious about her husband's efforts to spread the Christian gospel.

The story touches on the war, mainly in regard to the logistics of what was happening around where the missionaries lived. Travel was spotty because of road blocks and fighting, and there was animosity against them by some Africans. But overall, we see a people tolerant of the British presence in their land. Considering the mayhem caused by British support of the Nigerian government forces and their resources, I would have liked to understand more about Clem's politics and whether he had any guilt in being from a country which was causing so much bloodshed through its military support which was devastating the people he wanted to help.

Mostly, the author weaves a good story of characters together, with the biggest backdrop being the Igbo people themselves. This might be the first book that I've read that gives me a glimpse into African spirituality, something I know exists, especially ancestor worship, as I have those same beliefs as an African-American, but don't know from whence those beliefs of mine originate. Much because I am Westernized and indoctrinated by those beliefs, it gives me a jumping off point through which I can explore further.

The novel is part travel-journal, part drama, as we see the world through a housewife, who is left to her own devices because her husband travels so much of the time.  We see the insecurity of a young woman who knows she's not as interesting as Charlotte, a missionary who is very much at home in Nigeria, and with whom her husband spends (too much) time. I would have liked to learn a bit more about what brought Clem and Lydia together in the first place besides her naivete. The fact that he was sexually awkward with her, and oh-so British didn't do him justice, at least in my opinion. Clem was a very committed and brave man, who risked a lot to do his work, putting himself in danger especially amongst a people who were questioning the White man's presence in their country. I'm not sure why his passions for Jesus didn't somehow transfer to his display of love for his wife.

This book is good on so many levels. At points it got monotonous as the fact of cars and their cock-ups and the terrain got a bit tedious. I couldn't help but see the male author trying to marry his inclinations as a writer, with trying to sound feminine enough as the protagonist. He did his research, however, and his descriptions of Lydia's physical transformation, as it were, seemed quite authentic.

I'm giving the book four stars as a great effort. He's done his hard work. He's told a good story, while teaching us about life in Igboland; the characters were believable, especially Grace, who was a scene-stealer, of sorts.




View all my reviews

Getting Closer. Help Me Get There! Book Cover 1, 2 or 3?

I'm excited to share my sample book covers (still in draft form), designed by Gail Anderson www.gailycurl.com

Please weigh in. Let me know which you like? Feedback, please! I can take it! 

Here is #1

Here is #2

Here is #3

Five Lessons My Editor Taught Me About Writing (and Why My Life Is Not Wasted Waiting So Long to Learn Them).

I set out to write my soon-to-be published novel over 13 years ago when I moved to New England after my mother's second husband passed away.  With no income to speak of, and no friends, I aimed to write a novel after my foray into screen and television writing in California (where I grew up)  foundered.  Don't get me wrong. I've had a great career in movies, television, and even an off Broadway play--just none of it is attributed to me, although my fingerprints are everywhere, even on television series that you are watching today.

But the Play button must be pushed. Life goes on. 

I met my editor, Phyllis, before I knew that I would be using her as an editor. She had written a large cover-article in the Portsmouth Herald about the writing duo my mother and I had become after I realized that we could fill a big void in the area by helping people with their resumes. New England is expensive and the majority of jobs are low-wage.  Most can't afford to pay $400 for a resume, so we provide an alternative.  Phyllis did such a wonderful job that she restored my faith in journalism. Everything was written well.  The only problem? The Portsmouth Herald didn't put the information of where people could contact us! It wasn't Phyllis's fault and she felt terrible about it.  But I was still grateful for her work then, for reasons I'm sharing now. 

The Black community here has known for some time that I have been writing this novel; and when I was invited to speak about my process, Phyllis was there, listening intently. I was grateful she took the time to attend. I was not a keynote speaker, mind you, as there were more illustrious, accomplished writers who had more to say than I.  After I had read an excerpt, Phyllis approached me, lauding the visuals of the scene that I had written.  That was great news for me; I was buoyed by her comments, she being a legitimate writer, in my eyes.

Years earlier, I had finished my novel, when it was much longer and not as "finished," but had an offer from a publisher to publish it--without his having even finished reading it.  I could be on my 8th novel by now, of course. Maybe it was my low self-esteem, but I didn't trust that the novel was ready, and declined.  That publisher has since moved on to greener pastures. Still, I was right in my decision. 


I needed someone who could help me make the novel better.

I wanted to publish something about which I can be proud, and just speaking the Queen's English wasn't enough. I know that I sound fairly educated when I write, but that wasn't my goal. I wanted to tell a story: an intricate story with layers, about real personalities that we all know exist--not stereotypes, especially when it came to my Black protagonist, Dr. Lula Logan. When another esteemed critic gave me feedback about my novel's shortcomings in 2007, I went back to the drawing board and "re-thunk" everything.  I returned to Phyllis when I thought I was ready, and asked her, last year, to edit my novel.  And this is what she taught me:


1. Recording what you see is not writing.

I am visual.  When my characters speak to me, I see them. I see their gestures, like a camera closes in on a subject in a film. I had verbatim descriptions of what my characters were doing. If someone picked up a glass, I explained how they did it, when they sipped, and how they set it down again.  If they refilled the glass, I talked about how they did it.  Mind you, there was likely a conversation going on during the pantomime of action, but the description of the visuals tended to get in the way of the story.

2.  Just because the sentence is written doesn't mean it's the final sentence.

Because I write what I see, I didn't realize that, notwithstanding putting ink on paper, I still wasn't writing. My sentences were complete, but still very "incomplete," because I was being too graphic. Sometimes the reader needs a more holistic view of what the writer is trying to say.  For me, I never detached myself from what I had written to actually study the sentence--to make it better.  The only time I did that kind of introspection was while writing descriptions.

3.  Narration by itself is useless if it doesn't advance the story.

The most humbling part of my editing experience was realizing that one paragraph that I had spent hours crafting would end up on the cutting-room floor because it didn't advance the story.  My story is about rural America, whose pace is necessarily slower than that of the big city.  I live in a rural state, so I know of what I speak. There is much beauty to living in a rural area, one being that one can take more time to appreciate the bucolic atmosphere that it affords--but it can be incongruent when you're trying to build suspense. So, gone are the paragraphs describing the countryside that I spent time in Louisiana studying to lend authenticity to my novel. That part hurt the most, I believe. But when I took out those paragraphs that she crossed out in pencil, I had to admit that the story moved more quickly. When writing suspense, the author wants to create anticipation,  not wanting the reader to skip whole pages in order to cut to the chase.

4.  Using too many adjectives mitigates what you're trying to achieve.

"Hot and muggy". "Ecstatic and jubilated". These aren't phrases I actually used, but you get the point. One must have confidence in one's language. By using more than one adjective to describe an object, what I was actually showing was indecision. Own your words. Just choose them wisely. Again, I was seeing, not thinking. Now, I will ponder which word to use, using more introspection than just throwing a word out there that describes what I see.

5.  Too many points of view spoil the story. 

I'm cinematic.  I tend to show and tell.  But as an author, I tended to not only show and tell, but I would give you some insights into the characters' thoughts  That's not a problem if you have a few characters.  But, as Phyllis commented, my novel rivals "Gone with the Wind" in its plethora of personalities. This might be the problem of having listened to the one critic who told me that I needed more back story for my characters, and, being the literal person that I am, by golly, I did that.  Showing the points of view of every person can get crowded.  We can't read the minds of every person we encounter, so I learned that I have to be more careful about entering the minds of every peripheral character in the story.

It will take me another month or two to finish this novel, because I still have some thinking to do. Phyllis cautioned me that some characters have too much screen time, as it were, and I have to figure out what to do about that without sacrificing the plot. I'm trying to weave characters together who have nearly incestuous relationships, in a rural town where lives constantly intersect.  In small towns, that's what happens, and I can attest to it, over and over again.

Just recently, I attended my squash "daughter," Ellie Hayes,' graduation (UNH) dinner and was leaving early to return to my editing. While saying my goodbyes, I realized that I had met the woman at the other end of the table, as we had played squash together in Portland, Maine.  Her husband was the man sitting next to me at the dinner table. Again, coincidentally, he was becoming a Unitarian Universalist the next day (I am Unitarian), at a church whose pastor had visited our Fellowship in New Hampshire a year or two ago, and who had given the most thoughtful and beautiful speech I had ever heard, which had reduced me to quiet tears.  It's a small world.  It's that world that I wanted to write about, albeit removed in place--for me--to  Louisiana, instead of New Hampshire (In the first draft of my novel, New Hampshire did figure prominently, but I followed the advice of someone who told me to keep the mystery in one locale).

Phyllis' novel, Snow Fence Road, about small town life in coastal Maine, convinced me that she had the chops to tackle my subject.  Apparently, my novel is quite a bit more complex than hers, however, and she admitted that it was a challenge to edit it. Based upon what I've learned from her edits, not only was she up to the task, but she taught me how never again make another editor go through the pains she so willingly undertook on my behalf.

This novel will have a sequel, but thanks to Phyllis, it won't take years to write it. 







 

The Caste of Characters in My Novel Set in Rural America.

The canopy of trees also covers a diversity of wealth in rural America.

As a writer from the lower middle class, who has only peeked around the corner to catch glimpses of wealth, I do not wish to put wealth on a pedestal. In my novel, "Severed," I don't drop too many designer names and I purposefully stay away from the bling-bling trappings of so many contemporary American novelists, who place wealth as the real protagonist. However, the concept of wealth is a very important subtext to the novel. The lengths that people go through to become wealthy forms part of the mystery.

Set in a rural pocket of Northwestern Louisiana, Nakadee is a university town with a population of under 40,000.  Luscious in its comparison to swampy, crowded New Orleans and its northern neighbor, a complacently citified Shreveport, Nakadee is a fictional sleepy hollow that is likely to grow in leaps and bounds given a potential natural gas pipeline construction project which will change its economy.  Some Nakadee residents can't wait, while others don't care: the rich will only get richer, however, the lower classes might get some good jobs, for a change.

The citizens of Nakadee, whose ancestors have lived there for several hundred years, while trapped in its relative remoteness, are thankful for its refuge. They purposefully wish to live life in the slow lane.  The town is a mix of Americans, Black, European, Creole and Cajun, the latter two a melange resulting from questionable "hookups," over the centuries, between the first two racial groups, that defied racial sexual taboos back in the day. Nearly every native of Louisiana is a variation on that theme.  All citizens have their crosses to bear in living, out loud, the ancient roles of slaveholder, slave, today, as a Louisianan.

Even rural roads lead to power

The wealth of those groups is also relative of one's color. But there are exceptions, and my novel explores it through the eyes of the protagonist, Dr. Lula Logan, a Northerner Black woman who grew up solidly lower middle-class.  Hailing from California, her father had a secure job in the U.S. Postal Service, and scrimped and saved for his only child. He was frugal to a fault, and managed to handle his government benefits wisely enough to grow a trust for her that is worth several million dollars.  Lula's mother, his widow, is still alive and Lula is gainfully employed, with no need to draw upon her inheritance. 

Growing up, Lula lived on the periphery of the Black social circles of debutante balls and elite Black social clubs. Not prone to class-isms or people-pleasing, she is more intellectual than social. While no stranger to the good life, she knows she has to pay for it herself, so when the investigation in which she becomes involved relates to several wealthy individuals, she's intrigued by what she witnesses, and must, herself, decide whether she has any biases against the people she comes across as part of the investigation.

Mind you, the wealthy she's dealing with are not the nouveaux riches Kimyes and Jay-Zs of the world who sing about their acquisitions, but old money and old power, whose wealth is very much unseen, and more hidden in their closed door Congressional offices.  Lula must come to terms with her professed values and her feelings, which are muddled after meeting Congressman Girabeaux.

A Black Republican who is from a family of freeman who owned slaves in the antebellum South; the other, an older, more traditional White Congressman whose patted enough backs and greased enough palms to place him next to the highest players in Hollywood, his constituency.  Though they are rich, they are only bit players in a grand scheme. In fact, they are hired guns of the real power brokers of the uber wealthy--twelve degrees, instead of six degrees of separation. But they know that to stay in power they must do someone else's bidding, even if they never meet the person whose interests they represent.

When Lula meets the Black Congressman, despite her progressive politics, she finds herself falling under his spell.  Is it the limousine driver or his personal chef that makes him so appealing? And what does she truly feel about her ex-boyfriend, a Creole detective, the only one of color on the police force, who is comfortable with his place in town, but who, to Lula, manages to always play it safe?

In the U.S., we witness the lives of the rich and famous on television. But how do you handle it when you see it up close and personal? The cast of characters in the novel is large, and wide, intentionally so; any small town has its own variety. In this investigation, however, when severed fingers start to appear in different parts of the small town, Lula comes across some of the town's characters beneath the surface of notoriety, but characters just the same.

The South is one big caste system through which Lula must negotiate. Although never on the surface, her beliefs about race are a major factor in her own metamorphosis as she comes to terms with her new home in Nakadee, Louisiana.

I Used to Like the Police--Until I Stopped Working For Them

The television show Girl From Uncle, one of America's first female law enforcement protagonists, was the bomb when I was growing up.  Stephanie Powers was the coolest woman on the planet, as far as I was concerned. I remember pretending to have a Walkie-Talkie (sounds funny, now, doesn't it, given smart phones), talking loud enough so my colleague, Donald, another kid with a vivid imagination, could hear me through his own device around the corners of the neighborhood houses where we'd hide out, going after our invisible prey. I'm not sure what we held in our hands. It wasn't Walkie-Talkies.  It might have been cardboard candy boxes. Who knows.

Back then in 1966, my family and I were living on 41st Street, close to downtown L.A., where, one evening, I sat outside on my grandparents' porch with my friend, watching the flames from a local riot nearby light up the sky a deep orange. I didn't know what was going on. Apparently, it was a left-over remnant of the Watts riots, a release of pent-up anger of the infamous mostly White police control over a poor Black community.

My family hailed from a college town in Ohio, a bastion of interracial marriage and co-ed education, and were thrust into an all Black environment, something quite alien to the six of us kids. Our new peers in L.A., thought we were from England because of our mid-Western accents, and we found them to be a rowdy for our Northerner bookworm tastes. But I knew to love my black brethren, because we were all living under a yoke none of us asked for.

For many years I did play de facto real life "detective" as an attorney for the federal government, where I learned close hand how law enforcement works.  Or doesn't work. I left when I realized that I was feeding into a system that was propagated to pursue only the most vulnerable, not the most criminal.  Drug dealers were being set-up for capture while corporations were getting away with untold criminal acts; monied interests were untouchables, their schemes too difficult to comprehend.  So, I took an interest in white collar crime cases.  Ironically, notwithstanding my biases against the rich and infamous, my work led me to assist in prosecuting Africans, which I felt duty-bound and compelled to do because Americans were being bilked out of millions of dollars.

I had become the go-to person for handling international inquiries concerning Nigerian organized white collar crimes. I had created a task force among federal government agencies to tackle those letters from Nigeria--you know--the ones from "Prince Okoye," inviting the recipient to provide bank account numbers and permissions to deposit alleged millions into the lucky American [sucker's] bank accounts.  Those letters were called "419" in Nigeria, and advance fee fraud here in the U.S.  From rocket scientists to retirees, the American victims' love of money caused them to conspire with faceless Nigerians with the smarts to know Americans' obsession with being rich. 

My work had garnered me an Atlantic Fellowship in Public Policy, an appointment by United States Attorney General Janet Reno, which allowed me to live in the UK for a year.  My thinking was that by isolating Nigerians from other Blacks in the diaspora, law enforcement would learn how to distinguish them from other Blacks, instead of painting all of us with the same brush stroke. It was a burden for all Blacks to be responsible for every other Black persons crimes, because the only definition of a suspect might be that s/he was "Black."

Publicity wasn't stemming the tide of Americans who were "corralled" by the Nigerian scammers. When I suggested that prosecutions of Americans for being co-conspirators (aligning themselves with individuals who were conspiring to secret money away from coffers in Nigeria to the U.S.) would be a good deterrent, that fell on deaf ears. The inference in the push-back was that law enforcement did not want to have to prosecute White people.

Criminals were criminals, I thought.

Not in America.

Criminals are Black, in America.  We are drug dealers, thieves and sexual predators, a perception drilled into the American conscience by Hollywood.  Are Blacks innocent of all those negative labels? No more so than any other group or nationality. But, like cowboys on horseback killing Indians, back in the day (well, centuries ago), going after Black people is today's bloodsport; only the horsepower is an automobile.

The people in law enforcement with whom I worked were good people, overall.  They carried out their duties diligently. They believed in their mission.  I was never treated with any disrespect. In fact, I was feted by the government agencies with whom I worked.

The problem with American law enforcement is that those tasked with investigating and nabbing criminals are trained to do only that.  They are not trained in the bigger picture history, or in other techniques and methods--only those missions championed by their own. They are like guard dogs whose job is to find the culprit, and are rewarded with a dog biscuit in the end: a bonus, a promotion.

When I worked with Scotland Yard, I was impressed with their level of investigatory research. They knew they were dealing with people, and they sought to learn who those people were. Their charts and graphs of operations were truly phenomenal (before computer technology could create sophisticated graphs).  I can't say the same for law enforcement in the U.S, because I was an attorney, as opposed to an agent, so I wasn't one of them, and never learned their operational tactics and techniques. But the Secret Service agents were eager to learn from Scotland Yard, and we traveled there and Nigeria. One White agent, Tom Johnston, was exceptionally engaged in understanding Nigerian crime and, eventually, used my policy paper for a class he taught at a local college in Georgia. He had a heart attack after returning to the US on a family emergency, after traveling on assignment in Nigeria to work closely with Nigerian police.

Mind you, I worked for federal law enforcement, which has a more amorphous mandate than going after bad guys on the street. The agents I worked with all had college degrees, as was required for the types of cases they were investigating. My focus was white collar crime, sophisticated crimes by highly intelligent and charismatic suspects who, under the guise of business, would take your home from under you (sound familiar?).  That Nigerians were as sophisticated as the average American businessman was a real quandary for law enforcement, and they didn't know what to do about it. This was before the terrorist attacks when America was still innocent, gullible, and without much knowledge of international crime except for the Mafia and Mexican drug lords.

When I asked for and was denied leave without pay to finish my report, after seeking three additional months to complete my assignment, I left the government and completed it. I believed my research was more important to the British and U.S. government than my being employed. I had several recommendations that I offered, but know not which, if any, were implemented. The essence of my paper was that the whole world shows acts of criminality; we must come to grips with our own criminal pasts before we accuse another people of being perpetrators. 

Since leaving law enforcement in the late 1990s and witnessing what's happened to the world post-2001, when the World Trade Center towers were struck down, I'm at a loss to explain what has happened to our country. The attack on New York has had an indelible blow to the greatness of our crime-fighting apparatus. Instead of preventing the occurrence of the attacks, we unleashed our angry bulldogs on the world, suspicious of anyone who is foreign-looking, foreign-sounding, and non-Christian.  The militarization of our police, untrained in warfare, but given the powerful tools to wage it, has created a police state in our own country that has made Americans afraid of those sworn to protect. This professor's compelling essay explores the phenomenon of private funding of police as a new development in explaining our current problems.

And given the rash of news of minorities under siege, it would appear that our own police have taken sides and believe that we Blacks are the terrorists among us.  So the local police are the new investigators of all things suspicious. Forget that this weekend is the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing, where a White terrorist killed Americans on our soil -- it is still the brown-skinned who have scarred the American psyche.

I am neither male nor White, but I know that for centuries, they have grown up believing they are the good guys. This facile explanation of American crime-fighting, "good guys versus bad guys" is also a problem. When people are reduced to those descriptions, there are bound to be consequences.  What happens when the prosecutors are the bad guys? What happens when the police or agents are the criminals who, until the advent of the smart phone, have gotten away with it and live their lives among us as upright citizens?

Official NRA Police Target

This country has always hunted Black Americans, as slaves, and not only in the South:

[A] legally sanctioned law enforcement system existed in America before the Civil War for the express purpose of controlling the slave population and protecting the interests of slave owners. The similarities between the slave patrols and modern American policing are too salient to dismiss or ignore. Hence, the slave patrol should be considered a forerunner of modern American law enforcement.

http://plsonline.eku.edu/insidelook/brief-history-slavery-and-origins-american-policing


The moral of the story is that there is no race immune to criminality.  But for Blacks in America, we all hope to not be stopped by the police. It is easy to see how a Black man's instinct would be to run, because chances are he will be beaten, shot or strangled to death--while handcuffed.

Better to die a free man than in custody.

This link is not necessarily an endorsement, but definitely gives us food for thought: http://www.thrivemovement.com/our-justice-system-fails-protect-your-rights