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I'm excited you've come along for the ride with me, as I blog about my thoughts and adventures about writing. Take a look around, post a comment or two, and enjoy!

03 February, 2020

Whittle Down

I’m looking at my list of potential nonfiction books (don’t worry. I’m still at work on my fiction novel), I’ll be writing a proposal for, in order to submit to agents this spring. The topics are areas I am qualified to speak on. For me, “qualified” isn’t enough. I’m qualified to explain the kinetic theory of matter or stoichiometry, but my desire and passion are writing-—which I’m also qualified to do. The difference is in the D & P. Desire and Passion. Just as there are people in the business world who toil away their Monday - Friday in jobs they feel nothing for, there are screenwriters and authors who churn out work(s) they care nothing about. It pays the bills. Is that now the standard to hold our lives up to? Paying the bills? As if desire and passion for your work won’t? Guess what? The soulless work standard is a lie! That knowledge, to focus only writing that which I am passionate about, helps me whittle down my list from an oak tree to a toothpick. I can work with a toothpick.

27 January, 2020

Break the Mold and Be Free

Break the Mold Last night I painted. I haven’t painted in over ten years. It was past time. I broke out my watercolors and acrylics. The first painting I did was horrible. Why? It was confined. Restricted. See, my high school art teacher would correct me whenever I tried to draw or paint abstract. Even in advanced art honors classes she would continue. I was never allowed to unleash me. Now I won lots of awards for my scenes of wildflowers and farm life, but there was something inside me that wanted to break out of the “expected of me” mold I had been shoved into. Last night. I took a blank sheet of mixed media paper, acrylic paints and watercolors and placed them before me. I turned up the cello music. Closed my eyes and let myself feel. Opened my eyes (sometimes). And I painted. I haven’t thought of a name for it, my painting, but a family member saw it and was amazed by it. Said she could see raw emotion in it. Today I got back to writing poetry. And I decided to do what I did for my painting. I chose to not write in the confines of stanza and line breaks and iambic pentameter. I wrote from my inner core. Five poems. My fiction writing has changed as well. My adult novel is full of hope and despair; love and perseverance. I don’t flinch from anything in this novel. I hope to finish it in March. Whatever is holding you back. Break out of it. Be free.

20 January, 2020

MLK Day is Just Another School Holiday

MLK Day is just another school holiday By Desiree Middleton copyright 2020 I was going to skim the internet and copy and past another banal platitude to MLK that ended with “black power”, or “Happy MLK day”, or “Black lives matter”, but the state of the nation and the world made me question what the point was. Why does anyone celebrate MLK day? Is it just another school holiday, or should it still matter? And if it should matter, why should anyone care? At least a dozen times a day, I hear the N-word used by students. Casual banter with their classmates. Hurled at each other as insults. When corrected by myself or other students, the perpetrators usually apologize. But in ALL cases, an hour later, a day later, they are back to using that word. I’ve erased the N word off of tables and out of books. Sometimes my name and a not nice picture of me is attached. Sometimes students erase it before I see it, warning me to stay away while they erase it—telling me after what it said. “I want you to understand the history of that word”, I’d say to the perpetrators. Or, “Here is why that word is offensive to me”. Social media and television continue to paint a picture of African Americans as whores and gang bangers. “Say something ghetto,” a student once told me. Now, today’s youth are not the only ones who have a skewed sense of what an African American is. My own culture group does as well. “Ugh, she’s at the beach sitting in the sun. Doesn't she know she’s black?” “Why do you talk like white people?” “Why don’t you write about (anything related to slavery), instead of this horror stuff?” Or what I heard growing up: “Why do you read so much?” So when it comes to MLK day do I go to the African American museum and read aloud, I have a dream, because it’s expected of me as an African American? The affluent African Americans from Beverly Hills will make their appearance at the museum and at parades. Shake hands. Even have a repas with middle and lower socioeconomic African Americans. Then the economic classes will divide like the Red Sea. Those affluent folk will get in their Mercedes while the others will hop the blue line or bus (or Prius), to go home; never to mix again until next MLK day. That’s the real tragedy. Or do I take what MLK stood for, and others after him, and put it into practice? As I write this I am listening to an African American cellist. Ooh he’s doing a non-African American thing. Watch out! I’ve seen enough in this world in the time I’ve been alive to know that equality is a moving target. That African American women have suffered atrocities so horrifying, reading eye witness accounts of them will make you physically ill. And I’ve seen hope. Hope is like a wildfire. It needs only the tiniest spark and breath of life to become alive. I choose hope. MLK had a dream. Along the way this country lost sight of that. Let MLK day be your reminder. Move past retweeting or posting an MLK speech. Do something to uplift someone.