"Hold Please"

 Oh hey!

It's been about a year, so I'm right on time to write a new post! LOL

Firstly, I love you and I'm glad you're on this planet, breathing, living, learning, loving.

I pray you are finding ways to be gentle with yourself and with others. Everyone's going through something.

Secondly, some of you may already know this,

I'm writing the first draft of a new Afro-scifi novel series, and I'm inviting you to support this effort by buying me a coffee

The Series: The Drops of Glass/Light Saga

"In the 31st century, three generations of Afro-Martian Seers scourer their DNA, dreams and the intergalactic record to fulfill an ancient prophecy amidst growing cries for revolution."

Book no. 1: Journals of a Minor Prophet

Currently 218 pages in.

If you follow me on Instagram, Facebook or Twitter, some of this may look familiar. 

These novels are directly connected to several screenplays I've written that I'm calling The Sister Series. They make up an Afro-past-present-and-futurism multiverse spanning TV and Film including Blackwell (sci-fi tv drama), WISHs, Or What I Should Have Said (comedy web series), and Subordinate (solo short film).

I'll be sharing updates through my buy me a coffee page, but here's a taste to thank you for dropping in on this post:

One of the things I realized today after reading yesterdays pages, is I crave moments in art where someone who is mourning is deeply cared for. Moments where, even ask they are breaking into pieces, they discover they aren't alone. It doesn't invalidate their pain, it may not take the pain away, but it gives them a soft place to land. I think a lot of time we expect this tenderness from family, from significant others, friends, chosen family. 

I wrote this moment yesterday, and the source of the comfort shocked me by the who and the how it was so gentle.

circa page 215:

“She’s gone,” I’m gasping, panic seeps from my eyes, but now I feel Damien’s arm around my waist and Carla’s hand on my cheek. Everyone. Everyone can see me making a spectacle of myself in my mother’s dress. Shit, shit, shit! “I’m fine-” I sputter.

“You’re not,” Carla says gently, “And you don’t have to be.” She takes my hand, “Trust me on this...”

To have someone hold space for you to feel your feelings feels deep. Amazing. 

Thanks to all you Neighbors who have held space for my grief. 

Coffee and tea consumed thanks to your generosity!

From Chiya Chai in Logan Square

From Fairgrounds in Wicker Park

LavAzza Qualità Rossa from my kitchen

Click here or share to buy me a coffee

Thanks in advance!