Ja'Nese Dixon

My husband would always tease her, saying “Kierra, you don’t really remember that day, you were too young.”

She stood her ground. “I remember, I really do,” she would say.

“How?” My husband would challenge.

Kierra would stop and tap her index finger on her chin. She would begin to tell us about how we carried her outside. And we took our fingers and drew on the car. Making sketches in the snow. She remembered trying to pick it up and taste it and my chiding her. Telling her it was “nasty, nasty”, in her best mommy voice.

She remembered!

We’d talked about that day before, but not with such detail.

This past winter she decided she wanted to see it snow again. I sat her down on the couch and looked her square in the eyes and I told her calmly, “now remember, we live in Houston and snow is not a regular occurrence.”

She responded with confidence, “I know momma, but don’t you think it would be nice to see snow again,” her face full of hope.

“Sure,” I said. I left it alone; however, I didn’t want to see her disappointed.

Kierra began to pray and claiming it. She shared with us all that she knew it would snow. I would nod, in a noncommittal manner. Less than a month later, I stood in my living room watching my kids and husband run around our backyard in a snowball fight. It snowed, in Houston!

As the flakes began to fall, her eyes danced like a million stars. She could not contain herself. She was fidgety and restless until I said, “all right, all right, you can go play in the snow.”

I watched as they bundled up, because it was cold. The put on two pairs of pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt. They put on gloves and a hat. They even put on goggles, for god knows what.

I watched my family play in snow and it made me think about faith. And the ability to believe what others fail to believe or even conceive. My baby taught me that unlikely things happen every day. We can chose to believe or miss an opportunity to give thanks that we are not in control and He is.

——-

Black Diamond

——-

Black Diamond by Ja’Nese Dixon Virtual Book Tour is organized by Nia Promotions, a marketing company that assists authors and publishers with using web-marketing strategy to market and promote books on the internet. Follow Ja’Nese’s tour at http://www.niapromotions.com/events/black-diamond-janese-dixon.

Darryl Dawson

The question is: What inspires you?

Well, a lot of things, really. (See what I mean?)

Going back a few posts, I told you about my brother’s pet snake and how fascinating it was to watch it eat a mouse, and more than once I’ve alluded to my love for a certain television show that fashioned my taste for horror. But what about The Crawlspace? What were the sparks of all those stories?

Like I said, a lot of things. Each of the thirteen stories had its own unique spark: “Hamburger Lady” by the song of the same name, “I Scream, You Scream” by my childhood, “The House With No Clocks” by a job I once had, and so on. But in the overall picture of the anthology and how it came to be, I guess one incident from my high school days was the trigger point.

In my junior year at Narbonne High School, I entered myself in a regional writing contest. It was for that contest that my very first short story was written, a juicy bit of lit-noir about a vampire prostitute called “Woman Of The Night.” I don’t recall much of it, but I remember the last line…”and plunged her fangs into his neck.” It won first prize, earning me a nifty little trophy and a spot in the school district’s exclusive literary magazine. I was so proud and so happy when I heard the news, I couldn’t wait to tear into my complimentary copy and read it, and I did, all the way to the last line…”and plunged her knife into his neck.”

Wait a minute! That’s not the line I wrote! There must be some kind of mistake! There wasn’t.

It turns out the teacher/coordinator in charge of all of the submitted entries from Narbonne (may she rest in peace, I’m sure) made an editorial decision on my story without first consulting me. “I just didn’t get the whole vampire angle and I thought the knife would make more sense,” she said. “Sorry about that. Anyway, you won!”

I was so upset that I didn’t even show up for the awards ceremony. I can’t tell you how much it hurt to know that something I had imagined and created was deemed so inadequate it had to be changed at the last minute by an uncredited second party before being judged for a major contest. But you could multiply that hurt by a thousand in the knowledge that the winning story had my name on it, but wasn’t mine.

From that day forward I never let anyone see any of the stories or poems I had written, and it wasn’t until many years later, with the help of Milli Thornton’s brilliant online class Fear Of Writing, that I overcame my self-doubt about my work and The Crawlspace was conceived.

I guess this book was born from a need for justice and a chance to set things right. No one interfered with the creation of any of these stories nor would I allow it. And you can be damn sure it’ll never happen again. I don’t expect to win a trophy for my book, but if fate deals me a steering wheel to the ribs or a heart attack tomorrow, I can rest knowing that a part of me will be left behind, unedited and uncensored. That’s what inspired The Crawlspace, and what inspires me as an author.

The Crawlspace

DARRYL DAWSON is the author of The Crawlspace, released in October 2009. Fear of Writing is very proud to once have had Darryl as a student of the Fear of Writing Online Course, where he unleashed his style of horror on us in all the best ways. You can experience more of Darryl’s writing on his blog, Blood Spatter – A Horror Writer’s Blog.

FOR THE WRITING to come
I must wait till I am “ready”
I cannot write on command
I must obey my inner workings:
I watch the chaos slowly organize
I feel the ponderances take shape
I set the stage for the ritual of “letting down”
For the ritual of the Gate Keeper letting down the gate
In order to write I must have an agreement with The Gate Keeper
That she will let down that gate and let me descend
That dark, still creative pool
Trolling the depths for words and phrases and images

When the Gate Keeper is sure I can say the words:
“Thank you for guarding and protecting me from
judgement and pain and shame
Yes! Stand your post while I descend to the levels of treasure
Where there is no critic or judge
Only imagination, sureness of truth, sureness of self
Where I know who I am
I know my life lessons
I’m ready to manifest
I’m ready right now
I’m conscious right now
I am awake right now!”

the words start to come,
one by one
then a trickle
then a stream
ideas take shape
setting the stage for
humor with belly laughs
and gravity with tears
and wisdom with stillness
and words are streaming a stream sure of its direction
whooshing, scaling rocks, and boulders and fallen trees,
cool clear water moving fast
cooling the ambient air past forest orchids and painted turtles and
bugs, lots and lots of bugs
till it meets another stream
the words come even faster now,
the images almost too fast
I can’t write fast enough
ink to paper, suddenly slow but I write,
and the streams start swirling
spiraling tornados, white caps and foam
we hit the rapids, the paper my kayak, the pen my oar,
the ongoing mist misting my eyes my face
the words rush as rushing water,
these waves of truth emerging from my head my heart my soul
no longer aware if I will reach someone
or make the world a better place
Because I am in the center of my self in the center of my knowing
I am writing speaking sharing my truth my story my experience
My life lesson, My challenge, even My obligation to open my self to the hungry others ready to resonate and receive permission,
ready to take their next steps,
ready to taste the watery ride
that is theirs for the taking,

Just step into the kayak and pick up the paddle,
let the water float you until
the urge to dip into the water
enlivens your paddle-wielding arms

——

ABOUT SHARON A. KANE
I am a musician, energy healer, gardener and experimental cook. Convinced I couldn’t write, I started journaling to cope with challenging life events. Writing became the medium to move through the emotional work in a gentle way. My writing became the safe haven for the voice of my inner self.

Sharon blogs at: sophisticatedpeasant.blogspot.com