Zetta Elliott's Blog, page 20

lemon bars & cheese

It’s been five years since I quit my job. For the most part, I love freelancing and don’t regret giving up traditional employment; I can pay my bills and arrange my schedule so that writing is my top priority. I do miss teaching and realize I’ve been binge-watching UK crime dramas partly because I miss being part of a team. I don’t love meetings that go on forever and group emails where everyone hits “reply all,” but it means something to have a group of people that you see day after day, week after week. Coworkers don’t always become friends and they aren’t your family, but they’re THERE—we often spend more time with them than anyone else. I enjoy spending most of my time alone but here in Lancaster I’m trying to change my ways. I say I’m not a joiner but I’ve become a member of the historical society and these folks are becoming my new coworkers. On Saturday I went with two members to a commemoration of the Christiana Resistance; there’s a lot of Underground Railroad history in Pennsylvania and I doubt I’ll pursue all the stories and sites, but being with other history geeks is still a lot of fun. And productive because people who are passionate about a subject love to have an audience and don’t mind answering endless questions. Tim and Randy are both experts in the field and generously shared their knowledge with me. Over lunch I found out about Harriet Sweeney, a “pow-wow doctor” who founded an AME church in Conestoga and healed members of the community using traditional German charms and prayers. Tim shared that bit of information; he’s a researcher who haunts the library but wisely travels with treats. When we couldn’t find a diner and traffic slowed us to a crawl, Tim pulled out his tray of lemon bars and bag of sliced farm cheese, which tided us over till we reached the restaurant.

On Sunday I made up a table of contents for Daughters of Zion—that’s what I’m tentatively calling my collection of dramatic monologues featuring the Black women of Lancaster county. I’m at 8 already and figure I’ll aim for 12. In the afternoon I attended another meeting of the historical society and learned about three other remarkable woman—the stories are out there and a few brave women are already pushing for greater recognition of their contributions. Because let’s face it—people find what they’re looking for and a lot of male historians simply aren’t interested in women. Meetings can be *agonizing* but I’m going to try to stick with this group for at least a few months…because even though I’m not a joiner, I’m also not a quitter…

whitewash

I’m painting–again. Several doors in the apartment were marred so early this morning I gave them a fresh coat of white paint. For the most part, my apartment is done. I’ve been in Lancaster for three weeks and all but one box has been unpacked; everything has a place, the dining table is being repaired, and the kitchen table was repainted yesterday. I managed to bring it inside on my own, so that means the deck is ready for my attention and I’ve ordered a nice weatherproof rug. The traffic at the front of the apartment gets quite loud so working out back might be a good idea. I bought a wind chime and want to get a bird feeder to see if I can tempt some of the songbirds I keep hearing over to my deck. I’m doing all this to procrastinate, of course. I haven’t written much since I moved, though I’ve been doing a little research. I visited Rock Ford Plantation last week; my friend is a docent there and she told me about an enslaved woman who ran away while pregnant. You can read the notice her enslaver posted in the newspaper—was he also the father of her child? Who’s Capt. Mol’y?!?! Sue was a fashionista it seems and yet the only dress on display belonged to the mistress of the house…it’s her tiara on view, her jewels and pearls and china and silver tongs…There’s enough “residue” for me to start writing, but it’s still frustrating to know that the official historical record is so incomplete. Not whitewashed, though—the docent was a member of the African American Historical Society and she opened the tour with documents about the two enslaved people who contributed to the wealth of the Hand family. More slaves likely worked on the large farm but only two are recorded as runaways…

This week we’re doing the cover reveal for ! I’m thrilled to be partnering with The Conscious Kid—if you aren’t following them already, you should be…their social media posts are always on point, and remind me that the kid lit community can and should be engaging with a range of social justice issues. I’m not sure how my poems about police brutality, sexual assault, and human trafficking will be received but this educator definitely sees the value in my book:

I started a picture book over the weekend and began composing a poem this morning…time to write!

taking up space

One of the things I learned as a child in Canada was how to take up as little space as possible. I was intelligent but insecure, and by the time I was a teenager I had perfected my ability to blend into the background. If I didn’t draw attention to myself, no one would pick on me or scrutinize me and find fault (a favorite family pastime). That desire to disappear lasted through college but by the time I reached NYC and started graduate school, something had to give. I couldn’t fight to restore Black women who had been erased from the historical record if I was silent and invisible myself. Plus I discovered that I loved to teach and that meant taking center stage despite acute anxiety. I know some people think I’m a loudmouth but I won’t grab the mic unless I have to…it’s got to be urgent for me to surrender the security of the sidelines.

I’ve written and presented on the need for inclusive kid lit for about a decade now, and I do feel like a broken record at times. But it’s rare for three Black Canadian women to have half an hour to discuss this issue—and that’s exactly what happened last night. We taped this segment for The Agenda when I was in Toronto last May, but it aired on TVO last night; you can watch the full episode here.

I’ve done a few TV interviews but it’s clear to me that I was totally at ease talking to host Nam Kiwanuka and activist/literary agent Leonicka Valcius. It still feels a bit strange suddenly being so visible in Canada, but hopefully I’ll be able to build on that visibility when The Dragon Thief comes out in October…

lost without lists

I manage my anxiety by making lists. And as a freelancer, having a To Do list helps me structure my days—many of which are wide open right now. There was so much to do around the move but now I’m here, settling in, and there isn’t a lot left…the furniture guy is fixing the two tables that got splattered with paint. I need to mop the kitchen floor. Soon it will be time to do laundry. My hair’s growing out and needs to be cut. My printer has stopped working. These are the mundane things that eat into your day but don’t really give you a sense of purpose. I’ve reached out to a couple of schools here in Lancaster but they just started back on Monday so I’ll wait a few weeks before following up. We have a partial manuscript that seems to be on the brink of a sale; I’m thinking about it a lot but not working on it right now. Once all the back and forth is over, I’ll take a look at my section and map out what I need to do. Phone conference tomorrow morning; axe throwing tonight. In September I often get the back-to-school blues so I want to make sure I don’t have too much time to ruminate. Daydreaming is good, but going over past hurts again and again is not.

My dragons found their way onto another kind of list recently: BookRiot’s Best Chapter Books for Kids: Engaging with Words.

The segment of The Agenda that I taped last spring with host Nam Kiwanuka and literary agent Leonicka Valcius will air this Friday at 8pm. If (like me) you aren’t in Canada, I’ll post the link next week.

I connected with some good folks in Memphis this week. I’m going down next month and then again in November for a couple of kid lit events. If you’re in the area, do drop by! And I’m free on 9/27 if you’re looking to book an author visit or campus talk…

a house is not a home

Every so often I hear that Luther Vandross song and sigh…such a beautiful voice and such a powerful message in those lyrics. I’ve learned a few things about myself during this move. It was chaotic and stressful and I would have been lost if my neighbor-friend hadn’t shown up at the last minute to save me. Last week as I was scrambling to pack and paint and move my belongings, I realized I was nervous about doing it all on my own and yet I didn’t really have much choice. My friends in Philly were swamped and I couldn’t bring myself to hire a helper on Task Rabbit. Everything worked out in the end—it always does—but I have some work to do on the emotional side of things. I’ve made so many choices in my life and I’m okay with almost all of them; I don’t really have regrets. Yet at our Black Girlhood & Beyond event earlier this month, I closed by recalling the best piece of advice I learned in therapy: the defenses you needed as a child don’t always serve you as an adult. As a child I learned to rely only on myself; somewhere on my way to adulthood, I gave up on the idea of family (starting one of my own, at least) and tried to focus on community. Yet I moved to Philly a year ago and didn’t really do enough to connect with my neighbors. I felt like I was reaching out—as much as an introvert ever does—but I didn’t forge many friendships or professional relationships. I want things to be different in Lancaster and so far it looks like I’m on the right track. There’s an elementary school down the block; turns out my cable guy Anthony attended that school and so after he left yesterday, I reached out to their Facebook page and got an immediate, welcoming response. I visited my local schools in Philly and donated a huge stack of books to each one, but never got invited back to present. I guess I should have followed up but I want people to meet me half way. Here in Lancaster that’s happening already—I just got back from a meeting of the folks who run the wonderful African American heritage walking tour; I didn’t have too much to contribute since I only attended the tour a couple of weeks ago and they were all trained guides, but I enjoyed the conversation and connected with some friendly people who offered to meet for lunch and tell me more about the county. I got a ride home with a guide who lives at the end of my block and his son attends the elementary school I hope to present at this fall! Once again, I felt like I’d found “my people.”

I had some small disasters during the move—including a can of blue paint spilling all over my furniture during transit—but I didn’t freak out. By the time the movers got here and opened the truck to reveal the damage, I was so ready to move forward that I told them not to worry about it. They were more upset than I was! We got everything else moved into the apartment, and when two bigger pieces of furniture wouldn’t fit through one doorway, we fit them through another. Which means I now have two living rooms and it’s fine. I knew before leaving Philly that I needed to downsize; I donated 3 pieces of furniture but really it was those bigger items that needed to go. But, I reasoned, when I buy a house, I might want bigger furniture! Now I realize I don’t want a big house because then I’ll just fill it with more stuff. And I HATE stuff. I love beautiful things and it’s fun to see my belongings in this new space. But those things aren’t what make a house a home…I’m alone most of the time and most of the time I like it that way. But I want to make a real life for myself here and that means I’ve got to work harder to connect with folks. I need to OPEN my home to others. I need to contribute to my neighborhood. I just joined the Chestnut Hill Facebook group, and will get my library card tomorrow, and swing by the hardware store to see if I can locate a handyman to install a new air conditioner since the one I lugged from Brooklyn to Philly to Lancaster doesn’t even WORK anymore. And that’s okay, too—because the little one in my study window is keeping 2/3 of the apartment cool. I don’t have to rush to unpack. The apartment isn’t as clean as I might have liked and that’s slowing everything down. But there isn’t a deadline. I don’t have a gig until September 19 so I don’t have to travel or pack a suitcase or prep for anything till then. I’m collaborating with a great author on a new novel; the pitch went out late last week and we’ve got an editor interested already who wants to talk on Friday. I have two other contracts in process, and will ask around to see if a local bookstore might want to host a launch for THE DRAGON THIEF in October. I think Lancaster might be the right scale for me; Philly was slower and smaller than NYC but this city feels more intimate. It’s only two square miles! Tomorrow I head over to the local college’s track for my run since the county park is too far away. My muscles are still a bit sore from climbing on and off the step ladder to paint and hauling stuff up to the third floor for several hours on Monday. Those poor college guys were soaked with sweat because it was close to a hundred degrees. I didn’t hustle like they did but I did my part. That’s what I need to keep on doing—find a way to contribute. It serves me well as a writer to know how to sit back and observe those around me. But I need to be less of a bystander and more of a doer this time around. That is what will make Lancaster feel like home.

making waves

Tomorrow’s the big day! I hate clutter and disorder, so moving isn’t fun for me…but it IS exciting to be starting a new chapter of my Pennsylvania life, and I’m thankfully less anxious at 46 than I was at 26. I tried to paint the new apartment but after three hours of using a roller without air conditioning yesterday, I gave up and came back to Philly. Today I got up early and got some boxes; almost all of my closets have been emptied and it looks like I might even have a few boxes left over. I’ve done this move in shifts; hopefully moving smaller things on my own will make it easier for the movers tomorrow. We’re in yet another heatwave and I can’t WAIT for fall to begin—cooler temps, leaves changing color, and a new book coming out the week before my birthday! It was lovely to see THE DRAGON THIEF included in CBC Books’ list of Canadian MG and YA books to look for this fall. Some of my older indie titles have also been getting a little love this summer—Scholastic wants to reprint DAYSHAUN’S GIFT and Pearson just asked for permission to use I LOVE SNOW in their classroom material. Then today, author/blogger Kara Stewart posted an amazing review of A WAVE CAME THROUGH OUR WINDOW. Kara’s also a teacher and she’s dedicated her blog From Here to Writernity to reviews that show educators how to use inclusive kid lit in the classroom. I sometimes provide discussion guides at the back of my books, but I couldn’t do what Kara has done—do check out her blog and the way she incorporates very specific learning objectives. Here’s an example:

Just off the top of my head, I’m thinking Strategy 6.13: Show, Don’t Tell: Using Senses to Describe Places from the Serravallo Writing Strategies book, as well as 6.14: Show, Don’t Tell: Emotions. You can also definitely find a mentor sentence here to suit your students’ needs, as in 6.38: Mentor Sentences.

For Goal 7: Word Choice, 7.4: Bring Objects to Life, 7.5 Verbs That Match the Meaning, and definitely 7.8: Sneaky Sounds: Alliteration, Consonance and Assonance.

The more you return to a particular mentor text, the more students (and you!) will understand how that text works and how you can edit your writing by using the mentor text example.

And A Wave Came Through Our Window is just plain darn beautiful descriptive writing you and your kids will love.

What a gift to have a teacher take the time to apply her expertise to my book! It’s humbling—not just to have my book chosen, but to realize how many things educators have to consider when helping students learn how to write.

Okay, I might try to nap if my whirling mind will slow down and give me some peace. Next time I blog, I’ll be in my new home in Lancaster!

magic bullet

Saturday was magical. I went to Lancaster for the fourth time and came home convinced that I was making the right decision to move out there. I spent some time alone in the apartment and started to imagine how I could improve the space and where my furniture would go. Then I had lunch at a new Vietnamese spot just a few blocks away before heading over to the town square for the African American Heritage walking tour. I seemed to be the only person taking the tour on my own, but before long the other members of the group started chatting with me and by the end, I think I’d shared an exchange with just about everyone. I gave a book to the two Black boys on the tour and learned one of them had dreams of becoming a writer himself. A retiree asked if I knew anyone in Lancaster and when I said not really, he asked our guide for a piece of paper and stopped to write down his name and number. There were quite a few seniors on the tour and I’m not going to lie—I really needed to see some good-hearted White people this weekend. The interracial group that runs this tour is using the funds they raise to put up markers around the city so that everyone can learn about Black residents’ contributions to Lancaster. There are the official historical markers put up by the city but none of them references people of color. Our “conductor” Debbie stressed at the very beginning that one goal of the tour is to show the cooperation of Blacks and Whites in the struggle for social justice. And “station masters” (some descended from 19th-century Lancaster residents) repeated that message, referencing the Fugitive Slave Law and the occasions when Whites stood up, defied the law, and prevented Blacks from being forced into slavery. Today we see neighbors doing the same to prevent ICE agent from separating families as they try to deport immigrants. I connected with an immigrant educator from Sweden whose students in the county speak 40 different languages…I met a woman who works with survivors of domestic violence. We all learned about Thaddeus Stevens and the way his own disability might have shaped his politics as a radical Republican and abolitionist, how he asked to be buried in a cemetery that wasn’t racially segregated. I felt like I’d found my people and for the firs time, I even thought about looking into applying for citizenship. I came home from Lancaster ready to write but then I went on Facebook and found out about the White supremacist mass shooting in El Paso; woke up the next morning and there was another mass shooting by a White man in Dayton who seems to have targeted Blacks. And suddenly I didn’t want to write. I didn’t want to think about a future here. I wanted to burrow deep underground. I wanted my own secret compartment in a train that would carry me to safety. But no one reached free states without help. You have to have community. Allies. Accomplices. I have the option to go back where I came from, but it is an act of resistance to stay and fight for the home you truly want and deserve. The Free Dictionary defines a “magic bullet” as, “Something that provides an immediate and extremely effective solution to a given problem or difficulty, especially one that is normally very complex or hard to resolve.” There is no magic bullet, no quick and easy way to solve all the things that are wrong with this country. But there is so much worth fighting for…and we’re not new to this. That’s what I’m holding onto right now. We’ve always faced hatred and violence. It’s exhausting. But we’ve also built homes and communities and businesses…we’ve fought for our right to be here and be healthy and happy. I moved to Philly to learn more about my Black ancestors who lived here and left for Canada in the 1830s. I reversed that migration 25 years ago and I’m not ready to give up on the US. For now, “fight” is a stronger impulse than “flight.” For now.

crunching numbers

Today I went for a run for the first time in about three weeks! I had blood work done this month and finally looked at the results last night; my A1C is fine and my cholesterol—though still over the official limit—dropped about fifty points! That’s after going *off* the medication back in January. Relieved and inspired, I got out early and enjoyed the cooler temperatures; I feel like I’ve been living mostly indoors (and mostly on the couch) due to yet another heatwave here in Philly. Yesterday I braved the heat to get my eyes tested; my prescription hasn’t changed much, and the doctor took the time to show me how healthy my retinas and blood vessels are…good to know! I need progressives but look forward to finally being able to see both my phone and street signs. I haven’t written much lately because I’ve been traveling and then I had company for a few days. While my cousin was visiting from Canada, we went out to Lancaster to meet up with her friends and guess who sort of fell in love? We saw so many sweet row houses (the owner of this one came out and gave us a tour of his garden!) that when we got home that evening, I looked online for available rentals. That led to me going back last weekend and then again on Tuesday. I *think* I’ve found the one—a top-floor 2BR in a pretty Victorian property with a garden on the side. It’s just over an hour by train back into Philly and though I hate to leave my lovely neighborhood, I do find myself wanting more peace and quiet. A friend who lives in the area said that between Philly and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania looks a lot like Alabama—very red. Most progressives do live in big cities but Lancaster is full of artists…I think I’m ready to take a chance on a new way of living. Will hold off on buying a car and see how walkable the city is (it’s only two square miles!); I’ve gotten excellent advice from the Lyft drivers I’ve met there, so that’s another option. The population is quite diverse with a large Puerto Rican and African American community. It will be interesting to see if there’s any interest in my books. I reached out to the youth librarian at the public library but haven’t heard back so far.

The paperback edition of DRAGONS IN A BAG comes out on August 13. The cover looks good, though I was disappointed that my publisher chose not to print the golden ALSC Notable seal. I’ve purchased some stickers myself—again—and will put them on my 36 author copies, which I’m planning to raffle off. Two bloggers have offered to host my giveaways and I’m looking into having a local bookstore host the third since not everyone lives online. So if you could use a set of books for your classroom, library, or kids’ book club, stay tuned…

clicks, cliques, and clubs

I’ve never been cool. Not as a kid, not as a teenager, not in college or graduate school. Being nerdy and Black comes with particular challenges; since nerdiness has been racialized, to be a Black nerd (or Blerd) is to be not just a social outcast but to be perceived (and condemned) as White-identified. I think that has changed since I was a kid with a big sister who insisted that “fairies are for White girls.” Black geeks no longer seem as isolated—they have a presence on social media and opportunities to gather at their own conventions. I didn’t know other Black geeks when I was young, which forced me to hide my interest in unicorns, wizards, and dragons. I still had friends, though, and have only become something of a loner since hitting my 40s. Facebook helps me stay connected but I haven’t really used social media to build the kind of fan base some authors enjoy; as I wrote in a poem last spring, “popularity has never been my priority.” I’d rather be alone, chatting with my imaginary characters, or hanging out with real folks who let me be my true self.

Last month when I was watching the first Democratic Party debate, I got a sick feeling in my stomach and soon changed the channel. It was painful to see so many intelligent people jockeying for attention and trying to steal the spotlight by diminishing someone else. It also seemed like such an ineffective way to select a presidential candidate, but that’s the introvert in me recognizing that public performances aren’t easy for some folks. You might be thoughtful, considerate, and have a lot to contribute but if you can’t impress the audience by manufacturing zingers and viral sound bytes, you probably won’t make it to the next round. The cult of personality is real and that’s partly how we wound up with someone so petty and incompetent running the country. In kid lit, there’s also a lot of emphasis placed on popularity and clicks—one Big 5 editor told my last agent that they’re only looking at picture books by celebrities and social media influencers. Whenever I’m at a mainstream kid lit event, I find myself reflecting on how the publishing industry shapes the way authors interact with readers. I’m not a celebrity author but I’m still able to earn a living as a writer. Today I  received an invitation to join a speaker series in MA next year; it came from a professor/parent whose librarian friend regularly sends my books to her daughter. Scholastic recently inquired about reprinting Dayshaun’s Gift, Book #2 in my City Kids series; the ALA’s Great Stories Club is using Mother of the Sea with their nation-wide program for teens. Tomorrow I’m giving a talk at the Philadelphia Museum of Art; the education department there hosts an annual week-long seminar for teachers and they’re all getting a copy of Milo’s Museum. Increasingly people are recognizing that self-publishing is a viable alternative for those systematically excluded by a racist publishing industry. I’m aware, however, that when I attend a mainstream conference, there will likely be no conversation about self-publishing and the circumstances that make it necessary unless I bring it up. Sometimes I risk it. Sometimes I don’t feel safe or sure that allies will have my back.

Celebrity educators are new to me, though I’ve seen some teachers on Instagram sharing innovative lesson plans and student enthusiasm for Dragons in a Bag. I’d heard about Nerd Camp and have been invited to the versions in NJ and Long Island, but it was a surprise when my Random House publicist told me last year that I’d been invited to the original camp in Michigan. I’ve been writing about Black geeks (Bleeks) for a long time, but didn’t think my books were on the radar of Colby Sharp and his Nerdy Book Club. So I went to MI with an equal measure of curiosity and dread. I’ve already written and spoken publicly about fangirling in kid lit, so I won’t go into that again. Abby Cooper kindly let me join her session on magical realism, and allowed me to explain why I prefer to call my work speculative fiction; we had a small group but a good discussion, and I got to meet two librarian friends that I usually only see online. This was the first promotional event Random House has fully paid for but they sent no ARCs of The Dragon Thief so there was a very short line at my signing station; I was glad I brought some of my own books and educators happily accepted free copies of my self-published writing guide and workbook. I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be much racial diversity among the 1800 attendees at Nerd Camp; as soon as I reached the school on Monday, I started counting Black and Brown faces and didn’t make it to ten before I returned to the hotel. The overwhelming majority of teachers, librarians, and booksellers in this country are White women, so I expected I would be in the minority. That’s true of all the mainstream kid lit events I attend. But before leaving Philly, I asked on Facebook whether book lovers from nearby Flint and Detroit would be in attendance and a Black librarian friend made it plain: NO. Another White friend chimed in—somewhat defensively, I thought—and insisted that the Nerd Camp team did a lot to promote authors. Their commitment to having an inclusive roster of kid lit creators was apparent. So why doesn’t that extend to the attendees? The highlight for me was Nerd Camp Jr.—kids and their parents were lined up around the school when I arrived yesterday evening, and my three classes were full of focused, energetic young writers. I rarely get invited to majority White schools, so it’s always interesting to see how my activities are received by White students. But again—out of more than 60 students, just a handful were kids of color. A librarian friend in MI pointed out that the camp seems to attract a lot of repeaters; those who know about the camp return year after year, traveling from all over the country for the free event. So it’s become a sort of club. Authors and illustrators donate their time, but I couldn’t have gone without my corporate publisher covering my travel and accommodation. And, of course, I was invited. On the hour-long drive to the airport in Detroit, I chatted with fellow Random House author Stacy McAnulty about fees for school visits, presenting at conferences, and the challenge of promoting your books with and without support from your publisher. The day before, a media specialist shared the fees of some male celebrity authors she brought to her school last year. That kind of transparency is so meaningful, and I hope more people will be open to having honest conversations about the many ways inequality operates in the kid lit community—in ways that are obvious and not as apparent.

Safe Kids Stories

Last spring I was a guest on Lori Tharps’s podcast My American Melting Pot; Philadelphia literary legend Lorene Cary happened to be listening and reached out to see if I’d be willing to serve as guest editor for her online journal SAFE KIDS STORIES, which celebrates “the power of young people and those who care for them to tell their own stories.” The summer fiction issue went up today and the illustrations are just amazing—do check it out and share with the young readers in your life. Here’s part of my introduction:

As a scholar, I focus on the trauma caused by racial violence. When I’m writing for children or teens, I try to balance my duty to “teach the youth the truth” with my desire to steer impressionable young minds away from cynicism and despair. I struggled with depression as a teen and for me books were a way to escape my own grim reality for an hour or two. As an adult reader and writer, I now see things differently; my stories are filled with mythical creatures, ghosts, and portals that lead to other realms, but my characters must still confront the harsh realities of the real world — bias, injustice, and even terror. My hope is that my fantasy fiction will feed the imagination of young readers, offering “dream tools” they can use to reshape rather than escape our imperfect society.

Last week I got confirmation that my novelette MOTHER OF THE SEA has been selected for the Great Stories Club (GSC) of the American Library Association. The GSC is “a literature-based reading and discussion program for teens in juvenile justice, alternative schools, residential treatment programs, group homes, and other settings that reach underserved youth. Your novel, Mother of the Sea, is one of six books currently included as part of the GSC series on the theme ‘Deeper than our Skins’ which is made possible by a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities.” The best part is that the grant covers author visits so I’ll get to meet some of the teens in the book club!

We’ve had a two-day break from the heatwave and I got some really good writing done over the weekend. The 4th is coming up and Philly has lots of free events to celebrate. Tomorrow I see what I’m hoping will be “the one”—a huge 2BR apartment up in Mt. Airy. I started my search there last spring but ultimately chose West Philly instead, and now I’ve come full circle. Been doing some unhealthy circling/ruminating today so working to break that particular cycle and get back into creative mode. Much better to develop poetry about this Puerto Rican family in 1980s Brooklyn than to pick apart my own family’s problems! Watching this incredible documentary reminded me of my first trip to Brooklyn back in 1980. NYC seemed a little scary then but twenty years later I couldn’t imagine calling any other place home…another circle…