Zetta Elliott's Blog, page 72

fair weather

It’s happening again—I’m not taking photos of everything that’s going on! Yesterday I snapped a few images of the wonderful kids I met at Gingerland Library, but today the wind was blowing everything off the table and then waves of rain rolled down the mountainside…I still had a great time at the book fair—I met yet another cousin, saw some friends I met in June, and read Bird to a great group of kids who didn’t seem to mind the stormy weather. Last night I attended a performance of Nevisian folk songs at the Methodist church across the street, and then I went back this morning to give a brief presentation to their teen group. At the book fair I met the premier (who *must* be related to me because he looks exactly like my grandfather!). Right now I need a nap because there is a rooster who seems to live directly beneath my window; the first night he crowed from 4-5:30am and last night he got all the neighborhood roosters going at 2am…and yes, I’m staying *in town* this time. Still, it’s good to be back. Yesterday morning I walked over to the hospital and learned that they only keep records going back to 1980. So if my grandmother was institutionalized in 1945, those records will be at the registrar’s office in St. Kitts. I heard from the Secretary General and he’d like to meet while I’m in town so I’ll probably spend a day in St. Kitts next week. On Monday I present on The Hummingbird’s Tongue since we got rained out today…Mrs. Daniel has been an amazing host *and* she’s taken photos of everything so I’ll post more pix later. Time for my nap since Gavin the rooster will no doubt start up at 1am…

Caribbean writers, submit!

Summer Edward asked me to share this call for submissions with you; the deadline is August 25 so start writing!

back

Sometimes people suck. On my way to the airport this morning I found myself making a mental list of the people in Canada who could do something significant about youth violence but who instead choose not to use the power they’ve got to stand up for our kids. I worked myself into quite a funk and realized—yet again—that I can’t wait for those with power to do the right thing. As a friend from Montreal pointed out, we’re going to have to address the problem ourselves. As always.

I was still pretty cranky on the plane but my seatmate, Sylvia, was warm and friendly—when I told her about my father only returning to Nevis twice after leaving as a teen, she admitted she hadn’t been back since 1970! The plane was packed, as was the ferry coming over from St. Kitts; everybody’s in town for Culturama. I was just making the mental transition from “people suck” to “crowds suck” when a pretty little girl came up to me at the airport and asked, “Are you Aunty Zetta?” And from that moment on I remembered that sometimes—even most times—people ROCK. I met Carol Ottley-Mitchell online about a year ago, I think; she was living in Ghana at the time, but shared her fabulous children’s books with me (which are set in St. Kitts) and we swapped stories of our respective struggles to provide kids with culturally and historically relevant material. When I told Carol about the book fair in Nevis, she emailed me back and offered to meet me at the airport; her lovely daughter joined us for lunch at The Ballahoo, which overlooks a busy roundabout in Basseterre. Over a delicious meal we talked about self-publishing, living a transnational life, and which services would best serve the youth of SKN. I met Carol’s parents, got signed copies of her books, and I even got a cheap little cell phone to use while I’m in Nevis. While walking through town we ran into Mrs. Daniel, intrepid organizer of the inaugural book fair. Later she and I took the ferry over to Nevis and on the pier I was introduced to half a dozen people. My landlord was waiting for me in a bright red shirt with “Canada” printed across it. If you look at that photo of the restaurant in St. Kitts you can see a sign for Scotia Bank on the far left…they also have CIBC (another Canadian bank). I’m still thinking about the gun violence in Toronto and the alienation that leads *some* young people down such a destructive path. I grew up in a different city, and my childhood friend sums up the way I feel in this earnest letter to the city’s most recent victims:

I’m sorry that I didn’t have the privilege of knowing you. I’m sorry that you were killed so horribly, so inexcusably, by stupid men with guns. And I’m sorry if now, in death, both you and those you loved are being blamed.

I’m sorry if you have grown up in a city and in a land where it is easier for some to offer hurtful words about immigrants and their children than it is to express simple sadness for your deaths. I’m sorry if your family and those surrounding you are dealing not only with unfathomable grief, but also with the bigotry and cynical politicking that preys so eagerly upon the suffering of others.

The truth is, as angry as I get at those who sit back and do nothing to defend children of color in Toronto, I can’t deny the fact that I’m not there doing something—anything—for the kids who can’t escape the city I was able to abandon. Guilt sucks and it doesn’t get us anywhere. I was planning to visit Toronto sometime this fall—think I better get there sooner rather than later. Ah, the transnational life…

far from the madding crowd

I try to avoid crowds as much as possible but it’s hard to stay away from a book festival—especially when it’s in Harlem and the street is filled with black folks who love to read, write, and talk about literature! I watched some of the Schomburg panels on C-Span before hopping on the train to give my own presentation at the Young Readers Pavilion, which was once again expertly run by the Hudsons. I read from Ship of Souls and took some questions from the young readers in the audience, and then had time to catch the second half of the panel on getting black boys to read, which was moderated by Wade Hudson. I don’t like crowds, but large gatherings do increase the likelihood of meeting folks you haven’t seen in a while. It was great to catch up with Carol-Ann Hoyte, poet, librarian, and editor/publisher of the forthcoming anthology, And the Crowd Goes Wild! Carol-Ann shared some of the sports poems with kids at the Young Readers Pavilion and she’ll be back in NYC this fall for an official launch party so stay tuned. I also met Donald Peebles, author and librarian-in-training; we talked about the importance of male role models, the need for more black male voices in YA lit, and the many different family configurations that make black boys LOVE to read. That was an issue that came up in the panel: what’s the link between fathers and better literacy among boys? I’m not a fan of the “just add MAN” remedy to what ails the black community, though I absolutely believe that fathers are important to boys and girls. But the mere presence of men doesn’t solve any problem—it’s their involvement in the family that matters and their commitment to promoting literacy by reading with and around their kids.

Later that night I had a Skype conversation with my cousin and we realized that our “fun” summer reads actually reflect our scholarship…I just finished a novel on racial violence in the post-Emancipation South, and she was reading a novel about the body’s memory of trauma. I’d been planning to self-publish my novella about black children and AIDS this fall, but somehow that conversation gave me a sharp nudge. I worked on it past midnight and ordered a proof this morning. There is a major AIDS conference in D.C. right now, and a Canadian friend sent a team from her Toronto clinic, Women’s Health in Women’s Hands. When I visited that clinic a couple of years ago, one of the researchers asked me why I didn’t write about the impact of HIV/AIDS on the black community. I assured her that I *had* written about it but couldn’t find a publisher. Well, what am I waiting for? The community is still in crisis and waiting ten years hasn’t helped matters any. I hope to have An Angel for Mariqua out by my birthday in late October. This is just a demo cover I made with the CreateSpace template.

Christmas is coming, but nine-year-old Mariqua Thatcher isn’t looking forward to the holidays. Mama’s gone and Gramma doesn’t know what to do with her feisty granddaughter. Almost every day Mariqua gets into a fight at school and no one seems to understand how she feels inside. But things start to change when a mysterious street vendor gives Mariqua a beautifully carved wooden angel as a gift. Each night Mariqua whispers in the angel’s ear and soon her wishes start to come true! Mariqua begins to do better at school and she even wins an important role in the church pageant. But best of all, Mariqua becomes friends with Valina Patterson, a teenager who lives in Mariqua’s building. Valina helps Mariqua learn how to control her anger, and reminds her pretend little sister that “everyone has a story to tell.” Their friendship is tested, however, when Mariqua discovers that Valina has been keeping a secret about her own mother. Can the magic angel make things better?

A touching story about love, compassion, and the gift within every heart.

For children age 8+.

A Is For Anansi: Africa, the Future, and the Urban Landscape

Save the date! The second A Is for Anansi conference will be held November 9-10, 2012 at NYU. I’ll be moderating the panel “Fantasy: The Final Frontier.” Stay tuned for more details!

Harlem Book Fair 2012

Join us on Saturday for the Young Readers Pavilion outside at the Harlem Book Fair!

teach the truth

I’m thinking about the best way to develop a curriculum on slavery for school-age children. I think you have to start with the larger ethical issues—what is just, and right, and moral. And you have to cite source documents so that children know how history is written. I’m reading the Journal of a Lady of Quality, and found it quite riveting as Miss Schaw departs from Scotland and crosses the stormy seas to reach Antigua. One black man was forcibly brought on board in Scotland, though he hasn’t been mentioned since, and one of her brother’s servants is described as an “Indian,” but I can’t tell whether she means he’s from India or that he is Native American. It’s 1774—either is possible. Now that Miss Schaw has reached the Caribbean I’m finding it harder to read her journal—there are endless descriptions of the food that’s served, and the wonderful company they keep, and the delicious drinks they sip while strolling along shaded paths. Hardly any mention of the enslaved Africans who make their plantation life so lovely…except for this:

We proceeded to our lodgings thro’ a narrow lane; as the Gentlemen told us no Ladies ever walk in this Country. Just as we got into the lane, a number of pigs run out at a door, and after them a parcel of monkeys. This not a little surprized me, but I found what I took for monkeys were negro children, naked as they were born. We now arrived at our lodgings, and were received by a well behaved woman, who welcomed us, not as the Mrs of a Hotel, but as the hospitable woman of fashion would the guests she was happy to see.

Watching this BBC documentary on racism and the slave trade helped balance things out a bit. I’m only reading this journal because the author apparently makes some keen observations about slavery in St. Kitts/Nevis. Not sure how many more pages I can stand…

reboot

I need to reboot my brain. On Thursday morning I submitted my chapter on magic in NYC parks—it still needs work, but it was time to let go so that I could turn my attention to the five other projects I hope to complete this summer. On Thursday afternoon I ordered a final proof of One Eye Open and started the e-book conversion process. I’ve had “coming soon!” on the Rosetta Press blog for over a year now, and I think it’s finally time to let the book live, warts and all. That night I started working on my slideshow for The Hummingbird’s Tongue; I’ve been invited to attend the inaugural Nevis Book Fair on July 27, and this time I’ll be presenting before children and adults. The director of library services kindly helped me find a guesthouse in town, so I’ll be spending another week in Nevis at the end of the month. That got the wheels turning—I’m supposed to be working on The Deep (Nyla’s story), but instead I’ve been designing a logo and blog for Black Dog Arts. Ultimately I hope to open an arts center in Nevis, but for now I think maybe I’ll start a nonprofit and try to collaborate with existing institutions on the island. Yesterday I heard from the SKN Culture office and my request to participate in the UNESCO Slave Route Project has been forwarded to the minister of education. Maybe I can meet some administrators while I’m in Nevis later this month. Once I get my letter of good conduct from the NYPD next week, my citizenship application will be complete—another thing I can do while I’m there. And since my friend Rosa will be in Antigua at the same time, I may be able to fly over from Nevis and inquire about my grandmother’s alleged institutionalization there. More digging…

Now I think I’m ready to turn my attention back to The Deep. Though I just started reading Leonard Pitts Jr.’s Freeman, so maybe it makes more sense to work on Judah’s Tale. The summer ends in six weeks! I was fussing and fuming about that fact yesterday, but it makes more sense to just get busy and make the most of the time that’s left. And accept that everything I hoped to accomplish this summer may get done later rather than sooner.

 

Black Dog Arts

Designing business cards when I should be writing…

less mess

Pushing back against a migraine this morning. I’m still working on this essay, which I said I would submit on Friday. I hate missing my own deadlines but know this paper needs a couple more days to cohere. I finally figured out which voice to use. That sounds odd, but I can’t write anything remotely academic until I establish who I am and where I stand in relation to these texts in this particular moment. Somewhere in the footnotes I’m going to have to admit that contributing to this anthology is preventing me from finishing my latest novel—which pisses me off. But it’s my own fault for saying yes when I should have said no. The paper is a bit like “Hot Mess” in that I’m writing about incongruity, incompatibility, and nonbelonging…which sets the stage for magic.

Did anyone see the Audre Lorde film that was screened at Weeksville last night? They posted this photo on their Facebook page and I just had to post it here: