Eating Peas on Cloud 9

A little over a year ago, I made the life-altering decision to “go natural.” For those unfamiliar with the term in this sense, it does not mean I now forgo the waxing and shaving of my pits, legs and brows. Nor does it mean that everything I eat or wear is holistic and organic. It means I’m giving my hair a permanent break from harsh chemicals and heat-styling methods.

I began the transition from relaxed to natural as part of my journey to self-discovery. This is not to say that I couldn’t possibly have learned anything about myself while sporting chemically relaxed hair, but I figured at least knowing the true texture of my hair could only enhance the personal growth and learning experience.

The transition has been a long and hard one. I chose to take the slow and difficult route of grow-cut-grow because I couldn’t bare the thought of hacking all of my shoulder-length hair off at once. Besides, the colossal size of my head just is not conducive to a cute brush cut or teeny weeny ’fro, anyway. But that hasn’t been the hardest part. The flak from some family members and friends has been quite difficult to deal with. 

My older sister thinks I stopped getting relaxers because I’m depressed, and letting my hair go is just the first step of letting myself go altogether. My younger sister has asked to style my hair a million times or more, just to put her out of the misery of having to look at my “nappiness.” My mother even offered to pay for me to visit a salon every week. (Insert sad emoticon here).

I often find myself defending my actions, when really my only response should be “Yo, it’s my hair, get over it.” And … wait … IT’S THE HAIR I WAS BORN WITH! 

I guess I can’t fault black people who look at me cross-eyed. Straight hair (however unnatural) is all many of us know. From grade school — or as soon as Mama thinks we’re old enough — she rakes through our hair with the hot comb, sends us to the salon for a relaxer, or fetches a box of lye at the drug store to apply the creamy, white straightener to our hair herself. This sends the subliminal message that the hair the good Lord gave us little black children is something to be ashamed of; it’s unruly and unacceptable, and it must be harshly tamed. Can’t blame Mama either, though, because that’s the same unconscious message passed down from her mom, and her mom before that. So for centuries, black women (myself once included) have been beating down the doors of drug stores and salons every four to six weeks, like clockwork, because God forbid those little hairs (affectionately known as “peas”) at the nape of the neck (more affectionately known as the “kitchen”) start to curl … er … “bead” … up.

Then we get so caught up that anything other than silky weaves, chemical-straightening, coloring, etc., becomes unacceptable. Sometimes, I think some of us have forgotten that our hair really does grow upward and outward in a cloud of tight coils, rather than straight down in flowing, manufactured coifs.

Don’t get me wrong, if you want to wear your hair straight, that’s your prerogative. You could even dye it blue, for all I care. I’m not trying to convert anyone or start a natural movement. But the fact that I’m ridiculed, questioned or given dirty looks for striving to be myself (inside and out) is quite unsettling.

Yes, my hair is poofy, unruly, kinky, nappy, or whatever other adjective. Yes, it may take a little bit more work to style and maintain, but it’s now healthy, it’s beautiful and it’s the hair God gave me. 

Since going natural, I feel more creative and expressive and much more in touch with Saria. I feel like now I can truly say I’m happy with myself — just the way I am — and I give nothing less than the real me to everyone I encounter. 

And most importantly, I no longer have to worry about hiding all the little peas in my kitchen.

— Peace and blessings, 

S. Monette

Writer to Writer

There’s one question I get asked all the time: What steps should I take to become a published writer?

Well here are a few tips:

1. Write, write and write some more. You should make it a habit to write down something every single day. It doesn’t matter if it’s a journal entry, a blog, or a post on a social networking site, just make sure you write. I usually set goals for myself like 5oo words or more per day. 

2. Read. There are several books out there to help you on your writing journey. There are two, specifically, that I highly recommend. Chief among them is the “Writers Market” for the current year. It’s a large directory of publications to research for submission. I also recommend a book called “Starting Your Career as a Freelance Writer” by Moira Anderson Allen. This book gives a host of great tips, including guides on how to write a query letter (which should accompany your articles or book manuscripts). Also, it’s a good idea to read articles, books, etc., in your field of interest. For example, if you want to be a fiction novelist, read as many fiction books as possible. Want to write magazine articles about women’s health issues? Read magazines geared toward women’s health and fitness. And so forth …

3. Submit. Pitch articles or essays to magazines, local newspapers, etc. This will help get your name out there. Be sure to research each media outlet’s criteria. For instance, your wouldn’t want to submit a fashion article to Sports Illustrated. Also, familiarize yourself with the publication’s style, e.g., AP Style, Chicago Manual, MLA, etc. This will increase your chances of publication. Make sure you edit your work thoroughly before sending it off. Submitting an article chock-full of mistakes is guaranteed to be tossed in the trash without further review.

4. Don’t be afraid of rejection. In the publishing industry, you must have thick skin and remember above all, it’s a business. Rejection letters don’t necessarily mean you’re a bad writer, so keep at it. Sometimes a publication will return your work with comments attached. These can be very helpful, in case there is something you need to improve.

Any questions? Post it as a comment below and I’ll be glad to answer it for you.

 

Peace, blessings and happy writing, 

S.Monette

Solution to Resolutions

Every year, I — as do many others, I’m sure — make a list of ridiculous New Year’s resolutions. Resolutions we can’t/don’t keep or resolutions that should never have been made in the first place. So this year, I resolve to make no resolutions, whatsoever.

I’m not going to promise to lose or gain weight. My clothes fit and I’m satisfied.

I’m not vowing to make new friends. I can barely keep up with the ones I have. No sense in seeking out new ones to neglect.

I’m not promising to quit smoking because … well … I don’t.

No need to commit to saving money. I’m in graduate school, which means I have none to store away, anyway.

Not pledging to reduce stress because, once again, I’m working on my MFA (and I’m a writer on top of it) so stress is going to be a fact of life for the next two years — at least. As long as I keep my eye on the prize, it’ll be good stress.

No new vow to become a better person. I set that goal for myself a long time ago. And hopefully by the time I reach my grave someone will have at least one good thing to say about me.

Not resolving to put the past behind me because as of this moment … the past … what past?

I’m making no empty promises to myself. If I just continue to grow, learn, love God and accept change, everything else will fall into place. Simple as that.

Wishing you peace, blessings and very happy New Year!

— S.Monette

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

A few months ago, I decided to walk away from the mundanity that had become my career to pursue a dream. It’s not just any dream, it’s what I believe is my life’s purpose. 

Well, lately this path to purpose has gotten a tad rough, proving far from lucrative, and I’ve been questioning this move I made: Was it the right timing? What could I have done differently? Maybe I should run back to that lackluster career and pursue this dream later — like when the economy is better, or until I have a fool-proof plan. Sigh …

In life, we can’t turn back the hands of time. We make our choices, and for better or worse, we must live with them. There’s no sense in “should-ing” on yourself, as my classmate once said. In rough times, we all have to stick it out and hope for the light at the end of the tunnel (pardon the cliche). 

It was dreaming that got me here and dreaming — and lots of faith in God — is going to get me through. Besides, as my sister told me the other night, if it wasn’t meant for me to be here, I wouldn’t be. 

 

Peace and blessings (and no regrets),

 

S.Monette

Truly Inspired

Last night, we made history. And when I say “we” I do not mean African Americans, I mean Americans — all races, genders, creeds. 

Today, I am proud. Proud to be American. Proud to be black. Simply, proud.

Not only am I proud but I am inspired beyond words. I am inspired by Barack Obama and his will to press on despite naysayers and nonbelievers; his will to run despite the personal attacks, despite history. I’m inspired by the change this country has embraced and I’m inspired by the all the possibilities to come. 

I am grateful that God has blessed me to see the change my ancestors dreamed of, fought and died for. I am glad that my children will be born into the change. I am proud that my young brothers and sisters across this great nation can look up and realize that anything really is possible — it’s not just something that people say. No matter your background or the negative things in your environment, you can do anything you set your mind to, go anywhere your dreams and your legs will take you! 

Hope won! Our future is now!

 

– S.Monette

Hope and Honey

“The Secret Life of Bees,” a novel by Sue Monk Kidd is one of my favorite works of historical fiction, so on one hand I was excited to find out that they were going to turn this best-seller into a movie. On the other hand, Hollywood has consistently taken best-sellers and watered them down in order to strike blockbuster gold (think “A Time to Kill”), so I was concerned the same thing might be done to this movie. However, on opening day, I went to see it.

The film, directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood (“Love & Basketball”), is set in South Carolina in the summer of 1964, during which time the Civil Rights Act was signed into law. The story follows 14-year-old Lily Owen (played by screen gem Dakota Fanning), broken and neglected by her father and haunted by a tragedy from her past, as she (along with her housekeeper Rosaleen, played by “American Idol”-contestant-turned-Academy-Award-winner Jennifer Hudson) sets out on a journey for answers. 

Lily’s journey leads her to Tiburon, S.C., to the Pepto-pink home of the Boatwright sisters, August, May and June — played by rapper-turned-Oscar-nominated actress Queen Latifah, Oscar-nominated actress Sophie Okonedo (“Hotel Rawanda”), and Grammy award-winning singer Alicia Keys, respectively. August is the eldest sister and beekeeper who supplies the town with her Black Madonna honey. (The lives of the bees, in the film and movie, serve as a metaphor for the complexities of human life.) May, who never recovered from the loss of her twin sister, April, carries the troubles of the world on her shoulders; the slightest unpleasantness would send her into mourning. June, a talented cellist and teacher, is afraid to commit to her suitor, Neil (played by Nate Parker ["The Great Debaters"]), even though he’s asked several times for her hand in marriage, and she is clearly “sweet” on him. The sisters show Lily that no matter your mistakes, no matter how bad you feel about them, no matter how broken your spirit, “there’s love all around you” and no one is ever “unloveable.”

I will not go into extreme detail about the plot (go read the book and/or see the film), I must say, however, that each actress (and actor) gives a stellar performance in this story of tragedy, triumph, love, hope — and honey — so there’s no wonder there’s been much Oscar buzz surrounding it. But does it measure up to the original work?

Well, in my opinion, the book is ALWAYS better than the film. I suppose this is because when reading, one’s imagination is always at work, and each person interprets the author’s vision as their own. And a filmmakers vision/interpretation of the work, can be entirely different altogether. For instance, I had imagined the housekeeper, Rosaleen, to be slightly older and to look much more broken than the beautiful, twenty-something Jennifer Hudson, who portrays the character. The musical backdrop of contemporary music from the likes of Alicia Keys and India.Aire, momentarily distracted me from the 1964 setting of the film. And I’d imagined a much more dramatic confrontation between Lily and her father toward the end.  

But too its credit, this film is not too far off and is a definite must see. Be prepared to laugh, cry and leave the theater feeling hopeful, honey.  

 

Peace and blessings,

S.Monette

S is for Sex Symbol

Is this a phase?

Lately, I’ve found myself … loving on myself — for lack of a better phrase. (No, not like that, people. Minds out of the gutter!) I mean, insecurities I once had are now distant memories and every day, I notice something about me physically and mentally that amplifies my self-admiration. It’s not like the teenage years when you’re just in the mirror every five minutes because “you’re smelling yourself” or “you’re hot in the pants,” to borrow a couple of my mother’s old terms. No, this is different, although I can’t exactly say why I’m suddenly so “sweet” on myself. 

For instance, I was driving downtown one night recently and my little green dress was so kind as to give me a glimpse of the beauty mark on my inner thigh. Now, I didn’t almost wreck from this distraction or anything, but it did give me slight pause. I thought, girl, you better be sexy! It’s not that I’d never noticed the small dot before, but that day, I fell in love with it. 

In the past few months, I’ve also noticed I fall deeper in love with my butt every time I put on my favorite jeans. I catch myself smiling more, just because I love how smiling also accentuates my almond eyes, and makes my brown cheeks ball up like ripe plums. I used to hate my thin nose, big head, full lips, pointy shoulders. Ask me how I feel about them now. Used to despise the deepness of my speaking voice; now I think it’s kind of sultry. I answer questions and solve problems, sometimes to my own surprise. Then, I give myself pep talks like, you go, girl! Never underestimate your intellect! I’m more confident now than I have ever been. And don’t let me put on my favorite bra because then, I am fiercely unstoppable! 

But is this a phase? Will I wake up one morning and suddenly be unfazed by my smile or my oddly shaped red birthmark or the mole on my inner thigh? Or does this blooming self-love come with age, self-realization and the blessing of finally being fully aware of my purpose and where I’m headed? I hope it’s the latter.

 

Peace and blessings, 

S.Monette