*taps mic* Is this thing on?

Hi everybody,

It’s been a long minute, huh?

Well, I’m excited to say I’m back and I did not return empty-handed. For MONTHS I’d been working on a web series that took many twists and turns and has finally evolved into what I’m so thrilled to share with you all.

BOOKMATES is a series following two book-loving friends and the situations bibliophiles find themselves in.

They’re short and sweet skits that I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed making them.

The teaser is below…catch all the fire names we dropped in just 26 seconds!

Comment below, I wanna know what you guys think!


I’m Back!

How long has it been? Ages, I know! Well, I’ve been off in my writer’s cave…writing (more on that to come soon), but for now I’m delivering one of the fruits from such arduous labor!

It’s no secret that I loved Kathleen Collins’ Whatever Happened to Interracial Love? I didn’t just write a book review, I got the pleasure to interview her daughter! And since I just can’t leave these stories alone I’ve returned with an analysis of Collins’ use of the tragic mulatto trope.

You can read more of it here!


Thanks for hanging in there with me, ya’ll!

Whatever Happened to Interracial Love? Book Review

In the introduction to her 1983 collection of interviews with black women writers, Claudia Tate explained the difference between the black hero’s and the black heroine’s quest for self-affirmation and identity. While both the black hero and the black heroine are in search of “increasingly higher levels of emotional and intellectual awareness of the self and the outside world,” the process by which they journey to such a destination differs. The black hero’s journey is often an external exploration requiring his physical departure from his home/community of origin. The black heroine’s journey is internal requiring physical isolation or restriction. She is not detached from responsibilities as often times these heroines are mothers, wives, etc. Therefore the black heroine’s destination is not a place, but rather, a state of mind. Writer and Filmmaker Kathleen Collins employs this dynamic exploration of the internal journey throughout her posthumous collection of short stories,  Whatever Happened to Interracial Love? But Collins’ doesn’t make that internal journey exclusive to her black heroines; she extends it to her black hero’s as she delves into the murky mist of self-reckoning. But by expanding Tate’s theory of isolation to her black hero’s, Collins, inadvertently, examines the ways in which such physical isolation affect both her male and female characters. Where the isolation is a therapeutic experience for her heroines it is a crushing life-threatening experience for her heroes.  This curious examination reveals Collins deep interest not with the physical outcome of her characters, but rather, their interior resolution of their lives and place in the world. Whatever results from such resolution is purely circumstantial.


The first couplet of stories appropriately titled “Exteriors” and “Interiors” set the tone for which the following fourteen stories will take. We begin with the external voyeuristic view of a couple whose marriage is unhinging in “Exteriors”. The husband goes off on a whimsical excursion while the wife is left in isolation. Or rather, the wife chooses isolation. In “Interiors” the wife is not lamenting the reasons why her husband left, instead she voluntarily enters a “benevolent solitude” where she steps into herself and explores her horizon. She plays the violin, she starts a home garden, she takes on lovers–however inept–she creates art. All of these are attempts to understand herself while also resolving an independent identity in the face of her broken marriage.

Collins presents isolation as a choice, a reprieve from the external world, an Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole falling experience where one discovers the depths of one’s own soul, when it comes to her female characters. But a reprieve it is not for her male characters. Where the wife in “Interiors” emerges with her life and some sort of hope for the future, the Uncle in “The Uncle” isn’t as fortunate. His external circumstances have forced him no other option but isolation and in those confines he is never able to emerge with his life or any such hope for his future. Such is the same for the young man in “Only Once.” Isolation, for these men, is instead a cocoon, a Plato’s cave of manipulated images from their external reality are reflected in their internal resolutions preventing them from ever rising to the light. This dichotomy continues to play throughout Collins’ stories and characters: a disenchanted young woman who finds solace in a dark closet, an ill-fated lover and his gun, a playwright in suburbia, another abandoned wife who retreats into a new home. Many of these characters are faced with the external challenges of race, gender, class, and unfulfilled relationships, but Collin does not focus on the external. Instead she takes us into each character’s interior challenge of reconciling a self-image despite, or perhaps in spite of their outside circumstances.

There is a rebellious undertone in Collins’ work threading itself through each story. From the daughter who commits the “unforgivable sin of (“Negro”) girlhood” by cutting her hair and therefore turning herself into “any other Negro,” to the man who takes his own life, to the black middle-class girl from New Jersey agrees to marry her white lover in 1963 as they both naively confront the south and racial segregation, Collins presents unconventional resolutions that are not tidy, but instead a form of rebellion from what each of these characters are expected to be from the outside looking in. Each character is trying to find themselves and it’s a journey that requires the painful task of rejecting the external labels which have been arbitrarily placed on them from white-supremacy ideas of blackness to their own black bourgeois community’s.  In these rebellious internal resolutions Collins is  calling for a deep introspection of us all. Her work reminds us that we are humans first and our journeys toward seeking higher levels of emotional and intellectual awareness begin with our individual selves first.

That confrontation of self is often brutal and not all of her characters make it out alive, but the point is not to make it out alive, the point is to go through the process of delving deep into one’s self. That alone is one of the bravest things any human can do. 

I thoroughly enjoyed Whatever Happened to Interracial Love? Collins’s critical but sympathetic gaze on the black bourgeois is a perspective reminiscent of Nella Larsen, Lorraine Hansberry, and Dorothy West. Her insistence on the human spirit and internal self first allows her voice to be dynamic, idiosyncratic, and refreshing.  I only wish that there was more.

Be sure to pick up Whatever Happened to Interracial Love? when it arrives this December.

God Help the Child — A review

My love for Toni Morrison is borderline obsessive, you can read all about it here, so when I heard the news of her 11th book being published I was all but salivating. Somehow I managed to contain my excitement because it is only recently that I got a chance to read God Help the Child, and the experience was…different.

God Help the Child

“Spare and unsparing, God Help the Child–the first novel by Toni Morrison to be set in our current moment–weaves a table about the way suffering of childhood can shape, and misshape the life of the adult”

Is the succinct and ambitious description of Morrison’s novella. I was honestly surprised and disappointed at the brevity of pages, but that’s no reason to fault Morrison’s latest novel, especially when there are other valid ones.

Lula Ann Bridewell, or Bride, is the regional manager for a cosmetic brand as well as the creator of her own cosmetic line, You Go Girl. She is beautiful, with skin black like midnight and eyes feline fierce, she is never without an admirer. Her confidence is worn as extravagantly as the white garments she drapes herself in creating an alluring forcefield of intrigue and exoticism.

“Black sells. It’s the hottest commodity in the civilized world.” – Morrison (God Help the Child) 

But that is all stripped away when her lover, Booker, a man with whom she “invented sex,” walks out on her.

In his wake is left a “scared, little, black girl” who is unable to confront the force that made her so–Sweetness, her mother, a light-skinned woman with “good hair,” who treated her “blue-black” child more like an intruder than a daughter. The pain of initial abandonment Bride warded off long ago, or so she thought, creeps back in a way that leaves her desperate for some sort of rectification. With this in heart and mind she attempts to track down her ex-lover.

Now, a part of me–like a large, substantial part–feels absolutely unqualified to critique Queen Morrison. In the world of literature she is nobility and you don’t go against royalty unless you’re willing to face execution. Ok perhaps I’m being a bit dramatic. However, despite Morrison’s celestial mastering of storytelling, I was disappointed with her latest offering.

Morrison had all of the elements that make her novels incredible: magic realism, un-conventional women, critiques on white-supremacy–Booker and Bride are like Jadine and Son in Tar Baby with their polar opposite views on life, money, and race–but something felt incredibly shallow this go-round. From the descriptions of nature, which is always a prominent character in a Morrison novel, to the hallow friendship Bride holds with the only person she can trust “Completely,” Brooklyn, I couldn’t insert myself in anything or anyone, which was frustrating.

Bride’s attempt to confront her ex-lover and understand her perpetual abandonment reveals a much deeper theme of childhood innocence being severed at the hands of adults. We are introduced to children who have suffered horrendous trauma reminiscent of The Bluest Eye, but lack the same ethos of Morrison’s first novel.

God Help the Child felt rushed. Characters enter and exit abruptly, point of views are tangled, and the string holding back Bride’s past–causing the strife between she and Booker–is snapped so prematurely that what’s revealed seems cheap. I finished the last page wanting so much more.

Perhaps it is unfair to judge this novel in comparison to Morrison’s previous catalog, but when you’ve won the Nobel Prize for literature and are known to write the most soul-stirring prose, can you blame a reader for high expectations.