tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77627944728541351882024-02-20T23:15:55.535-08:00Surviving Raw FictionAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-3070403252921345182013-06-10T10:42:00.001-07:002013-06-10T12:08:25.139-07:00Too Much Food, Great Conversation, Shawn(ta)'s Gift and so much more at Raw Fiction's Goodbye BrunchIt's over.<br />
<br />
Almost.<br />
<a href="http://chronicle.com/blogs/linguafranca/2013/04/24/slash-not-just-a-punctuation-mark-anymore/" target="_blank">slash</a><br />
Maybe.<br />
<br />
This past Saturday, June 8, 2013 Raw Fiction (season 1 or season only) had its goodbye brunch a week before the website is due to air its first set of publications.<br />
<br />
We met at historic Spain Restaurant with its historic bar tender and I ordered far too much for everyone. We feasted on Paella Marinera, Chicken and Rice, Shrimp in Oil, Paella Vegitariana(?), Fried Calamari, Meatballs and complimentary dishes of the best mussels I've ever put to my mouth. There were the youth participants, the mentors, a participant's mother and a director's friend.<br />
<br />
My dear friend, Shawn(ta), your lesbian separatist librarian, who came was coming direct from her <a href="http://www.lesbianherstoryarchives.org/" target="_blank">Lesbian Herstory Archives</a> table at Brooklyn Pride and had a gift for me (this is in front of my youth that she does this). She sifts through her bag with a grin on her face. I get to choose which gift I take. She extracts a very used book of short stories by <a href="http://www.beckybirtha.net/biography.html" target="_blank">Becky Birtha</a> and puts it in my hands. I can either have the book or . . . and then she reveals a small silver paper bag . . . I can have what's in the Babeland bag. Of course I turn bright red (remember three of my 18-year-olds are sitting right in front of me) and choose the book. Thanks, Shawn! But seriously, that's what (one of the many things) I love about her. Her confidence and freedom in her own sexuality and sex positivity. Young people NEED to witness that.<br />
<br />
The table was divided with youth on one side and adults on the other. Conversation, likewise, was divided. However, at one point in the discussion Darwin asks "Do we even need to know history?" I grab the pass and toss it to the youth. The table becomes a discussion of ideas. From <i>Wide Sargasso Sea</i> to (re)writing history with perspectives and agendas to professional goals.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Pictures were taken outside of Spain Restaurant, hugs and goodbyes but not forever, I hope, and good luck on finalizing the publication, kiddies! Raw Fiction dot org will premier participant writings and some pieces from the general public on Saturday, June 15.<br />
<br />
<b>Below is a copy of my goodbye words to my team:</b><br />
<br />
I have spent the week thinking about appropriate parting words and have come up with profound ideas and important messages [on the importance of literature and the meaning of inclusive citizenship]. I have written nothing down.<br />
<br />
Always carry a pen and paper with you. Or a technological equivalent - a tape recorder, videocamera or your phone. Document yourselves so you don't have to scramble for words on a wild 3 train before a closing ceremony.<br />
<br />
Raw Fiction was born out of a lot of ideas simmering in me with little to no outlet. I was in grad school and I didn't want to be. I was in Brooklyn and I didn't want to be. I was in a rapidly gentrifying Brooklyn that was selling its working-class, black, Jewish and immigrant soul to huge developers. People and businesses were being pushed out under the lie of economic growth for everyone. I saw a future of corporate menial labor jobs with little growth opportunity for youth forced into uniforms that reflect not only a sameness of image but a uniformity of thought.<br />
<br />
Raw Fiction was born as an idea to help me juggle my emotions against change and as a way to investigate creating an arts project for teens that incorporates real world skills. A project to empower youth in their identities, provide an outlet for their creativity and challenge them to think and do for themselves.<br />
<br />
I couldn't have done it alone. The adults sitting around this table represent a portion of all of the individuals I reached out to, who gave technical support, positive feedback and lots of encouragement. Thank you [and I went around the table and thanked Darwin, Charity, Tanisha, Shawn, Olivia, Barbara and Will for all they did and are doing to help me with Raw Fiction]. . . .<br />
<br />
Raw Fiction was also a very simple convergence of my two most compelling career options - literature and youth. Raw Fiction would be nothing without the youth participants who have given it life, shape and definition.<br />
Thank you [Cha-Lisa, Nisha, Ruth, Karen and Amber and then I gifted them each a book that I had pulled from my shelves that morning] . . . .<br />
<br />
***********<br />
<br />
The End [of chapter 1?]<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-64827793414776240782013-05-06T18:30:00.000-07:002013-05-06T18:30:09.123-07:00Inspiration dead. Inspire.
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I kicked off the PEN World Voices Festival by going to see a
play at the CUNY Grad Center called Smartphones. It was part of a series of New Plays from Spain. Smartphones is a farce with heavy intertextuality recalling Beckett's Waiting For Godot, Sartre's No Exit and a Bunuel film called The Exterminating Angel. It is about four people (two heterosexual couples, kind of, there's a lesbian twist) waiting in their friend Fede's apartment. They keep waiting but Fede doesn't come and they can't get in touch with him because his mobile provider gives "spotty coverage." Any clues as to Fede's whereabouts or ETA via twitter or Facebook, or broken connections through telephone calls were always that he was on his way. Smartphones, by Emilio Williams, was translated into English by the playwright who rewrote his own piece to fit the American culture. The play made me laugh a lot and it was well-written and well performed, however, it didn't challenge me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I think that the lack of socio-political challenge was my underlying frustration with this year's festival. And perhaps that's why it is a festival and not a conference. We're celebrating! However, I wonder who it is we're celebrating. This year there was no discussion that I encountered that acknowledged those writers who were not able to be present due to political situations in their countries or visa oppressions in ours.</div>
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A panel on Guantanamo Prison took for granted that the United States has 'values' that ought to be upheld. Where . . . what . . . who has values? A panel for Haitian writers featured two married writers, one of whom is the President of PEN Haiti and the situation in Haiti was contextualized by a white American journalist while the moderator didn't even speak French, never mind Kreyol, and seemed to know very little about the situation or the panelists. A panel on South African literature failed to feature a woman writer from South Africa.</div>
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Perhaps it is my own thought process that has advanced beyond the organization that I have idolized and been inspired by for so many years. Yet, simultaneous with my disappointment is inspiration to remain in a state of constant intellectual stimulation - because the small dose I've had this past week has knocked me off kilter and put the chemistry of my brain into a bit of a frenzy.</div>
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I feel like sprinting across the country shouting nonsense in a mishmash of endangered languages - that was a good panel. The Endangered Languages panel provided not only insight into a situation, gave breadth of perspective but also left the individual audience member with a sense of power to make a difference by learning a language and supporting policy that preserves indigenous languages, philosophies and cultures. Language is the pathway to the soul.</div>
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As I stated a few blog posts ago, I have every intention of continuing the project. In what context I have still to figure out. I'm leaning toward the absurd and collaborating with adults of all backgrounds - cultural, artistic and sexual. I am not searching a post-racial or post-conscious voice, I'm looking for harmony in plurality. Or a lack of harmony, or total failure in my absurd vision of full inclusion.</div>
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Idealism dead. Ideal.</div>
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In regards to the youth I've been working with I think the PEN events were a phenomenal opportunity to think about writers and writing and the writer's role in the community. The solitary intellectual will always be an outsider no matter where she comes from or how vast is her ability to think. Yet literature is also the doorway to get inside a culture, especially your own.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-7630561295994064562013-04-30T20:52:00.000-07:002013-04-30T20:55:01.070-07:00Germophobe, Not Homophobe"Germophobe, not homophobe," said the old man with the cane to the old man with the walker.<br />
<br />
They passed us as I smoked cigarettes on the steps of K & D's place. "He won't go bowling. He won't put his feet in shoes that other people wear."<br />
<br />
"I would never put my feet in shoes that just anyone can wear," the other one said as they hobbled by, shouting.<br />
<br />
D was ready to follow them with a recorder. K had missed the germophobe, not homophobe comment and didn't get why we were laughing so hard.<br />
<br />
I was there to rage and smoke D's cigarettes. I was furious about a literary event at the Brooklyn Public Library and had heard a dialogue I wasn't expecting to hear. Two women. One young and in awe, her hair all over her face so that no one could see her. The other old with stark white hair pulled off of her face, a hot older writer. Ruddy complexion and solid build.<br />
<br />
The conversation went something like:<br />
<br />
"Why do you write?" "Where do you write?" "Your life has been hard."<br />
<br />
It sucked and I wanted to leave. I got my excuse to book it very early on.<br />
<br />
Moderator with hair all over her face: "Blah, blah, blah are you a feminist?"'<br />
<br />
Novelist woman who lives in exile from her native country but refuses to identify as an exile because the people are too nice: "I am not a feminist, I am a humanist. I do not think women should be involved in all spheres of participatory life, it is the men who should be involved with politics. A woman's real role is motherhood."<br />
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I didn't wait for her definition of motherhood and bounced.<br />
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The lesbian who walked out of the limited and narrow atmosphere into a chilly spring night.<br />
<br />
It was the second night in a row that my bubble was infiltrated by my rotting idealistic crutch (see "Confronting a Limited Idealism," April 29 blog); like I'm just walking along and the crutch falls apart and I slip and something dirty gets inside my bubble.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was imperialistic status quos.<br />
Today was women going back to the home.<br />
<br />
Maybe it strikes me so hard to get inside and filibuster my sanctum because I do just want a bourgeois life in a safe country on a nice block telling children stories. Let the men, whoever they may be, play at politics.<br />
<br />
I am not a man. I am a woman who wants to be in the kitchen.<br />
<br />
There is this woman I met a few months ago who startled me so deeply I cannot shake her, however much I'd like to. She entered my home, the most sacred of my landscapes, called me a fat boy and left.<br />
<br />
I went on a juice fast for two weeks - kind of, I've never been good with either discipline or not eating but I did lose winter with an iron deficiency pounds pretty quickly. I suffered from this plaguing identity crisis. I, who have never done labels, have allowed myself to become boi-ed by the "community." I am not a boy and I am not a boi. I am a woman.<br />
<br />
I sent her an angry text.<br />
<br />
She called me.<br />
<br />
Put me on speaker phone to a room full of parrots without my knowing.<br />
<br />
She called the writer a gypsy and wondered why I cared so much. I spoke about my bubble. She thought I was PMS. I told her I'd just spent the past few days bleeding everywhere.<br />
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I am a lunatic who lives in a bubble so I can go out and play with anyone I like. It is when my safe spaces are desecrated that I become intolerant.<br />
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I am outraged, I said to everyone who would listen.<br />
<br />
Drinking a beer in a bar with this writer speaking her truth that I do not want to believe, I would kiss her ancient mouth, that has seen more than my Brooklyn bubbled ass getting tighter by the day will ever see, that keeps her secrets hers.<br />
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It is my own escapist tactics that failed and I was angry. I was angry yesterday when free speech was dismissed by the male upper echelons of this fantastic humanitarian organization as I was angry today when free speech was allowed through the voice of a controversial woman novelist from somewhere else.<br />
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I took my dog and went to K & D's to demand a conversation. They are serious people and they take me and my serious seriousness quite seriously, which I find funny.<br />
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We ranted on the steps and two old men passed by. Germophobe, not homophobe, the one with the cane said to the one with the walker.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-74679323131757334882013-04-29T20:54:00.001-07:002013-04-29T20:57:56.006-07:00Confronting A Limited Idealism; Or, How PEN American Center Enters the Mainstream and Champions ConformityWhen I use the term "limited idealism" in my title I am referring to myself. One must face one's own shortcomings and continue to grow and not simply reject the source of those limits for they are the simultaneously the primary source of growth.<br />
<br />
Last week I sent an email to a number of friends and acquaintances announcing that my favorite week of the year was coming up: The PEN World Voices Festival. In the email I listed the events I was planning on attending, suggested friends purchase their own tickets and commented on the fact that there were no queer events, however, I am not as up on my queer writer names as I ought to be so I cannot say there is not representation. But I knew well enough that of course there was a gay writer in the lot and perhaps there was only one.<br />
<br />
I have never been able to attend every single PEN festival event. Sometimes they are at the same time sometimes I have to work. But I do recall always having to make that hard choice. Some events I remember being amazing were just two years ago. There was a panel that I showed up quite late for that was about the prison systems in the United States and Ireland and other places (I was late). Michelle Alexander was there. Another event that year included a small panel in a small room in an independent music school on a small street on the imperial crackdown on Hungarian arts funding. There was the opening event at the 92nd Street Y with writers reading in their mother tongues and Patti Smith sang a ballad to the empty chair who represented those unable to attend because they were in prison or because they were not allowed to enter the US.<br />
<br />
The first PEN World Voices Festival event I ever went to was a tribute to the poet Czeslaw Milosz. Ryszard Kapuscinski was there reading a Milosz poem in Polish. It was at Hunter College.<br />
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Now events are being held at Cooper Union and Joe's Pub. NYU and the New School. I am not upset about the idea of going to a literary event turned cabaret of translated Japanese texts while sipping a fine cocktail in the casual glamorous atmosphere of the Public Theater's fancy bar. However, who can afford the ticket price and Joe's minimum food/drink purchase? Not everyone. Not a whole lot of people.<br />
<br />
I remember two years ago I was thinking critically about PEN and accessibility in regards to a panel about the gentrification of New York and the weird little stipulation of purchasing tickets online only - not at the door in cash. That was weird. Who are they trying to keep out? So, I suppose, my thoughts tonight are thoughts that have been happening.<br />
<br />
But I've always trusted PEN.<br />
<br />
Something changed in January. They brought in a new Executive Director, Suzanne Nossel. When I received the member email announcing her appointment I did my research and I was horribly confused. She is an imperialist. It's weird because she was coming from Amnesty International - how did she get in there? But there was a lot of controversy surrounding her appointment at Amnesty - none at PEN. Yet even more confusing.<br />
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How can an organization state a mission based on Freedom of Expression and be led by a pro-NATO interventionist? It's flabbergasting. And then I kind of just blocked it all out - because I guess that's kind of what everyone else was doing.<br />
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And then I got the PEN World Voices Festival calendar of events in the mail. On Bravery. Yet. The panels are more consumer-friendly than political or critical as they had been in the past. There is a panel on gender that is completely exclusionary of transgender. There is a panel about publishing headlining the most conservative looking man I have ever seen at a literary event -- Ah, and here we have our gay man: The rich, married, Ivy Leaguer with a dog. The closing ceremony on Freedom is to be given by Sonia Sotomayor. Two years ago it was Wole Soyinka at the New York Public Library. It was amazing.<br />
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Something has gone awry.<br />
<br />
Tonight a lone man was protesting Nossel. A PEN member. A paying attendee of the event. The only voice challenging these changes. An older white man, of course. Still in the 60s THANK GOD.<br />
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PEN leadership refused to respond to him at the beginning of the event. His concerns are legitimate and should have been addressed to appease everyone in the audience. Rushdie simply cursed him out. Right on, Salmon, your charm is commendable.<br />
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Bravery is the theme of this year's PEN literary festival and it is a farce.<br />
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Where are the transgender voices? Where are the queers and the lesbians? Why isn't PEN taking advantage of their clout to speak out against the US government? How can Salmon Rushdie get up and stand in front of us and say that we are living in a different America than we were 9 years ago when the festival started?<br />
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Today we are still in Iraq and Afghanistan. Today Guantanamo is still open and over 100 prisoners are on hunger strike and the US is force-feeding a number of them.<br />
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And what about this immediate city? What about stop-and-frisk? The prison system is only getting worse. What about the homeless people and the offensive city-wide subway campaigns that are astoundingly offensive to young mothers? Why is PEN silencing the controversial topics by not giving them platform?<br />
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If I noted any shortcomings in this organization I have idolized since I first heard of it nine years ago then I was naive not to know what I could see coming.<br />
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And I'm not saying there aren't powerful, thought provoking events this year with amazing writers and important minds but I am saying there's an obvious conservatization that is forcefully happening under the guise of freedom of expression.<br />
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I'm saying, I'm confronting my own limited idealism and I choose not to be on the side of exclusionary politics that maintain the status quo of power politics. I stand in solidarity with the most radical and dissident voices in the name of peace and freedom for all humans.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-30873795580900111362013-04-16T08:33:00.001-07:002013-04-16T08:34:19.094-07:00Grand Army Plaza EpiphaniesInspiration comes from a book passed between colleagues across departments from different generations that makes their lives seem so potentially similar.<br />
<br />
The gesture is what most effects me and hours later. After the unreal explosions at the Boston Marathon, after the exhausted train ride home, after lecturing my insolent dog who had once again dispersed the contents of my trash all over the floor, after life's evening activities and outside with the dog near the arch in plaza, on the grass by the fountain that is still seasonally dry. The epiphany comes in the form of a rough draft.<br />
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It's been coming, really. For weeks now. However, I've been saying I'm not going to go out and recruit youth this time, I'll just see if they contact me. What's egging me on to continue is that which remains undone: an incomplete feeling like an invisible stone in a hiking boot that reminds me that what I set out to do is not done. An event organized by youth. A print publication.<br />
<br />
The team that currently comprises Raw Fiction has established a concept, created a slogan, set a tone, called for submissions, designed a logo and website and read and written and are reading and writing. Bickety-bam. They've done this pretty much from scratch with the support of mentors. That's impressive, I could call this project a day and feel really good about what's been accomplished.<br />
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However, I also think about the imperfections in this first template and the revisions I could implement the next time. I think about how to make Raw Fiction bigger and better. I'm procrastinating on the formation of evaluations and how to perfect the mentor trainings and I can see that I am capable of improving upon the initial concept, I can see clearly many possible repairs. And that's where I get overwhelmed and want to run away. Because I can't do all that unless I can give myself a salary. And I can't get a salary unless I apply for a grant. And I think about all the work I'd have to do and I want to vanish up a tree like a lunatic or a baron. What it finally comes down to is the most important question on the evaluation: Are you glad you participated in this project? I know the answers.<br />
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And what would my answer be?<br />
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I love creating space that brings people together. At my last event all of the readers exchanged information and became Facebook friends. The space was filled with love. The energy was fantastic. I love meeting with my youth and giving them literary works that they don't really like right now but will impact them later. I love sitting back and watching them collaborate. I don't like writing grants all that much, I don't hate it but I don't like the language.<br />
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There is no sublime meaning in a mission statement. I take no pleasure in getting to a point quickly.<br />
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So, what I've decided is that I want to continue but next time I'll do less. How about that, Society. I'm going to aim to recruit young writers who want to build upon what the current group has established to either coordinate an event or create a print publication or do both. I want to coordinate a regular meeting space to allow for intellectual growth and proactive collaboration. That's what I enjoy doing and I don't have to give it up because I am done with fundraising. I think it was important to do the first round of Raw Fiction "legitimately." Perhaps, I had something to prove to myself. Receiving fiscal sponsorship and a grant has made me feel like my idea was legitimate. To receive generous donations from family, friends and strangers is really reaffirming but I want to go to grad school and I want to write another novel, not another grant. I don't want to be an ED I just want to be me, hehehe.<br />
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In the mailroom, Kevin gave me a copy of the journal he edited in another lifetime, his words, it is called "murmur." It's a wonderful collection with J.M.G. Le Clezio, Danzy Senna, Eileen Myles and Mark Jay Mirsky, among others. The concept is "a journal devoted to convening conversations between new and established writers of fiction and poetry, and each issue will feature a series of these dialogues. The themes and topics will be determined by those involved, but at some point, the talks will address the question of who and what influences their writing. Following the discussion, work by both authors will appear side by side, as if to continue the conversation in the practice of their art." - Kevin P.Q. Phelan, Editor.<br />
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The gift was Kevin's second journal. The first was called "whatever" because it was themeless. Having worked with my current group of youth I think the themeless is essential to creative development. Youth don't really know what they want; they want experience and opportunities. I thanked my colleague for his awesome journal and he explained it stopped because money ran out. It was those words that really got me thinking about Raw Fiction. Yes, there's no way I can afford to keep it going, it's not what I want. But what if I do it without money, or much less money. Cut the stipends, cut the mentors, cut the field trips to things with ticket prices.<br />
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So, thank you, Kevin for sharing the past of another you with the present I'm chiseling out for myself. I will go on until time and money run out, and that is yet to happen.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-84382113542203325072013-03-21T19:19:00.003-07:002013-03-21T19:27:50.184-07:00Surviving Raw Fiction at The Brooklyn MuseumI have barely been surviving Raw Fiction. I feel there is a wealth of creativity ready to burst forth. I've been a dry well filling up with thought, laughter, tears, anger, revelation and peace for the past few years. In many ways Raw Fiction was inspired in order to survive life and I created this blog with a humorous but pertinent title. For a fiction writer to coordinate an administrative intensive project such as Raw Fiction, on top of my job, my dog, my Spanish lessons, all of which are necessary to the maintenance of my jubilant spirit, she chooses to leave no space for elongated creative time.<br />
<br />
This blog was my consolation prize: required written expression - which has gradually become less creative since the project start.<br />
<br />
The youth I am working with are amazing but I could certainly challenge them more, make things more fun, go more in-depth. Potential is ever-expansive.<br />
<br />
I've also been working more hours at work than expected. I'm pretty sensitive to boredom and I'm usually pretty good at side-stepping it but it's taken hold. I'm distracted and unfocused. I have two events coming up and I can't really wrap my head around them.<br />
<br />
However, even though I feel this lethargic slump, I know it's just my body's way of telling me to slow down and go in search of inspiration.<br />
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I found a collection of short stories by <a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/125312/Colette" target="_blank">Colette</a>, who is not at all on my curriculum, and have been relishing in a short novella about a heterosexual couple posing as lesbians who run a sex vacation resort for the aristocracy because they are apparently hiding from the law. I have been away from the demands of lesson planning. I have been reading for my own pleasure. And today was the first I have left work on time (a luxurious 2pm) this week, I came home feeling no more pressure of responsibility than that which drives me to walk my unsocialized dog since Raw Fiction has a field trip on Saturday and then it's Spring Break.<br />
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I showered well and long. I dressed up and I went to get cash at the <a href="http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/" target="_blank">museum</a> ATM. I got called inside. There was a banner on the outside of the museum featuring a hand and the word "hi." It was presumably the only exhibit I hadn't yet seen. Entering the museum was splendid. An open to-go coffee cup sat on the guard's empty desk. The man at the membership desk didn't give me the third degree about the purpose of my visit like the overeager buzz-killer did on my last visit.<br />
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I entered unmolested like it was still the year 2000. I dashed up the relatively discrete Stairway D and exited on the 3rd Floor. Egyptian art. I walked past the paintings in the large gallery where First Saturday's dance parties were formerly held. And I walked up a flight in search of the exhibit whose advertisement had greeted me. On the wall in the elevator bank I saw I name I cherish and hadn't known was visiting: Kathe Kollwitz. I made a beeline toward the Stackler Center greeting my reassuring staples, <a href="http://mickalenethomas.com/gallery.html" target="_blank">Mikalene Thomas</a>, <a href="http://learn.walkerart.org/karawalker" target="_blank">Kara Walker</a>, and <a href="http://nickcaveart.com/Main/Intro.html" target="_blank">Nick Cave</a>, en route. I opened the door to the gallery of feminist art and was overwhelmed by a magnificent display of quilts. Women's history. Women's art. Women's expression. It was amazing but too overwhelming to thoroughly absorb knowing that there were Kollwitz works on display very near by.<br />
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I spent time with these live works. I originally found <a href="http://mhsartgallerymac.wikispaces.com/Kathe+Kollwitz" target="_blank">Kollwitz</a> at the Strand Bookstore before it was renovated to feel so, so . . . clean? is that the word I'm looking for? Orderly? Before it was renovated and when the art books were on the ground floor. I absorbed her and filled myself with the beauty and healing she was able to produce from her evident pain. Her realist depictions of the German human experience in the 1920s are far more hopeful and, perhaps, thus radical than her expressionist contemporaries.<br />
<br />
I walked away from the Kollwitz exhibit and rested for a bit near my nourishing staples and looked out over the vast gallery. A guard appeared at another terrace, I kept feeling like they were watching me, those women in unbecoming grey uniforms. I decided to visit <a href="http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/el_anatsui/" target="_blank">El Anatsui</a> again, since I was so close. I headed up to the fifth floor and breezed through American Art to special exhibits.<br />
<br />
Even though I'd already seen this exhibit twice it was my first time without too many people. The experience was less urgent and I felt the freedom to revisit that which moved me most. His wood. His work, tapestries and sculpture fits into his concept of the Nonfixed Form, this means that each piece has an inconstant composition that can reinvented by the curator and the space in which the work is displayed. I'll let his work speak for itself.<br />
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I took a spin through the art of the Americas and was drawn to the small Native American section. The Dakota war club below caught my attention for a first time. There was even video footage that dated back to before the invention of the moving image. I stopped to watch but a tourist felt comfortable sharing my space. I moved on and responded with a smile to his dismay and informed him that I come every few weeks so I don't need a shared perspective.<br />
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Next I was drawn to a portrait I know well. Luigi Lucioni's Portrait of Paul Cadmus. 1928. Gay artists. I'm sure I've read the description before but this was the first time it registered. These beautiful and brave young artists.<br />
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I left the museum before the Thursday night extravaganza took off. I was going to have a coffee or wine at the new cafe looking out into the courtyard but I wouldn't endure the sterile atmosphere and the women in cafeteria uniforms. A singer and a flutist warmed up on the stage of the grand lobby. The grey outside welcomed me and I left to buy suitable clothing for the burial of <a href="http://www.harrytarzian.com/index-slides.html?gallery=The%20Brooklyn%20Bridge&folio=Galleries" target="_blank">Harry Tarzian</a> that will be held in Greenwood Cemetery tomorrow. He is the man who provided my mum with the job that enabled her to raise me and my sisters very nicely with above average vacation time and the radical flexibility to be a mother. May you rest in peace Harry, Hardware store owner and passionate photography hobbyist.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-66200627715710121862013-03-11T09:34:00.000-07:002013-03-11T09:34:35.458-07:00Audre Lorde is an Idealist and Zahra made us MeditateAudre Lorde is too idealistic, one of my young writers sighed with dispassion this past Saturday. The assignment had been to read poetry and essay. They like neither form, generally. However, Ferlinghetti's anti-war excerpt from 'Americus I' went over better than the obscure poetics taken from Lorde's 'New York Headshop and Museum.' And agreement was universal that Lorde's 1979 essay, The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House, is still relevant today, 34 or 44 (depending on which youth is doing the math) years later, however, and perhaps because of this immortal relevance of needing to cherish our differences and women needing to support other women, the youth of today were less inspired than I was when the essay was merely 22 years old. And perhaps, the youth see me as too idealistic, too.<br />
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Our Saturday sessions are generally broken up into two segments. First we write and discuss the readings - the literary and critical thinking part of the day. Second there is a project meeting. In between the theory and practical there is always a brief break. Meditation and yoga is something I have wanted to incorporate into the project since its inception, however, real world situations don't necessarily permit our ideas to be perfect from the start. So this week I dove on in. I sent the team an email informing them of their meditative and silent break and when it came up they were down. No objections, no giggles. Just open minds.<br />
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Because I was unprepared and didn't know how to set the timer on my phone I had to open my eyes to glance at the clock a couple of times during the five minute meditation session. They were all sitting silent and upright and all sets of eyes were closed. Upon time I told them not to speak for another five minutes, to gather their thoughts and think about the meeting, or think about nothing, or go to the bathroom, just don't speak. When I suggested we start one of them objected and said, It hasn't been five minutes, yet. Gosh darn, I love it when they speak up and I love it when they're making choices toward the betterment of their souls. Hehe, yeah, I totally talk about the artist's soul as something that needs to be nurtured.<br />
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And after that I asked their permission to bounce. My best friend is in town for her boyfriend's birthday and I need to get home and change and feed and walk my dog before running off to play. And they were fine with it. And they emailed me their meeting notes and their website looks fabulous and the call for submissions is final and in their voice and image and oh I'm just so thrilled.<br />
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Plus I got to bounce on the meeting and have dinner in Bay Ridge at a Moroccan restaurant called Casablanca and then saw Isabelle Adjani in a Luc Besson film from 1985 that was about people living in the Paris Metro and it made me want to live underground off the grid dirty and free.<br />
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The End. For Now.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-48873863966280255732013-03-02T15:00:00.001-08:002013-03-02T15:00:26.467-08:00The Organic Growth of YouthOn Thursday, I bought a video camera. The idea was for the group to write a script about their project, video tape themselves and upload the new video onto their website, Facebook page and tumblr. That didn't happen. Of course it didn't happen. What did happen was the crew discussed a lot, wrote a little, then did spontaneous interviews on the topics on hand - what is Raw Fiction? why is Raw Fiction? and so on.<br />
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The publicist shot most of the footage, except for that which she is in, and took the SD card with her to do the video edits. Raw Theater.<br />
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Last week I was stressed out because I didn't think the group was necessarily going to be able to achieve their goals, and I let them know. They let me know that this project is theirs and they want to do it and they'd communicated amongst themselves and had direction and drive. I was so proud of them I started crying. Really. Literally, there were tears.<br />
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So today, I just released the reigns. And it feels good not to be accountable.<br />
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I could have gotten annoyed. Or made snide comments (I'm an expert at those). However, when I walked in, 8 minutes early, with the Web Programmer who I'd run into walking over, and saw three of the group already there, waiting for me, demanding where the fifth one was. So eager. So inspiring. And then I sit down and listen to their conversation. Pink Berry. They're anxious for my arrival, they have so much work to do, they know what is on the agenda for today and yet they sit discussing frozen yogurt. A corporate frozen yogurt chain.<br />
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What made the possibility of me being annoyed and obnoxious even greater was the fact that the Editor-in-Chief had just said to me, two days before, that they need more time for project discussion and less on the readings. (I seriously beg to differ, but it's theirs, I created the monster. Just call me Shelley.)<br />
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But I reasoned with myself. It's nice for them to chat and get to know each other and be comfortable on a social level. Yet, at the same time due to the immaturity in me, the child that needs to put you in front of a mirror to expose the food stuck between your teeth instead of simply nicely telling you, whispering discretely, I couldn't be bothered to take over and say, okay, so now it's 1:30 on the dot, let's get started.<br />
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I don't work with children because I hate to micromanage. I do work with teenagers because when you don't micromanage there's a lot to laugh about - but more importantly, that's exactly when they blow you away with their original insights and brilliance. When it all clicks and that child mind begins to take control of its own life.<br />
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The wheels got rolling when the Graphic Designer walked in 5 minutes late, expecting to join in, looked confused at the silliness around her and asked, what's going on. The others snapped to and got to work.<br />
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I feel free, it's theirs. There are things I would change. I would certainly go about doing just about everything differently, but it's theirs. And I'm free. Free to focus on their intellectual development as independent and critical thinkers.<br />
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This is a photograph of the Graphic Designer, Web Programmer and Publicist fine-tuning their social media site and website last week:<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-22435050546139974902013-02-16T18:47:00.000-08:002013-02-19T17:30:19.039-08:00The Team Goes to El Museo del BarrioI missed a great photograph today. The youth sitting on a bench facing a gigantic photograph of a path leading to a mountain. Not speaking. Waiting.<br />
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I had attempted to steal the language reigns of the project due to lack of speed but the Editor-in-chief coup'd. She claimed her own pretension and snobbery and stated that even she wouldn't request such high writing. So fix it, I said. It's written. Why isn't it here? It's saved in my computer. With complete sentences as opposed to a bullet list? Yes, she assured me. So I want to see it.<br />
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One of my writers gave the thumbs to my boosting them over this first hurdle; after telling me she wouldn't be able to make it, she'd forgotten about a school trip, so stressed out; Raw Fiction is enrichment, it shouldn't be stressful. Another writer also approved and gave feedback regarding some of the technical details, very helpful. One thought the opening paragraph was too refined to be asking for the unrefined: it's complicated and unapproachable and where's the grittiness? One wanted to redo it herself (see paragraph above). One had no comment, the same who was waiting at the wrong museum for 20 minutes.<br />
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I told them to just go in and experience the art. No assignment. Just look at what you like.<br />
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There was a photograph on the wall of the museum. Of fire escapes full of people. Like water slides, the Editor said.<br />
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While they were waiting for me to get my bag from the bag check, I handed the camera to the Project Manager. She had them take a picture of her:<br />
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And returned the camera. So I gave it to the Graphic Designer for the walk to <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/rph/3/661922/69499/new-york-east-harlem-cafe-east-harlem-cafe-photo" target="_blank">East Harlem Cafe</a> where we were heading for snacks and a meeting. She did nothing but turn it off after a few minutes.<br />
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There they discussed the project and I got some snapshots of their serious seriousness.<br />
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The project manager took the last shot of the cafe.<br />
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The following I found in the museum where there weren't any guards:<br />
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I sent them home with Baldwin and told them to write on the photocopies. Underline the most powerful sentences. Reread five paragraphs once you're done.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-56980438097480661382013-02-12T19:00:00.000-08:002013-02-12T19:04:54.588-08:00Variables in Autonomous Hierarchical CollaborationToday I met Raw Fiction's graphic designer on the corner of Dekalb and S. Elliott to retrieve my computer. I share it with her so she can learn the software and create a logo, design flyers and do whatever it is a graphic designer must do. I was dressed like a ringmaster. She looked like a high school student.<br />
<br />
I keep preaching hierarchy and autonomy to them, my kids. Which is funny, because I'm an anarchist. Or maybe that is why. Everyone is their own individual monarch. Can monarchs with no masses work together?<br />
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The graphic designer had a present for me. One I was not expecting. A small white candy box with chocolate covered insects inside. There were four total. Two worms and two crickets, either milk or white chocolate. We stood across from Fort Greene park eating bugs and questioning progress.<br />
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Admittedly, progress has been slow. When I try to tell them this and encourage them to reconsider such big ideas as publishing others (we haven't even started to tackle the event yet) they ignore me. I love that they want this so much. But I also want them to get the most out of the reading, writing and field trips.<br />
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In lieu of the museum trip to <a href="http://www.elmuseo.org/" target="_blank">El Museo del Barrio</a> this Saturday, the graphic designer suggested the group have a meeting. Now, I did not say no. [This project is theirs. I can only provide them with options and hope they make the best decisions, or those I'd prefer. They have their mentors to ponder questions about time management and goals. They are on different pages and didn't meet last weekend due to the snow. Nor did they organize a conference session, which I suggested.] I simply asked her if she'd proposed this idea to the others and then emphasized the necessity of expanding one's cultural horizons in order to grow as a writer, thinker, human.<br />
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We finished the insects, I put Baldwin's <i>Going to Meet the Man</i> in her hands, and went our separate ways. I went home to walk my dog, chilled for a bit, felt social while longing for solitude, took the later and wound up the the BPL's Tuesday night movie. <i>Scarface</i>. Action, art, guns, immigrants, cops, morals and murder. The film has it all. The depths of loneliness, desperation and greed. I was moved.<br />
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I came home ready to scribble about solitude, anxiety, love and loneliness in the new tiny notebook I bought in the Brooklyn Museum shop after the El Anatsui exhibit on Thursday but checked my email first. An email to the group, from the Graphic Designer. Basically saying: There's much to be discussed (full stop). Let's meet to talk this week and do the museum next week (full stop). Respond All if you agree (full stop). Like a telegram. It'd been a couple of hours but no one had responded. I piped in. Not so easy. First: I haven't reserved a room for this Saturday. Second: There's a workshop next weekend. So the choice must be meeting and museum or no museum.<br />
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The web programmer responded: Meeting.<br />
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I kind of like the idea of being overthrown. However, I dislike the idea of work over art. Except, of course, the work is art. Is it the tangible taking priority over the metaphysical that irks me? The growth of spirit being deemed less important than professional growth?<br />
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And therefore, I must think hard, introspectively, about my own motivation. Motivation has so little to do outcome. My motivation was to bring youth together like frozen compounds of unknown, untested substance placed in a bowl to thaw and react to one another. The only constant is that they all want this to work.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-35461361637896177752013-01-05T15:42:00.000-08:002013-01-05T15:42:03.036-08:00Madison Avenue Is Not A Number; It's A LessonToday, Raw Fiction began it's journey to whatever it will be. Four out five participants got off the train not knowing where Madison Avenue is. Thus my witty comment: Madison Avenue is not a number; it's a lesson.<div>
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Raw Fiction is five young women from the Bronx, Queens, Manhattan and Brooklyn. For now, that's all they know. They do not know each other and, perhaps, they do not yet fully know themselves.</div>
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I know pretty much why I started Raw Fiction and why it's important to me. What became evident in my structuring of the idea is that I could not be the one who decided how to define the project. It has to be them. But the big question is: What is important to them? </div>
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<div>
The Editor-in-Chief posed a great question after everyone left today - she did that after the Orientation too. She asked if there was space for chit-chat (my words) during the meetings. I wanted to know what she was getting at and dead-panned something about time management and that the field trips are better venues for team building. She was curious about what the others enjoy reading. It's a pertinent question that I told her I would negotiate into the next meeting.</div>
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However, on the platform at 34th Street I started thinking about books and writing and voices. What is important to these young writers? What makes them angry, ruffles their feathers, makes them spit and cry and scream? Or am I too late? Generation A for apathy? - But that's impossible with this group of self-starters. What kind of teenager jumps on board a boat with an unknown destination, a vague promise that they'll learn how to navigate the vessel along the way, and a novice interest in boating in general - A Raw Fiction teenager, that's who.</div>
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I know they've got original ideas inside. They just need to figure out what's really important to them. The Editor-in-Chief needs to declare what is meaningful.</div>
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Is making a voice public important? Of course. But isn't it much more important to make heard a voice that has meaning. And then we must define what is meaningful. However, if I try to interject too much then they might revolt and do something frivolous. Would that action of disregard for authority be enough? For me?</div>
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This week we started slow. Saw a bunch of glitches and worked around them. First question: what is the publication going to be? We need to know this before anything else happens. And we need to know this soon because, as the Project Manager just realized, planning takes time. A venue needs to be booked months in advance, not a month before. Speaking of which, I'm going to pause and go the SIBL page to reserve the room for next week.</div>
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We only took half an hour on Toni Morrison's "Moby Dick" essay and Kurt Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron" because ConEd decided to shut the library down early thus evicting us a half hour before we should have been ready. Therefore, I prioritized project planning over literary discussion.</div>
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Vonnegut's story just screams government control to me. However, our new Communications Director pointed out the aspect of people being silly. She's better than me, that's not fair. My goodness Vonnegut, you hate a whiner don't you. And as a society how do we cope with an imbalance of talent - we try to change the laws of nature. And Man shall always play God.</div>
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I didn't get them talking enough about Morrison's essay but I'm glad they read it, even if none of them enjoyed it. I'm excited to follow up satire with Manto and essay writing with ... hmm, who will it be? Blanchot? Lorde? Calvino? But that will be down the line.</div>
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Next stop is Sandra Cisneros.</div>
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I want to introduce them to as many ideas as possible without overwhelming them and force them to think about who they are and where they come from and then see where they stand in a couple of weeks.</div>
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I feel like this has been a terse but necessary entry. </div>
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A la prochaine. We're about to get regular again.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-41215701626029561312012-10-06T10:59:00.001-07:002012-10-06T10:59:23.306-07:00Confessions of a Writer/EducatorThe launch on September 15 went over really well. The readers were fantastic and the audience was thrilled.<br />
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My recruitment efforts leading up to the launch also led to exactly six young writers who are seriously interested in committing to the project. A lot of people are asking the question: "What if they flake out?" I'm more interested in, especially right now: "What if they don't flake out?" Why should I create unnecessary competition for something that has pieced together so organically seamless at the moment. Especially now that I can focus on other things, i.e. writing the curriculum, planning field trips and applying for a grant that could allow us to do a print edition.<br />
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So now what? For me, that is. What are my goals? For the past week I've been thinking about the repetitive nature of projects and what it means to found an organization. Yet, I must be true to myself first. I have always been adamant that this is not a project that comes from a humanitarian motivation. Youth and Brooklyn automatically conjure notions of charity. If anything I'm trying to counter that assumption. I'm doing art for art's sake with youth for my sake. I love teenagers. I love literature. I love the idea of creating a space where I can work with youth and expose them to writers and ideas I value while giving them the opportunity to incorporate these ideas into their own work and project.<br />
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Some people have been very supportive of my decision to keep this as solo event. Others have allowed me to humor them with a shrug of the shoulders and a "who knows" what will happen. But I feel there are those who just assume and expect that this is my life mission, so much so that it influences the way I view the project and myself. Thank goodness for this blog, where I can work out these dilemmas.<br />
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I'm a writer, first and foremost. Raw Fiction is a huge creative outlet for me. As a writer I am still learning and growing. I am adamantly an unpublished writer because I am not ready to be published. My work is not yet there. So, by doing Raw Fiction I can produce something that is much larger than myself and feel like I've done something worthwhile before slipping back into obscurity.<br />
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I am craving obscurity, as I write away on this blog, so public like a frog in a livelong bog. Even when I thought Raw Fiction could be an organization, or had to be an organization, back when I was first starting out and had no idea what I was doing, I knew I didn't want to be ED. I still don't. I don't want to do the same thing for years. I don't want to beg rich people for money in order to pursue my dreams. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with people who write grants for a living, or who are ED's of really great organizations that can only exist to help people because they can successfully convince the people with money to direct the money to them, but it is not my world. I can see no happiness at the end of that tunnel. I don't feel the rewards of it..... Unless, unless, it was for my own personal literary work.<br />
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In my searches for grants I've realized how many options there are for writers, women writers, black writers, queer writers and I want to look into those when this project is over. I've taught myself how to research and apply for grants, I want to take that skill and use it for my own art.<br />
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I think we all have to be completely true to our own hearts and ambitions. And it's hard for those of us who are queer activists. We want to fight for our communities. We need to. But how do we do that and balance our need to take care of ourselves and immerse ourselves in our art? That's another thing Raw Fiction is doing for me. I'm allowing myself to put all of my energy into this huge thing that is inherently humanistic and charitable no matter how much I try to say otherwise. No matter how much I will benefit from the personal and professional growth of it, it's a really "honorable thing to do," to quote a poet who I resented for saying it. But I can't keep doing it. This is not my destiny.<br />
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I am dreaming of the next steps. Of traveling somewhere. Of moving somewhere. Of writing something. Of getting a Master's degree, not because it's a last resort but because I would really enjoy it. The world seems so wide open and welcoming right now. Having come so far with Raw Fiction (getting it off the ground, meeting awesome youth who are excited about it, knowing it will be a success no matter how big or small) has given me the confidence to keep pursuing my dreams. To keep dreaming.<br />
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That's what I want Raw Fiction to give to all of its participants and audience members: We can follow our dreams and see them to fruition. And that in itself is enough to change the world.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-22244587486710795612012-09-08T08:40:00.000-07:002012-09-08T09:06:50.794-07:00THE CENTERThursday, September 6, 2012. 6pm.<br />
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I was presenting Raw Fiction at the <a href="http://www.gaycenter.org/" target="_blank">The LGBT Center</a> on W. 13th Street. It is one of the organizations that has been on my list from Day 1. People would ask me: Where do you want to recruit youth from? It's always been: schools and libraries, <a href="http://www.door.org/" target="_blank">The Door</a> and The Center, everywhere. It's one of the orgs that has been part of my New York awareness since I can remember, which makes sense because it was <a href="http://gaycenter.org/about/history" target="_blank">founded</a> the year after I was born.<br />
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I was excited that Olin, the Outspoken Views coordinator, had invited me to present the project to his youth in person. When I showed up people couldn't find him so I sat down and started reading. A few minutes later the cutest guy came over and sat next to me and asked what I was reading. He thought I was a new youth. The beauty of being 30 is that when someone takes you for 17 (based on your looks) it is a wonderful compliment.<br />
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I got a brief tour of the YES (Youth Enrichment Services) offices then Olin rounded up the young people and we all sat around a giant round table in the Outspoken Views meeting room.<br />
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Raw Fiction was the theme of the day and an agenda was written on the white board.<br />
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The first activity was to go around in a circle and introduce yourself with name, preferred gender pronoun (PGP), age and why it's great to be your age. Olin, 29, he, went right before me: (30, she, but I don't care if I get he because sometimes I dress like a guy and look like a boi or a boy from certain angles) and thought the best thing about being 29 is that he's not 30 yet. Lucky he's so cute. One more year Olin, I promise the thirties are the best decade.<br />
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The next exercise was an ice-breaker. A group story that manifests one word at a time from each participant as it develops rapidly around the circle. Censorship was not a question, these are teenagers getting to express themselves safely, in a fun and silly way.<br />
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Then I did my project presentation. Gave a Q&A. Think it went over well. The youth seemed interested but how does interest manifest itself into action, the ever-hovering question. I was impressed by their creativity, I hope they all come. One youth declared web programming was easy. HTML, CSS what? no problem. Give me that one. Sign them up! Take the talk to the walk and Mentor Darwin will get you there.<br />
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The writing exercise that followed my presentation was pretty deep and I was happy when the young man next to me asked Olin to re-read the prompt. Which went something like this: You are standing on the train platform when the train burst into the station the air gushing into you and filling you up like a helium balloon you are blown into the air and pushed into the tunnel but it is there you realize you have not ended up in the subway tunnel but near the core of yourself.<br />
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So I wrote a piece about stomping around like a happy explorer on my heart. The young woman who sat next to me probably inspired the planetary-like exploration by bringing her love of Octavia Butler to the table during the Q&A. Butler is not on Raw Fiction's list but she probably should be. The list will definitely be subject to change depending on the interests of the youth involved in the project. This same young woman is a great writer herself and I hope she comes through with all her friends to the recruitment event. Some of the youth chose to express themselves visually and some intense sketches came from the exercise.<br />
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Olin's job reminds me of part of the reason I am doing Raw Fiction, I love working with youth. Sitting around a table full of teenagers and inspiring them to express themselves creatively is really the best job I can imagine.<br />
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Plus, Outspoken Views isn't just a meeting group but they produce a publication every few months. So the youth who participate are welcome to hand in their work at the end of the one-hour session as a means of submitting work to the zine.<br />
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Before I left I received the gift of a couple of past productions:<br />
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Thank you Nicole (the Youth Project Director), Olin and the youth of YES for being such an inspiration to Raw Fiction!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-54165954296217319932012-09-05T20:19:00.000-07:002012-09-05T20:19:00.827-07:00LAUNCH INVITATION. WWW.RAWFICTION.ORG<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFkb0zDtDSJFSwadX8P8E8XJaNXZ5gpzkZclO8yrziuDGGaoWBj9aUouQaeMwlvG-LDbTTNBVcQKtOoTH_ue-mjiFoUywYGml4plPCQPJz2CrNzrjUsQMymcc2EfmTdtEvnwH8pGaxMsw/s640/Launch+image.png" width="542" /></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-52949398638194222912012-08-28T09:17:00.000-07:002012-08-28T09:19:52.834-07:00Ya-Ya Network, New York State Youth Leadership Council and PEN American CenterAugust 23, 2012.<br />
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My bicycle had a flat. I could have patched the tube and tried to ride it but the tires needed replacing and the <a href="http://www.bicyclestationbrooklyn.com/" target="_blank">bike shop</a> that I am religiously loyal to is closed on Wednesdays - I'd forgotten and stopped by far from public transportation in the shadows of the BQE or LIE or whatever that highway is that runs over Park Ave in Brooklyn.<br />
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I became a pedestrian for a day.<br />
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I work on Seventh Avenue between 28th and 29th Streets. I get out of work at 2pm. I had to be at an MSF goodbye party at a bar around the corner from the office (see image below) by around 5pm so I could get to a <a href="http://greenguerillas.org/" target="_blank">GGs</a> Reunion on St. Mark's Place by around 7pm. It was a sad day (see image below - the sunshine of the office was departing for the field) but a business day.<br />
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I was doing the pavement pound: spontaneous interruption of grassroots youth advocacy orgs in action. If I was from a different time with a different kind of upbringing I think I would have enjoyed being a door-to-door salesman.<br />
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First on the list: <a href="http://yayanetwork.org/" target="_blank">YA-YA Network</a>. Just around the corner on 29th Street.<br />
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Stepping out the elevator, I walked into a wide open space where a group of teenagers was gathered enjoying their last day of the year as community organizers for YA-YA (Youth Activists - Youth Allies). I was given a platform and told to sell my product to the youth. Would they buy it? We'll see, I hope I recognize some of their activist faces at the launch in a couple of weeks.<br />
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You can't really see my outfit in that photograph but I probably do look like some sort of a queer salesman with a vest, no sleeves, a tie with Yogi Bear and my generic fedora. Not to mention super-city hoop earrings. And my baggy boy jeans in an early state of disintegration. The hole in the crotch not yet noticeable.<br />
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Second on the list: Southbound to Lafayette and Bleeker to walk in on <a href="http://www.nysylc.org/" target="_blank">NYSYLC</a>. There was a buzzer and an intercom. I walked up a couple of steep flights of stairs. Found their suite and was met with curious but dismissive glances from a busy staff in a narrow office each at his or her own computer working efficiently. I commenced my pitch, a little bit breathless not really caring what effect my fedora and Yogi Bear tie would have on these gritty activists. One of them kind of looked at me and asked if I was in the right place. Yeah, I said, a bit breathless from the stairs. And got through my pitch, their eyes turning toward me with a bit more attention, one woman especially interested. This would be her niche. They took my flyers and said their thanks. I said mine and headed to<br />
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Third on the list.<br />
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<a href="http://www.pen.org/" target="_blank">PEN America</a>. The literary giant of Freedom of Expression. Heroes. Icons. Lots of straight white people having debates about how to have more people of color and women on their panels. I don't think they have progressed the argument so far as different sexualities, trans-identified ... I mean, they're still working on women in leadership positions. But still, an international force to be admired. They're huge, founded in1922 and still manage to avert missionary styles of speech. I mean, their president from 2004-2006 was Salman Rushdie and he founded the PEN World Voices Festival in 2004, so that's pretty much my knowledge of the organization. Which is a beautiful angle.<br />
<br />
I found their Broadway building and went in and the young security guard pulled out his book to tell me PEN's floor. Shaking his head and commenting on how he could never remember which company was on what floor. He was cute.<br />
<br />
I had to wait a minute for one of the two old-fashioned elevators to descend for me to then ascend to the 3rd Floor.<br />
<br />
Immediately across the elevator bank was a closed door with a sign PEN American Center. Easy find. There was a bell that I rang and nothing happened. I tried the door. It opened. I entered. There was a high reception desk to my right and a wall of cubicles preventing a deeper view of the office. And then an open space on the left. A small conference library looking space. But memory is funny and this happened five days ago so who knows what the office actually looks like. There was no receptionist to be seen. No sound of clicking keyboards, rustling paper or murmuring voices. I thought if I walked in there would be empty desks and computers turned off. It would have been too much like a Paul Auster novel based in New York City turns into a Haruki Murakami novel and when I left the building I'd end up in the sewers of Tokyo.<br />
<br />
So I left my propaganda on the reception desk which had a few other stacks of paper on it, perhaps from months ago. Maybe no one had been in the office since the World Voices Festival. Maybe I'd stepped into France or Germany and everyone is Out For August (OFA). And I left, in tact, still in New York City and with the low hopes that my project would be circulated amongst their young writers.<br />
<br />
All in all I walked about seven miles that day. Participated in an MSF send-off to be remembered. Speeches and messages read aloud from Blackberry phones to say you are our light, we'll miss you. Then to a grassroots organization reunion at Grassroots Tavern and made connections with community garden activists while drinking pitchers of beer and shooting darts with grace, if not accuracy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-74882559154106812792012-08-22T18:53:00.002-07:002012-08-23T09:54:38.638-07:00African Voices, A Bike Ride Up Frederick Douglass Blvd, Charan P. Morris and Akeema-ZaneTuesday, August 21, 2012.<br />
<br />
I had a meeting with LAMBDA fellow poet and high school teacher <a href="http://charanp.com/" target="_blank">Charan P. Morris</a> at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AstorRowCafe" target="_blank">Astor Row Cafe </a>at 4 o'clock.<br />
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I finished work at 2 o'clock so I decided to ride up the West Side Highway and swing by <a href="http://www.africanvoices.com/" target="_blank">African Voices</a> to personally invite <a href="http://blackcelebrationawards.com/news-journalism-nominees/carolyn-a-butts/" target="_blank">Carolyn A. Butts</a> to Raw Fiction's <a href="http://blackcelebrationawards.com/news-journalism-nominees/carolyn-a-butts/" target="_blank">launch</a> at <a href="http://www.fivemyles.org/" target="_blank">FiveMyles</a> on September 15. The magazine shares an office with the NAACP and as I sat next to this driven editor and journalist I couldn't help but conjure W.E.B. DuBois and think about <a href="http://teachingamericanhistory.org/library/index.asp?document=1116" target="_blank">The Crisis</a>. Harlem in the early 1900s, in the 1920s. Harlem a century later: Red Rooster and Starbucks, The Apollo and H&M, The Library, The Schomburg Center, rent prices going up while community staples are shutting down.<br />
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<a href="http://www.huemanbookstore.com/" target="_blank">Hue-Man Bookstore</a>. I rode up Frederick Douglass Boulevard. It has a bike path etched along the side - I love how powerful the bike lobby is in this city.... if only those people could rally for our schools and social services then we might actually see some progressive change. Instead they get lanes carved into roads that push out ancient business owners because they are now safe roads in safe neighborhoods attracting all sorts of safe people. The city needs more bike lanes so Harlem's jazz legacy can eke out a living based on the generosity of bussed-in tourists.<br />
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I saw Hue-Man Bookstore. An empty storefront. What will move in? A real estate agency? A Five-Guys burger joint? An organic restaurant? Owned by how many people who have only been to Harlem once?<br />
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I passed the building that once housed Hue-Man Bookstore and I felt something akin to disillusionment washing through my gut.<br />
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I crossed 125th Street and continued north. On my right appeared <a href="http://www.amsterdamnews.com/" target="_blank">Amsterdam News</a>. Inspiration resurfaced and an idea for a really cool field trip was planted.<br />
<br />
After getting a coffee and chips from the deli I go to when I go to <a href="http://www.nypl.org/locations/schomburg" target="_blank">The Schomburg Center</a> and sitting on somebody's stoop watching people coming and going from the Countee Cullen Library I popped into the Schomburg to see what was up in the front gallery. <a href="http://www.nypl.org/locations/schomburg" target="_blank">Gordon Parks: 100 Moments</a>. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/08/arts/design/08parks.html?pagewanted=all" target="_blank">Gordon Parks</a> was the first black artist to produce and direct a Hollywood film, "The Learning Tree."<br />
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A lot of thought and inspiration can happen in two hours. As can a lot of cycling. I rolled down to 130th and locked up outside of Astor Row Cafe, named for Astor Row which is the nickname for the stretch of semi-attached <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astor_Row" target="_blank">row houses</a> along the south side of 130th Street between Fifth and Lenox.<br />
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There are some people that you know you're not going to get a lot of time to talk to so it's important to make the most of the conversation. Charan P. Morris is one of those people. She is a straight-shouldered, straight-talking kind of poet, performer, educator. And I wanted to know what she thought ... about education, community, gentrification. I wanted the reality check I knew she'd be able to give me. She, like me, speaks without smiling when she's passionate, her eyes clear and vision focused.<br />
<br />
College: Everyone should have the opportunity to get there.<br />
Literacy: Our youth need to learn how to read and think critically. Literacy is necessary in high schools because our elementary schools and middle schools have failed our youth and continue to push them out toward adulthood.<br />
Charter Schools: No. Not a solution.<br />
<br />
The Future:<br />
Charter Schools, Bike Lanes and Red Rooster<br />
<br />
The Past:<br />
Hue-Man. Public Schools. Baldwin.<br />
<br />
But not if we can incite change. How? I don't know. But it won't happen unless we try.<br />
<br />
After eating a toasted sesame baguette filled with mozzarella tomato and avocado with an iced hibiscus tea, discussing Raw Fiction and the logistics of connections made I said goodbye to Charan and headed back to The Schomburg to meet up with Akeema-Zane and catch the <a href="http://www.nypl.org/events/exhibitions/moneta-sleet-jr-photojournalist" target="_blank">Moneta Sleet, Jr.</a> exhibit in the back gallery. Glorious photojournalist. Rosa Parks. Lena Horne. Martin Luther King, Jr. singing and playing piano with Coretta Scott King and their daughter, Bernice. Eartha Kitt and her baby, Kitt. Haile Selassie.<br />
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Akeema took me to <a href="http://www.shrinenyc.com/" target="_blank">The Shrine</a>. We caught up. Recollected about a movie seen and totally forgotten over a year before. It was a French film she remembered. African. Cote d'Ivoire. And out tumbled a loose storyline of images of love, betrayal, violence, obsession, lesbians, homophobia, friendship, exile and a heroic return. Who called Jared Diamond a racist? We spoke about her love for Octavia Butler and disbelief in the universe. I hate outer space and all discussion of conquering("exploring") it but I love the universe and her energy, even when she completely baffles me with her lessons and methods of interference. Imagine though. We've never been to outer space. There isn't even an outer space. No man on the moon, Curiosity is zapping some dust on a rock that is floating around in our very own atmosphere. Man has duped himself into believing far more absurd impossibilities than the existence of the universe, our planetary system and life outside of earth.<br />
<br />
What is the purpose of mankind within a universal context? Probably insignificant.<br />
What is the purpose of the individual within a universal context? Irrelevant.<br />
<br />
What is the purpose of mankind on the planet earth? Arbitrary.<br />
What is the purpose of the individual on the planet earth? To be significant in his community.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-9051295957025761792012-08-21T09:43:00.000-07:002012-08-21T20:30:54.090-07:00exalt youthI was prepared. I had flyers and brochures printed, I had my wallet, the sky was clear and I'd left my bike at home. There were no train delays and I exited at Borough Hall, found Remsen Street sans ado, went through two friendly security guards and found Suite 1000: home of <a href="http://www.exaltyouth.org/" target="_blank">exalt youth</a>, the most exciting organization I found without referral. I found them on <a href="http://www.idealist.org/" target="_blank">Idealist</a>.<br />
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exalt's mission:<br />
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<strong><em>exalt</em></strong> is
premised on demonstrated success showing that substantive, supported
internships can be powerful catalysts and incentives for youth to pursue
their education and employment goals. Our mission is to transform the
lives of court-involved youth by equipping them with the skills and
experience necessary to become self-sufficient members of society.</div>
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<strong><em>exalt</em></strong>
fulfills this mission by providing a cohesive program with four
components: employability and life skills training; paid internships in
youths' fields of interest; post-internship skill development and
support services; and an alumni network that provides ongoing access to
education and career development support and resources.</div>
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Instead of sending an email I decided to show up unannounced on a Friday afternoon and introduce myself to a receptionist. What a presumption I made! I walked right into an office in action. There was no front desk and there was a lot of movement of very well-dressed youth and staff. They were preparing for graduation. The energy was high and focused. Despite my intrusion I was greeted pleasantly and I was welcome to state my business.</div>
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Luckily enough I'd opened the door on Gisele Castro, the Director of Programs and External Relations. When she said her first name I recognized having seen it on the <a href="http://exaltyouth.org/theteam.html" target="_blank">website</a>, right below the name of Founder and Executive Director, Sonja Okun. I started describing my project and Gisele saw connections and movement and opportunity for the youth who were about to graduate. I hope something can come of it, if there is a youth in their midst who is interested in writing I can only be confident that Raw Fiction would benefit from the skills and community awareness he or she would bring to the table.</div>
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I left feeling rather exalted. Headed up Fulton Street barely taking in the commodity lined blocks and bustling Brooklynites, thinking about what I was doing with Raw Fiction. This one time project. So many organizations struggle endlessly to keep their doors open, and I really don't believe I have the personality type to endure a long-drawn battle, but one time, is it really enough to make the difference I want to see, to create the debate I hope to inspire and to learn the skills and theory I seek to develop?</div>
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<a href="http://www.maketheroad.org/" target="_blank">Make the Road</a> by walking it and you will find your path.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-70322748017432269812012-08-20T09:51:00.000-07:002012-08-20T09:51:09.285-07:00Still Waters in a Storm, Make the Road & the day I rode nearly 40 milesThe first time I contacted <a href="http://www.indiegogo.com/stephenhaff" target="_blank">Stephen Haff</a>, Chief of <a href="http://www.stillwatersinastorm.org/" target="_blank">Still Waters in a Storm</a>, a reading and writing sanctuary in the volatile, big-hearted neighborhood of Bushwick, Brooklyn, was in March when I was still trying to figure out how exactly I was going to pull off Raw Fiction. He was immediately welcoming and told me when the best time to stop by would be. The day I attempted to ride out to the small schoolhouse on Stanhope, I wound up with a flat tire while crossing the Williamsburg Bridge and then got so caught up with my own work I never made it back to see the school.<br />
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Five months later I finally made it to this haven for happy children. One day later than expected because of the rain it poured on Wednesday. What was the universe trying to tell me, I wondered? And I almost didn't make it again. And then I almost didn't make it on Thursday, 16 August, 2012 because I left my wallet at home. I didn't realize I'd left my wallet behind until I was going to pay at the<a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/east-4th-street-copy-shop-new-york" target="_blank"> print shop on E. 4th Street</a> that only charges $0.39 for a color copy as long as you get 100 made. Plus 100 black and white double sided prints at $0.15 a pop. And haha, Mr. Independent Business Owner, I forgot my wallet and can't pay you for that $55 order.</div>
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Liton, the owner of the copy shop, was a lot more calm than I was and didn't accept my phone as collateral preferring to send me racing off to Brooklyn on my bike with my phone and his number in case anything came up. Hooray for good people! One hour and 10 miles later I was back, paid and had exactly an hour (minus 3 minutes) to get to Stanhope before 5pm.</div>
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I felt dizzy, my temples were pounding, my throat was parched. I knew I needed water but I was too spaced out to go in and buy some quickly so I snapped my helmet strap under my chin, threw my leg over my trusty black Mercier and headed for the Williamsburg Bridge. I took Broadway to Flushing and my adrenaline was so high I was flying past cars as I sprinted into Bushwick, and then I flew too fast past, way way past, Irving then Wyckoff, the cross streets, past Metropolitan before I stopped and thought, I've gone too far. Retraced my steps, legs growing muscle with every pump of pedal, and I made it, with 15 minutes to spare.</div>
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I locked up and walked into the store front school house with curtains and children's art work dressing the windows. I walked into a party, a festive scene with delighted children and relaxed adults. A table display of different kinds of cake stood as the centerpiece to this end of summer party scene. Stephen Haff, with blondish wisps of hair under his cap, came forward to greet me. The Chief of Still Waters, an appropriate title for this gentle soul who is at home in Bushwick with gleeful youth swarming around. Unfortunately, programming for teens is no longer available so his connection to that population is limited.<br />
<br />
Stephen referred me to an organization called <a href="http://www.maketheroad.org/" target="_blank">Make The Road</a> which was not too far away. I went directly, dehydrated and on the verge of delirium but my adrenaline was so high I knew I could do it. Luckily I had to wait a few minutes before a youth power project organizer could meet with me.<br />
<br />
I really must remark upon how graciously I've been welcomed into all the organizations I've interacted with. Me: sweaty and wild-eyed on Thursday or soaking wet from thunderstorms the previous day at <a href="http://www.centerforblackliterature.org/" target="_blank">The Center for Black Literature</a>. People are willing to meet me, sit down with me, hear what I have to say. "I'm doing a project for youth, I want to give them professional skills." "Sure, come on in, let's hear it." It's all about the opportunity, the youth, the community.<br />
<br />
So, I had a few minutes to cool down. I drank some water and collected my thoughts. When Jaritza came out to meet me she led me through the offices to the youth section. I confessed my lack of knowledge for the organization and had only just stopped by on the suggestion of Stephen Haff of Still Waters in a Storm. I was given a brief tutorial of what Youth Development means to Make the Road: activism, community involvement, knowledge of social and political issues. In their words: Make the Road New York (MRNY)* builds the power of Latino and working
class communities to achieve dignity and justice through organizing,
policy innovation, transformative education, and survival services.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.nyclu.org/issues/racial-justice/stop-and-frisk-practices" target="_blank">Stop and Frisk</a> is a big issue for youth. For those of you who don't know: "The police are stopping hundreds of thousands of law abiding New Yorkers every year, and the vast majority are black and Latino."<br />
<br />
One of their big project is creating a newspaper written by youth in Brooklyn and Queens.<br />
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Young people thinking about and reporting on everything:</div>
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Not only am I doing my best to establish an idea and create a project that is inspirational I am realizing as I go along that I have been seeking inspiration and by going out, pedaling around, pounding the pavement, I am meeting and seeing the passion and drive that gets so overlooked by most forms of popular media and I am inspired.</div>
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I am thinking a nice aspect of the launch could include a table at which Brooklyn organizations can leave their flyers and information, get people signed up to their email lists and create connections with like-minded people doing social justice work all over Brooklyn and New York City. Launch meets Recruitment meets Networking event - with something of a chilled out carnival feel.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-51289328853366906172012-08-16T09:22:00.000-07:002012-08-28T04:11:29.149-07:00LJ Walker, The Center for Black Literature and Susan KentI've been busy finalizing paperwork and creating head space for clear and concise thinking and I haven't blogged in ages. I've been superficially surviving raw fiction but I need to explore the depths - by writing.<br />
<br />
This week has been busy. I interviewed a writer who is about to enter the 11th grade. I connected with the <a href="http://www.centerforblackliterature.org/" target="_blank">Center for Black Literature</a>, I went to <a href="http://www.southerndiscomforts.com/" target="_blank">Susan Kent</a>'s monthly event: <a href="http://tellitbrooklyn.com/" target="_blank">Tell it Brooklyn</a>, and had an involved conversation with <a href="http://theomnivorous.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Erica</a> about the meaning of collaboration.<br />
<br />
This is going to be a long and healthy post. I am going to find myself here.<br />
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Let's start with the interview. Had I mentioned this is not my first. Do you know that the goal is to find a web programmer before the launch even happens? In July I met with a young programmer who does not want to have to commit to anything. His name is <a href="http://wfatp.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Georgiy</a>, a son of Eastern European immigrants, and was referred by <a href="http://www.igotittoo.org/" target="_blank">iGotITtoo</a>. A nonconformist to an enviable degree. Even Darwin, the mentor to the Web Programmer, a model citizen who fits in from the country club to the projects, Wall Street to OWS, elite athlete to star at the bar, and so on. Even Darwin was envious of this young man's sense of freedom and inability to conform to the positive learning space that <a href="http://www.rawfiction.org/reading-and-writing.htm" target="_blank">Raw Fiction</a> offers.<br />
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This past Tuesday candidate number two met me at the Brooklyn Public Library. He was another direct referral: a young relative of a woman I work with. He goes by the pseudonym of <a href="http://www.booksie.com/LJ_Walker" target="_blank">LJ Walker</a> and self-publishes on a website called booksie. He's ahead of the game almost too much so, but I would love to radicalize his mind. He's perfect except he is not community-centric. Which then makes him perfect because it presents a challenge, and I like challenges. And he's confident enough to know that he doesn't want to be brainwashed by a radical like me so I could fail. I don't like to fail.<br />
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This situation kind of reminds me of the woman whose memoir I'm transcribing, but in reversed roles. She completely respects who I am but she is Saved and wishes I too were saved. She tells me about the love of Jesus Christ and I know she's not proselytizing at me but sharing and wants to open my heart. As a community activist I feel like I am saved (from the corporate materialism and conformist mentality of the system) and I don't want to force a sense of independence, freedom or nonconformity on anyone, I just want to share it and for it to be embraced unhesitatingly.<br />
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I'm flyering. Olin at <a href="http://www.gaycenter.org/" target="_blank">The Center</a> has been a glorious connection. Yesterday, in the pouring rain I met Maeshay K. Lewis, Program Director at <a href="http://www.mec.cuny.edu/" target="_blank">CUNY MEC</a>'s Center for Black Literature, who went out of her way to put up copies of my flyer before I'd even delivered them. Thank you Olin, Maeshay and Erica of <a href="http://www.hmi.org/" target="_blank">HMI</a>! And Stephen Haff of <a href="http://www.stillwatersinastorm.org/" target="_blank">Still Waters in a Storm</a>, who I didn't see yesterday because of the rain and didn't meet in March because of a flat tire, but I will definitely, come sea monster or heavenly plague, make it into Bushwick today!<br />
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There's something disorganized about my efforts of outreach. It's inexperience. Timidity. Funding. Know-how. But I'm learning and getting the hang of it and being received well by strangers who care about the community as much as I do and are working for and running great organizations and programs. I would fall flat if it wasn't for this giant interconnected community that genuinely wants the best for the youth.<br />
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But I'm doing it. I even put flyers for the launch reading on random people's tables at Susan's event last night. I need to digress.<br />
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How cute is Susan Kent?! She hid behind the curtain all night so when I saw her briefly it was hard to take in the whole ensemble. Pigtails and hoops. There was a jester cheerleader to her look that was neither mocking nor to be taken seriously. One just wants to sit and chat and look into her eyes and flirt with her all night long. Alas, she has a job to do. Alas, she has a girlfriend. Alas, I'm just a kid to whom she had to explain Flyering at a Bar 101.<br />
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Can I digress again? Erica. I've already swooned in a number of past posts. But last night she was wearing a white, 1950s kind of conservative and classy dress. Skirt length, button down. Her hair evokes the passions of our Civil Rights Era. Her intertextuality of style is contemporary: New York City radical to be reckoned with.<br />
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And how do I find my way back to the thread of this post? I've thoroughly distracted myself. Zahra, why are you doing this project? I wanted to meet all the greatest women in New York, why else?<br />
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Oof, and that takes me back! Erica is contemplating becoming Raw Fiction's Project Consultant. If she had more time to offer I'd make her Executive Director because this girl is like come on Z, get on track, put it on paper. Share the theory, define the vision. And she tells me this in such a way I can totally hear her. Surprise surprise, I don't work well with everyone, I'm incredibly motivated and headstrong and often end up hurting other people's feelings. Other People's Feelings. Ha, that should be the name of my band. Or rather, I'm not even capable of hurting other people's feelings so I keep my mouth shut and then become all repressed and irritable so I end up hurting other people's feelings because they think I don't like them. And it's not that at all! I do really really like most people. I just don't like working with them. Teens are different. I love working with young people because they are just downright honest and I feel like I can be myself.<br />
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Fleshing it out, getting it out.<br />
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So, Erica needs me to write a job description for Project Consultant, Description of the Project, Motivation behind the Project, Mentor Outlines, Fundraising Plans, Expectations for the Youth, Expectations for Myself: What outcome will satisfy me. Let me throw in a timeline to the launch with it.<br />
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DEFINITION!!!!!!<br />
Thou art the bane of my sense of arbitrary experience.<br />
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But I'm going to do it because it will be necessary and important. In order to sell this and get some grant money I need visibility with vision.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-70705649669772252882012-07-26T18:16:00.000-07:002012-07-26T18:16:01.998-07:00Making Paper at the Brooklyn Hi-Art! MachineToday I learned how to make paper. It might be a surprise to some who know my politics and perspective and building/plumbing tendencies that I've never gotten into making my own clothes or paper; I don't compost; I don't belong to a community garden. I have no CSA. There are a lot of things on my to do list for being a model citizen.<div>
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It was hot in Brooklyn. And on the shady side of the street, under two tents, a few tables stood waiting to be surrounded by the young and old of the community, and <a href="http://www.oasaduverney.com/" target="_blank">Oasa</a> sat sketching the boy who faced her on the other side of the table. A group of women and children walked ahead of me, we were all destined for this community project. <a href="http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/2067776369/brooklyn-hi-art-machine-2012" target="_blank">The Brooklyn Hi-Art! Machine</a> is a public art project serving a neighborhood that is being ravaged by gentrification (pause ... think about the fantastic use of words) and today a woman and her 10-year-old son George came out from Queens to conduct a paper making workshop just up the block from where I live.</div>
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I've kind of known Oasa for a couple of years and when I ran into her at a Farmers' Market vegetable stand I commented on the kickstarter for her project that I'd heard so many good things about but had never managed to visit and participate. I had three days to donate and they'd gone over their goal so she suggested I do a workshop. I didn't manage to donate and so I offered to do a workshop. Conversations via email: I think when my writerly verbosity communicated with her artist laid-backness glitches happened and I didn't end up doing a workshop. I could have but I also kind of bailed out.</div>
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Today, finally, the second to last day, I managed to make it to the awesome public art project that happens a few blocks away. And I learned how to make paper. And I met a ton of young people and helped them learn how to make paper, too. I wound up engaged in a rather in-depth and exclusive conversation with a young'un. His hair was to his shoulders and in his eyes. </div>
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This is how it started:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS38dGMZxO8bWBhfZV5UYKpaoHWWrX5prpaDBRnpKRKtoLdi84W4ifxcg8waeWeTfTK2fJfJIOjU411yYwdvR1iEjdN_W7buCtbyIROa1GVheBcbmCk8JPZkLkxwWTQsnshSq6Zv3ijHQ/s1600/IMG_20120726_151916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS38dGMZxO8bWBhfZV5UYKpaoHWWrX5prpaDBRnpKRKtoLdi84W4ifxcg8waeWeTfTK2fJfJIOjU411yYwdvR1iEjdN_W7buCtbyIROa1GVheBcbmCk8JPZkLkxwWTQsnshSq6Zv3ijHQ/s1600/IMG_20120726_151916.jpg" /></a></div>
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What does life smell like? A few of the young, little people were looking at these buckets equipped with maps, a word and instructions to smell.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8bSEaL2g9sQggzin8e1uwCkgRBtZ-QXedrv5XiwwbySdEXHUI1i8q5eimwa-d76s5yWRCPynFXmHJRXa2mtb5NL-zwPKXgu6BIu0AQTZykVLGQeuYgiuW7TbeiH37mbEU9JxW-i3zVk/s1600/IMG_20120726_151847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8bSEaL2g9sQggzin8e1uwCkgRBtZ-QXedrv5XiwwbySdEXHUI1i8q5eimwa-d76s5yWRCPynFXmHJRXa2mtb5NL-zwPKXgu6BIu0AQTZykVLGQeuYgiuW7TbeiH37mbEU9JxW-i3zVk/s1600/IMG_20120726_151847.jpg" /></a></div>
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Life. Freedom.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rFM6YQM2dRZF0NJxE4m0GLtR9_WYLkUyOG3baV0gh_xGEq4iA8HdADOtCly6JSDvlCy_snKQnGza_8CMoNxlmC5Q-EeO7J5LjJxFWrOYMyfzzep07v7d33qWrfagKfkUzdb1Pf35ZTc/s1600/IMG_20120726_151901.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rFM6YQM2dRZF0NJxE4m0GLtR9_WYLkUyOG3baV0gh_xGEq4iA8HdADOtCly6JSDvlCy_snKQnGza_8CMoNxlmC5Q-EeO7J5LjJxFWrOYMyfzzep07v7d33qWrfagKfkUzdb1Pf35ZTc/s1600/IMG_20120726_151901.jpg" /></a></div>
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Humility and Respect.</div>
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What does life smell like I asked? What about Freedom. </div>
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"Freedom smells like cinnamon and salt."</div>
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Marcy, my new friend, was getting a bit high on Freedom. </div>
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They weren't sure about life. Life smells like a pizza parlor, I said. </div>
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I'd already explored the interactive art piece. And had written down my own answers in the little book I carry.</div>
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Humility is the sweet smell of love.</div>
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Respect: a forest carpet of pine needles after the rain.</div>
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It's always flattering when a random kid takes a liking to you. He showed me the tins he'd painted the day before that belonged to a masterpiece of connected cans of different sizes painted by the people on the block that looked like a necklace for a giant (he understood my imagination, I need to talk to kids more, I made a mental note) and we got to talking about making paper and the art project they did yesterday and summer in Brooklyn. He was telling me about his dog. Who was at home, and then, no at the vet. Why? I asked. And he said something that may well have come from his imagination.</div>
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I used to have a dog, I said, got her when I was just a bit older than you. How old were you? He asked. Nine, I said. How old are you? Seven, he said. But then he became 8 and a minute later he was nine. I honestly have no idea how old this boy is, his arms were so skinny and frame so little but he couldn't have been too little because his language, however mumbled and at times really hard to understand, was good. My guess is seven.</div>
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Oh, it's my birthday in three days he said. He'd forgotten he was eight and is going to be nine in three days.</div>
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I'm not going to reproduce the conversation but it was fantastic. Random. Creative.</div>
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At times I was thinking, does he realize that I know he's making all this shit up?</div>
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At times I wondered if he was thinking, does she realize that I'm making all of this shit up?</div>
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Except maybe he wouldn't have thought "shit."</div>
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From dogs to superheroes to block association presidents with exclusionary rules.</div>
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Eventually he went off to play with the other kids. And I asked Oasa if she'd like to do portraits at the launch. She will. Thanks, Oasa!</div>
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And thank you to Mildred the Hi-Art! collaborator. The world needs more accessible art workshops on the street and we all need to contemplate the scent of Freedom, Life, Humility and Respect on a regular basis.</div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-52948274975923217302012-07-23T17:36:00.000-07:002012-07-23T17:36:03.960-07:00The Evangelist, The Holy Spirit, and an Old Idea Come New InspirationOn Mondays I volunteer for the Women's Press Collective. They're located at 12th Street and Second Ave in Brooklyn. You can call them at 718.222.0405 for more information, they don't have a website. Their organizing style is old school and personal. Today I came in to volunteer and they offered me an opportunity.<br />
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Lisa was driving to Fort Greene to pass out magazines to small business owners and managers to try to recruit sponsors. I was the one who was going to jump out of the car and give them to the employees to give to the manager/owners. Middle people, always makes me think of the children's game telephone - will the message arrive in tact, will it be wholly distorted or will it get disconnected? However, there was another incentive for me to be a part of this, to meet L., an elderly woman who lives in Fort Greene.<br />
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L. has lived a life. She was a gospel singer who had her esophagus taken out but still sang at the Brooklyn Tabernacle on a momentous night. She was a mother for the four months of her infant's life. Her husband was a merchant marine who was on water more than land. She was baptized by the Holy Ghost and visited the Brooklyn Hospital for over 30 years and prayed for thousands of people and witnessed miracles. She is a living miracle, she calls herself the bionic woman.<br />
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L. has a story to tell. And I am going to help her write it. Literally, because she doesn't type and can barely hold a pen to write. I cannot imagine being blessed with a more honorable task.<br />
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But that is not all that happened today. While I was sitting in her living room, crying at some of her stories, taking in the knickknacks acquired over a lifetime, and trying to figure out a good way to start the transcription I was inspired. Raw Fiction should incorporate the older generation.<br />
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It's not a new idea for me. When I worked for <a href="http://www.greenguerillas.org/" target="_blank">Green Guerrillas</a> there was an emphasis on cross-generational learning and shared experiences. So when this idea of Raw Fiction came back to me in January it was still heavily set in three parts - writing, development and community -- and my launch event was going to include youth and elders sharing stories. However, the community took a back seat for a while. It looked like too much on paper. But if the summer component revolves around youth publishing the stories of community elders then that would be a truly beautiful thing. And I don't think I'm going to give an option. I think that is what I will do because it is the most valuable thing we can do, for ourselves and for our community.<br />
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Goodnight moon.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-75826982836968573832012-07-11T08:50:00.002-07:002012-07-11T12:03:56.111-07:00James the iMentor and an ELNYA panel at Smack MellonI'd been looking forward to meeting James for a couple of weeks before our schedules finally meshed. We were to meet at six and I finish work at two. So I had some time to spend in the city. I decided to make photocopies of the brochure I'd finally finished and walk around a bit. Finding a photocopy shop proved harder than I'd imagined because prices were much higher than I'd imagined so by the time I gave up and decided to get a very late lunch I'd already walked a few miles in city heat.<br />
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There was a pizza place called Artichoke on E. 14th St between 2nd and 1st Ave that caught my eye. I wondered what time it was and pulled my Blackberry from my skirt (yeah, I was wearing a skirt, and I'm wearing one today and I wore one on Monday, too) pocket. Somehow it slipped from my hand and landed on the concrete. I wasn't too worried, Blackberrys, unlike blackberries, are known for their durability. So when I picked it up and the screen was white without a crack or scratch in sight I did what anyone else would do. First I tried to turn it off and then I took the battery out. No cigar. I'd broken my phone. The next hour made me think of Murakami's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1Q84" target="_blank"><u>1Q84</u></a> and I believed I could well have stepped into a coexisting parallel universe and the dead phone was the glitch that made it happen. But I wrote about that in my journal and this blog is no site for fiction.<br />
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The relevance of the broken phone is that I was about to meet someone I had never seen a photo of. He'd seen a photo of me, however, my gmail blogspot rawfictionfacebook photo is a me with a fro. I have short hair now. So I ran to a library and sent an email to let him know I had no phone, however, brilliantly, I failed to mention my hair and my outfit. So, when I got to Think Coffee, I was on the lookout for a potential James. There was a man sitting on a high stool at a high table and I thought, he could make a good James, but had an arrogant air about him. I bought an iced coffee and wandered around the tables. There was a guy in the back who looked like he was waiting for someone, he had no coffee or treat and looked nervous and a little bit scared. We made eye contact but I really didn't want him to be James. So I went to the front and took out my colorful brochure and flyer that I hadn't made any copies of and put them on the counter. Yes, I am Raw Fiction.<br />
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A couple of minutes later a dashing, laid-back man walks in. His energy was immediately warm. He didn't necessarily look like he was looking for someone but I wanted him to be James. I caught his eye (he was looking for a woman with a fro so it didn't immediately register that I could be Zahra) and brought his attention down to my flyers. He smiled, we shook hands. Whenever I'm around men with ideal physiques the feminine in me is immediately summoned and the masculine in me feels a sense of camaraderie (not that I have an ideal physique, but I think I make a cute boy/boi when I dress like one). He was wearing a grey t-shirt and navy shorts, we could have been in his living room with a couple of cans of beer watching a game; that's how comfortable he looked. And his appearance didn't contradict his personality. He's totally the kind of guy you'd be thrilled to have mentor your kid. And! he's into healthy (<a href="http://www.slowfoodnyc.org/" target="_blank">slow</a>) food.<br />
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We sat down and I pitched my project. He asked questions and suggested that he take it to the staff of <a href="http://www.imentor.org/" target="_blank">iMentor</a>, an organization that pairs adults with teenagers across the city. They have about 2500 young people in their network, it's very possible a young writer is amongst them just waiting to benefit from project Raw Fiction. Thank you, James!<br />
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This is going to be a long blog. But yesterday was a long day full of like-minds and positive energy.<br />
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After parting from James -- boy-Z wanted a hearty handshake, girl-Z was all about the hug and awkward-Z just smiled foolishly and said 'how nice to meet you' more than a couple of times -- I headed home to change into my favorite shorts with lots of pockets, got on my bicycle and rode to Dumbo.<br />
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<a href="http://www.smackmellon.org/" target="_blank">Smack Mellon</a> is located under the Manhattan Bridge across from Brooklyn Bridge Park - Main Street. It's an artists' space and was hosting an <a href="http://www.elnya.org/" target="_blank">ELNYA</a> panel on connecting professional artists with teen artists. In a nutshell, it was a panel about mentoring artistic teenagers. I went with my friend Erica, of the <a href="http://www.hmi.org/" target="_blank">Hetrick-Martin Institute</a> (to read more about her see the blog with Erica in the title), thanks for the heads-up on this awesome event!<br />
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I'd say the most important thing that was said that I want to remember is to never forget that ART IS FREE OF AGENDAS. This was emphasized by Johnny Ramos of <a href="http://www.dctvny.org/" target="_blank">Media Fellows</a>. Yes, realistically, we have to pitch our ideas to schools and to funders so our project descriptions cannot truly be agenda free (even Raw Fiction which attempts to circumvent agenda language but I'm gonna have to get in it dirty to apply for a grant) but when facilitating arts projects we have to remember it is the art that matters. Not the corporate savior jargon and pro-college, pro-institution, pro-conformity agenda. (Not that I'm necessarily anti all these entities, I just think we're all individuals and have independent needs.)<br />
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It's the same with mentoring, it's the bonds that are made that matter. It's what the mentor learns from the mentee and what the mentee learns from the mentor. The dynamic of relationships matter more than the goals written on paper.<br />
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Another supportive idea that was raised was Jobs Training in the Arts. "Engender a sense of pride - their work is good enough to be sold," said Hannah Berson of <a href="http://www.exploringthearts.org/" target="_blank">Exploring the Arts (ETA)</a>.<br />
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Yes, not just asking for grants but working to make a profit, attempting to self-fund. Which is impossible but an important part of managing a budget. What can we earn on our own? This project is a worthwhile business not a simple charity case.<br />
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The arts are gold and mentoring is priceless.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-34182288133350782562012-07-02T09:40:00.001-07:002012-07-02T09:40:14.394-07:00Hey Eugene! The MoMA and First Generation Writers in a Post-Artists' WorldI met Eugene in June 2008. Our mutual friend, the chef with a PhD in literature, the third arm of my imaginary 2004 band The JMZ, the woman who visited me in Seattle and Lorient, Mademoiselle Jennifer X. Cho, introduced us. Jen knew Eugene from being Korean at NYU (they were in different years and departments) and I knew Jen from being an English major in AmeriCorps. "So you want to be a writer?" was my nervous pick-up line to this gorgeous heterosexual before she became the renowned Chef Dr. And we started a writing group that more often than not wound up in bathtubs and bars where real writing happened sitting in a circle on a kitchen floor and our imaginations bounced off rooftops and along the banks of city rivers.<br />
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Eugene studied business as an undergrad and got his MFA in fiction at the New School. He loves Borges and Nabokov and was reading Dickens on his kindle yesterday when we met up at the MoMA. The last time I went to MoMA was with Eugene and we saw the German expressionists, Kathe Kollwitz and Picasso's guitars. This time was less exciting but it's still a New York museum, it's not bad. There's a good collection: the Monet room and sculpture garden, Picassos and Kahlos an Elizabeth Catlett and a wall of Jacob Lawrence. It's a way to spend a day.<br />
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I met Eugene in the summer of 2008. I had been living in France and a few weeks before I came home for the summer I got an email from Jen asking if I wanted to write for a project her friend, Eugene, was putting together. It was the Alexander Lim Project. Lim was an imaginary sculptor who broke boundaries and acquired fame, however, the material he used in his work was toxic and he gave himself lung cancer and died prematurely. The participants in the project were to write critically about the life and death of this celebrated and misunderstood artist.<br />
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Awesome, I thought. But I was moving home, didn't have a job, didn't have much money so how was I supposed to focus on writing? Had to. No one in their writer's mind could resist being a part of this project that culminated in a reading of all the participants. It was brilliant and absurd. A superb afternoon.<br />
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Eugene and I have managed to keep in touch over the years. Our early adventures focused on readings and drinkings. We've branched out to museums, Brooklyn and more food than booze. We're growing up, we've written novels we're passionate about but have families and lives and responsibilities that are maybe more important than dreams because dreams will always be there. Comparisons are odious (says Jack Kerouac) and first gen Scottish is definitely different from first gen Korean, but the chosen exile is similar, our parents wanted out and moved to the States and gave their children different opportunities. I feel like I've gone on a sentimental tangent that is more irrelevant than . . . thus I end.<br />
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I'm thrilled that Eugene will be reading at the launch event on September 15 at Five Myles Gallery around 3PM or so.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-1203559163006220872012-06-11T20:21:00.000-07:002012-08-28T04:12:50.132-07:00Erica, The Hetrick-Martin Institute and how I saved a babySunday was PS1 and Astoria, Queens.<br />
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Before heading out, just before noon, I called a friend (this person will remain anonymous) to see if I could swing by for her MoMA member card. She answered the phone with a voice in pain and self-pity, "Hello?" she growled in greeting. It was a brief conversation with many giggles on my part and much whimpering on hers. Thankfully, she was able to make it to her door with the Van Gogh decored card in hand. She showed me the bruise on her forehead, I giggled some more and bid her well as she frowned at the hot and clear day she was missing.<br />
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I must admit, abashedly, I'd never been to PS1 and hadn't realized how just off the Pulaski Bridge it is, how just over Newton's Creek she lay. All I had to do was roll down Vanderbilt, make a right on Flushing, race up Kent, merge with Franklin, make a right on Eagle (which I missed and had to detour), fly over the bridge, merge right on Jackson, and bickety-bam! I'm there. Locked my Mercier to a pole with my brand new Kryptonite triple reinforced U-lock ... long story but couldn't go without mention. No one likes to drop 100 bucks on a lock because theirs suddenly malfunctions ... nuf said.<br />
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I saw her arriving before she stepped through the door, was unsure for a second, had imagined a different height, but yes, that tantalizing mouth, it was certainly the woman I came here to meet. Erica was wearing a dress of earth tone yellows greens and browns. Her smile mischievous. Her laugh not always appropriate but contagious.<br />
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We'd made it to the second floor, via some uninspiring installation, with a Mondrian grid she noted, before we discovered the most random of connections: Hagerstown, MD. Her hometown rang a bell I couldn't immediately identify. Ah, yes. Our processing center! The international humanitarian agency that I work for has its donations' processing center in Hagerstown, of all places. And, apparently, people are from there. And it's Amish country. And no, Erica is not Amish, I'm assuming. All this discovery against the backdrop of Rania Stephan's film posters of busty Lebanese women. Post an artso-political Lego people evoking Adam and Eve computer sex talk in English as a shaky second tongue, by Frances Stark.<br />
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We were most notably moved by <a href="http://www.paris-art.com/photo-art/resisting-the-present-mexico-20002012/edgardo-aragon/13292.html">Edgardo Aragon</a>'s <i>Efectos de Familia</i>. Part of the video sequence made me recall Le Tigre's Bang Bang and sent shivers through my body. Going upstairs we got some <i>Better Energy</i> from <a href="https://www.google.fr/search?q=esther+klas+art&hl=fr&rls=com.microsoft:en-us:IE-SearchBox&rlz=1I7GGLL_en&prmd=imvnso&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=qqzWT6bBFoj30gH_xO2wAw&ved=0CGMQsAQ&biw=1024&bih=544">Esther Klas</a> with an uplift in mood upon contemplating her curious concrete sculptures and comical plaster casts.<br />
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Leaving the museum whose staircases are decorated by silhouette nightmares and thought evoking images of exodus, heading up 23rd St. under the 7 tracks, we got to talking shop. What is Raw Fiction? What is the ballroom scene at the <a href="http://www.hmi.org/">Hetrick-Martin Institute</a>? What does it mean to work for a well-established and well-funded organization - the limitations and the freedoms? As we moved into Astoria our conversation moved toward the changing of neighborhoods, hipstuppies and yupsters, their trendy restaurants and the neighborhood nightclubs where the ethnic Europeans dance together.<br />
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A fellow writer, traveler, French speaker, youth advocate, over-tipper (yes, she's served tables, too), actress who can carry a tune, to be a reader at the launch. Wonderful, couldn't have asked for a better introduction to a like-mind. So nice meeting!<br />
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Oh yeah, and I saved a baby too. Sunday morning. Near the Grand Army Plaza fountain. Her dad just turned his back and walked a few steps away waiting for the dog to do his business in the ivy grass and the stroller started rolling down the incline toward the steps. The child, maybe two, maybe not quite two, made no sound but donned her hat to me when I planted my foot against the stroller wheel and stood patiently in front of her waiting, longer than you'd expect a dad to have his back turned to his baby in a stroller. His response when I stated my reason "It was rolling" bluntly to his surprised face: Oh thank God her mother didn't see! And we nodded a smirking goodbye as I sat to watch the fountain and get some sun medicine, wake up and inhale calm.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7762794472854135188.post-8194236968290011372012-06-07T09:55:00.001-07:002012-06-11T20:22:27.796-07:00Shawn(ta), Women's Press Collective, Thunder Clouds and the Universe AnswersYesterday I met Shawn(ta), my favorite youth librarian, in the industrial setting of Lowe's parking lot and the Gowanus Canal. I was early and went for a wander along the oily canal, sat on a bench and gazed at construction trucks tidying up a pile of scrap metal as cars and trains silhouetted the sky on highways traced against a western backdrop of darkened clouds bulging threateningly around the sun. To the east blue skies and fluffy clouds alluded to a wonderfully warm spring.<br />
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Shawn(ta) was wearing the dress she'd bought at BAM's Dance Africa Festival the day she discovered the Women's Press Collective. Yes, she discovered, but not like the explorers and conquerors of yesteryear but as the afroqueer of the present. Our lady called out to the universe: "Universe," she cried, "guide me, I need something new. Being a youth librarian, academic librarian, lesbian archivist, story corps archivist, co-producer of <a href="http://www.riversofhoney.com/">Rivers of Honey</a>, a monthly cabaret for women of color, founding co-editor of <a href="http://www.hersaturnreturns.com/">Her Saturn Returns</a> anthology, queen of okcupid, in a serious relationship and about to embark on a second master's in creative writing, is not quite enough!" She takes a breath, closes her eyes and feels the universe listening. "I need something new. I want a writer's collective. A women's collective, but not queer. Not strictly of color but not solely white women. A working class women's collective, founded and established and running strongly. Something that goes back to the end of the Civil Right's Era, the radical that was born as the nation settled into the material apathy of the 80s."<br />
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So the universe gave birth to WPC. An organization of women volunteers who started by helping women farm workers of the UFWTexas put their voices in print. Flyer creation and article writing.Voices that need to be heard are given the support to organize and get others to hear them - hmmm, sounds a bit like Raw Fiction, only larger scale and driven by a real political goal of bringing the socio-economic bottom up to a livable standard so no one can fall into disrepair if they hit bottom. Wow. Good job, universe.<br />
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"Asante sana," Shawn(ta) thanks the universe.<br />
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At my weekly visit to the BPL youth section, to check out flyers for teens and catch up with the latest from the sexy librarian, I was invited to go meet the women of WPC. Not only is this going to be useful for my project - they have a whole system dedicated to supporting member projects and they offer trainings in using printing presses and software - but I'm going to meet so many inspiring women who are engaged in their own grassroots projects.<br />
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The young woman who gave Shawn(ta) and me the orientation is called Courtney, looks early twenties, is super knowledgeable about printing, farm workers, WPC, Sojourner Truth, and living outside the system. She also had really cute hair: messy short twists. She is a full-time volunteer. She receives no wage, eats what is in the kitchen and sleeps where there is a bed on offer. Wow. We stepped back into radical history. There is no religious doctrine to this, nothing cultish, just straight-up badass philosophy. Word.<br />
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And they know what they're doing with recruitment. We enter and we're filling out volunteer forms. We leave and we're given dates and times to return. The next step: what WPC can do for us. So I'll be going in at 10am on Saturday morning to talk about my project and learn what they can do to help me. I'm going there to get inspired and, hopefully, to inspire.<br />
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Also, the rain poured while we were on the inside and it let up when it was time to leave. Thank you, Madame Universe, you are loved and respected.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07964068744071341667noreply@blogger.com0