I did blog. Sometimes more than twice a day.
But I also got lots of sleep and exercise. I got my hair twisted up, so for the first time in months it looks “manageable.” That has to count for something. But I’m going to “try” to hold myself to blogging once or twice a day because I have some writing projects I need to finish. I recently met a literary agent and if I don’t fix something up to send to her my best friend Tiffany will never allow me to live it down.
My attempts to get a literary agent back in California were abysmal. Mostly because everyone was trying to get a literary agent back in California. Being a relative unknown did not help. So it’s not everyday that I sit next to one at a Democratic fund raiser. Now I have to put my manuscript where my mouth is. Part of me is still afraid that I’m too … um … unconventional to get a deal. I’ve been told that I’d probably have a better shot if I wrote about black women who make bad love choices but then get their “Tyler Perry” happy ending after all. But I don’t write those kind of books. So we’ll see how this goes.
I might have one “Hey, homegirl, let’s go pray on it” manuscript lying around. Of course it’s more of a “Hey, homegirl I’m going to purposefully destroy yours and other people’s lives and relationships for sport because it fulfills my ego and my sick notion that marriage is a sexist prison that destroys women and all men are without redemption or morals, and then, for the hell of it, here’s a bunch of miscegenation fear-mongering, psycho-sexual drama in the background.”
People would buy that book, right? Especially if I put a trifling black woman in a skin tight red dress on the cover an entitle it, “Ghetto Hymns of An Inner City Jezebel.” That’s not what the book is about, but that would trick a few people into reading it.