JUNIOR ACHIEVER: A Novel by J. A. Faulkerson (Excerpt)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am feverishly working on my new novel “Junior Achiever”, but as I write, I, at times, like sharing a little something-something with my fans. What follows is nothing but a taste. Just know, I’m endeavoring to allow Junior Blevins, my main character, to share the steps he took to build his own platform for success.

To PEEP & PURCHASE some of my older titles, visit https://jafaulkerson.com/store/.

Silence as Roma took a few more bites from her sandwich.  As she chewed, I almost felt compelled to say something about the fact that she did not offer to fix me one.  In that moment, my heart was just too heavy. 

I peered over at Roma as she continued to consume her sandwich.  I noted her dress – black, loose-fitting shorts and a matching sports bra.  She had just gotten home from swim practice at the high school.  I found it difficult averting my gaze, as my eyes lingered over her moderately pimpled face and toned body.  Her head rose and she stared back at me, her toothy smile a clear indication that she knew I had been sneaking glances at her.       

“Your little brother gonna be mad at you,” she exclaimed with a chuckle.  “He done claimed me as his girl, you know?”   

“Are you?” 

“Should I be?” she quipped back. 

Her quick comeback caused me to rock back and forth in the recliner with laughter.   

“Answer the question, negro,” Roma said. “Should I be your brother’s girl, or should I be… yours?” 

I got up and joined her in the kitchen, standing at the head of the island directly across from her.  My hands were inserted into my sweatpants pockets.  I desperately wanted to give her a straight answer, but in that moment, I was at a loss for words.  I wondered how a relationship with her would work with Damian and I being taken into her parents’ home for respite, all to prevent us from coming into foster care.   

“What would your parents say?” I asked.  “Seeing us holding hands, kissing even?” 

“They wouldn’t know,” she replied, walking along the left side of the island to draw near to me.  “It would be our little secret.” 

She now stood in front of me, her interlocked hands resting on the island countertop.  I peered longingly into her brown eyes, getting lost in them as she stared back at me.   

I took a momentary glimpse at her pouty lips as my right hand reached over to cover her interlocked ones.  I then leaned in and pecked her on those same pouty lips.  When I drew back slightly, the expression on her caramel-colored face told me that she wanted a little more than what I was giving.   

That’s when she took matters into her own hands.  She grabbed the back of my neck with her right hand and pulled my mouth to hers.  When her tongue parted my lips and started swirling around in my mouth, I didn’t know what to do at first.  But then I followed her lead.  The swirling motion of my tongue started to match the swirling motion of hers.  But right as our French kissing intensified, the door leading to the garage swung open.  

I turned to my right, Roma to her left.   

There stood Damian in the open doorway – with Charley looming large behind him, his mouth agape – with an angry scowl on his dark face.    

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“My parents would have a fit if they had seen you locking lips with Roma,” Charley exclaimed moment later as we stood on the back patio.  “And you saw your brother’s reaction.  He up in his room, probably ballin’ his eyes out.  This ain’t gonna age well, dude.” 

I couldn’t shake the truthfulness of Charley’s words, but I also couldn’t shake my attraction to Roma, especially after discovering that these feelings were mutual.  But my heart ached for Damian.  While Roma considered his attraction to her as puppy love, 11-year-old Damian had real emotions for her.  Hell, Roma represented everything that was going well in his little world, his head really. 

“So, you’re saying I should back off, just ignore how I feel about her, how she feels about me.  Is that it?” 

“Yeah, man.  At least until Mr. Malcolm finds a new placement for your brother, you.  My parents find out, they gonna be sleeping with one eye open, the other eye closed.  Shit, now that I know, I’m gonna be doing that my own damn self.” 

“Why?  This has nothing to do with you.” 

Charley squared his shoulders with mine and proceeded to emphasize his statements with finger jabs at my face.  “Look, little nigga’, this has everything to do with me.  That’s why it has to stop now, ‘cause if I find out you knocking boots with my sister, I’m gonna break you in half.” 

Charley glared at me under a furrowed brow.  That’s how I knew he was serious.  I met his glare, then sheepishly looked away. 

He was right.  Our placement in his parents’ loving home was more important than my personal desires, which is another way of specifically saying my raging hormones.  But I also knew Charley didn’t want me being the reason Roma did not fulfill her fullest potential.  Like I said before, Roma was an over-achiever.  Even as a high schooler, she knew where she was going and what she wanted to do.  I didn’t have a clue. 

With that, Charley left me standing alone with my arms crossed on the back patio.  I sank into the corner of the back patio railing, the wooden plank pressing into my lower back and buttocks.  I faced the house, so when I looked up at Roma’s third floor bedroom window, I immediately spotted her looking down at me.  She pursed her lips to blow me a kiss.  I dared not blow one back, out of fear Charley would see me doing it.  Therefore, I shook my head somewhat vigorously and turned my back to her.  This girl, two grade levels ahead of me, was in hot pursuit of love, and I was that day’s designated prey.    

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Copyright 2024 Jeffery A. Faulkerson. All rights reserved.

Slaps and Kisses: Black Voters Beware

Last week, I watched as 12 jurors in Donald J. Trump’s election fraud trial convicted him on all 34 counts. Trump, the presumptive Republican nominee for United States president, is now a convicted felon. But to hear him tell it, this historic trial was nothing more than a blip on the screen.

His now being a convicted felon is significant, though.

Monumental really.

It is something that has never been seen before, at least in these United States of America.

The last person who was under this type of scrutiny was former president Richard Nixon, who submitted his resignation from the post before his term ended. Nixon was ultimately pardoned by his predecessor, Gerald Ford.

But what does it say about us, the Republican Party really, when you allow a man who is also facing legal jeopardy in Georgia and Florida, to even be allowed to take a third shot at the presidency, at being the Leader of the Free World?

What does it say about us when participants in the Fake Electors Scheme (in support of Donald J. Trump’s Stop the Steal Campaign) are being indicted in states like Wisconsin and Nevada?

What does it say about us when the insurrectionists who stormed the U. S. Capitol on January 6, 2021 are serving jail sentences while the person who lit the fuse, Donald J. Trump, is taking a third shot at the presidency, at becoming the Leader of the Free World?

It says more of us need to see the writing on the wall. Donald J. Trump and his conservative Republican acolytes are trying to play the U. S. electorate for fools, make us suspend belief in what our ears are hearing, our eyes are seeing.

Trump and his conservative Republican acolytes are quick to say that we Black people should more closely identify with Trump because U. S. jurisprudence has never been on our side. Disproportionately, Black Americans have been incarcerated at higher rates than any other racial/ethnic group.

Last I checked, though, Donald J. Trump isn’t Black, he’s white. As a white man, he is the beneficiary of unmerited privilege, while Black people have been browbeaten by past slavery, ongoing oppression and micro-aggressions since our Black African ancestors arrived in captivity on that Virginia shore in 1619.

So, why is he equating his real crimes with the plights of Black Americans and Black American criminal defendants?

Because the self-proclaimed emperor is now wearing no clothes.

In short, his fraudulent behavior is now on full display, and he’s afraid.

He seemingly wants us Black people to use our votes on November 5, 2024 to save him from being convicted and incarcerated. This desire seemingly is at the forefront of his mind, even though he and his conservative Republican acolytes were the proponents of campaigns that successfully terminated Affirmative Action, eliminated diversity, equity and inclusion programs, and banned books written by Black American writers from public schools and libraries. Ultimately, Donald J. Trump and conservative Republicans are undeniably endeavoring to dictate what we Black Americans can and cannot say about white supremacy, racism, prejudice and discrimination.

If you’re Black, this is all you need to know. Donald J. Trump does not have, and has never had, our best interests at heart. This is nothing more than another one of his con jobs. Consequently, any Black person voting for him on November 5, 2024 should have their Black Card revoked.

A person should never be rewarded with a kiss on the cheek when they’re violently and repeatedly slapping you across the face.

Donald J. Trump knows winning the presidency will give him the power to make his federal charges go away. However, he will still have to answer for his state-level crimes in Georgia, where he tried to pressure state officials to find one more vote than he needed to receive the state’s Electoral College votes.

Again, we Black Americans have been about the business of saving the nation’s soul since our Black African ancestors’ 1619 arrival. We, more than any other racial/ethnic group, want the USA to live up to its creed, that all men and women are created equal, that we have inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. A historical analysis reveals that we have fought back against our enslavement and oppression both violently and nonviolently. At the end of the day, the unconditional love and neighborly compassion in our hearts allows us to remain nonviolently resolute in our quest to work with like-minded individuals to create a more perfect union.

On November 5, 2024, let’s use our voting power to excise the cancer that is Donald J. Trump and irresponsible, conservative Republican leaders from our body politic.

Democracy and the Rule of Law must prevail.

No human being is above man’s law…or God’s law.

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“RETREAT OF THE CONQUERING OPPRESSOR” | A Poem by J. A. Faulkerson

To discover more titles by J. A. Faulkerson, visit https://jafaulkerson.com/store/.

You came.

You saw.

You conquered.

You oppressed.

But now you’re reeling, from the impactful but nonviolent haymakers thrown in the 50s and 60s by Rosa Parks, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Mamie Till-Bradley, John F. Kennedy,, Nina Simone, Malcolm X, Ruby Bridges, Lyndon B. Johnson and others.

You, Conquering Oppressor, are trying to hide your depraved state of mind…

….body…

…and soul…

…by telling anyone who will listen that your actions were, and continue to be, permissible because of our skin color, our allegedly being members of a subordinate and inferior caste.

But all you’re doing now is hiding your crimes, the atrocities you committed, and continue to commit, against other human beings.

You know full well these crimes were, and are being, committed in the light of day to advance your priorities, enrich yourself and individuals that look like you, the ones who wear their whiteness like a badge of honor. 

We see you.

Or better said, we see right through you, a soul devoid of compassion, an unwillingness to embrace us, your more compassionate neighbors.

Do you ask yourself why we, your compassionate neighbors, remain compassionate, neighborly? 

Why we default to nonviolence when it is within our right to violently lash out at you?

I’ll tell you why.

We love you.

As siblings bound together by the blood of the risen Messiah, Jesus Christ.

And because our Lord and Savior is both merciful and transformative, we believe you have the capacity to change for the better.

Better means you, Conquering Oppressor, will come to recognize that your unrighteous acts are driven by hatred, buoyed by a superiority complex.

Better means you, Conquering Oppressor, cannot go it alone, that creating a more perfect union is an all-hands-on-deck proposition.

Better means you, Conquering Oppressor, must develop the capacity to love again, to be faithful to our God, kind to your neighbors.

We see that you’re repulsed by what we’re saying. 

We see that you want to retreat to the silo that prevents you from hearing the wise counsel of the compassionate and the neighborly.

But actions speak louder than words. 

That’s why we stand before you now, arms spread wide, waiting for you to step forward into our hearty embrace.

We see those tears, a testament to your newfound compassion wanting to see the light of day.

Take that first step, toward us, your compassionate neighbors.

Accept this kiss to your cheek as I accept the one you’re applying to mine.

Redemption feels good, doesn’t it?

Welcome to God’s More Perfect Union.

Copyright 2024 by Jeffery A. Faulkerson. All rights reserved.

To discover more titles by J. A. Faulkerson, visit https://jafaulkerson.com/store/.

#BlackWordsMatter

Did you know that only six percent of traditionally published books among U.S. authors are written by black people?

I didn’t either until one of the organizers of the BLACK WORD MAGIC Authors, Illustrators and Publishers Fair made me aware of this fact during a lengthy telephone conversation in early August 2023. For the longest time, I thought this percentage was much higher, largely due to the success achieved by authors like Alice Walker (The Color Purple) and Terry McMillan (Waiting to Exhale), as well as the late E. Lynn Harris (Invisible Life) and Eric Jerome Dickey (Milk in My Coffee) during the 1990s and early 2000s.

While I had no reason to doubt the BLACK WORD MAGIC organizer’s report, I had to uncover these facts for myself. That’s when I came across an online article, written by Dimitrije Curcic (May 12, 2023), titled Black Author Statistics.

Curcic writes that while the number of black authors among U.S. authors stands at 6.28 percent, the share of black authors among all U.S. authors increased by 19.29 percent in 2020 compared to 2019. “With this huge jump occurring in 2020,” Curcic writes, “black authors were able to recover their 2014 numbers when it came to their share among all authors in the country.”

So, does this mean traditional publishers are more willing than not to publish books written by black authors?

Maybe.

When I continued my reading of Curcic’s online article, I learned that:

  • Over 10,727 black authors and writers are currently in the US as of 2020.
  • 2020 was great for black authors, as their number jumped by 20.38% compared to 2019.
  • This was also the first year in US history with over 10,000 black authors officially registered in the government database.
  • Before 2020, the number of registered black authors remained stagnant, hovering around 8,900 for several years.
  • Overall, since 2014, the number of black authors has increased by 21.88%, but it’s important to point out that basically all of these gains occurred solely during 2020.

The first question we black authors must ask ourselves is, “What costs must we pay to become published authors?” After this question has been answered, we must then determine if the black author-written books currently being sold are written in such a way as to not make white people feel uncomfortable. Knowing the latter will let us know whether the publishing industry continues to allow white prejudice, racism, discrimination and bias to determine which titles are worthy of traditional publication.

The Big Five Publishers – Penguin/Random House, Hachette Book Group, Harper Collins, Simon and Schuster and Macmillan – are not oblivious to the well-funded movement among white American conservatives calling for the banning of books promoting diversity, equity and inclusion.  They also aren’t oblivious to this assertion by white American conservatives that American teachers are teaching Critical Race Theory when they reference history specific to black Americans’ struggle for freedom, equal rights and protections under the law.  I write this because the publishing industry, just like the Oscars, has always been so white, seemingly suppressing black narratives so members of the white majority won’t be offended.

But know this: white audiences want to read these black narratives. The enlightened members of the white majority want to understand our struggle so they can work with us Blacks to right their white ancestors’ wrongs. More than anything, at least two-thirds of them want to stop the practice of harboring prejudice and bias toward us Blacks, for they know a focus on others (Blacks and other nonwhites) rather than themselves, their racial group, is the key to helping the American union become more perfect.

That’s why the banning of black books and the censorship of Black History are wrong. We Blacks did not achieve victories during Reconstruction and the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and ’60s to see a small group of unenlightened, white American conservatives cry foul about how these books and this history make K-12 children and adolescents hate their country. Truly concerned white adults recognize these statements for what they are – lies – and should want their children to read black books and learn Black History so their children can get in touch with their selfless selves. The selfless self demands that one do unto others as he or she would have others do unto themselves. In the words of singer Aretha Franklin, all we Blacks want is a little respect, public displays of sacrificial affection.

But as I sat at my vendor booth at the BLACK WORD MAGIC Fair, watching avid readers of all racial hues flip through the pages of their next great black reads, I concluded that more work needs to be done to get black books into the hands of a diverse group of readers, including Whites. While we black authors have an obligation to write stories that speak to black people’s experiences in America, the fact still remains that many of us black authors just want to produce content that entertains, educates and enlightens.

There are a number of black-owned and operated publishing houses. I found 191 of them on Troy Johnson’s African American Literature Book Club site. Johnson didn’t apply a ranking system to these entries (he organized them in alphabetical order), but ever since I started writing professionally, the ones that I have been hearing about the most are Third World Press, Just Us Books and Triple Crown Publications.

That’s why I’m a fan of the African American Literature Book Club.  Johnson created aalbc.com as a place where readers can go to discover books written by both traditionally published and independently published black authors.

But we black authors also need to feel like we’re part of something much bigger than ourselves. That’s why I’m also a fan of the Black Writers Collective and the Hurston/Wright Foundation.

The administrators of the Black Writers Collective are committed to helping us members share and help each other become published authors through a mutual exchange of resources, insights, and sharing of experiences from which we grow.

Founded in 1990 by author Marita Golden and cultural activist Clyde McElvene, the Hurston/Wright Foundation offers in-person summer workshops, virtual courses and award ceremonies that celebrate and amplify black literary voices. Named after esteemed authors Zora Neale Hurston and Richard Wright, both Golden and McElvene believed more needed to be done to promote and honor African American authors.

But the black-owned and operated company that has been most responsible for helping me get the word out about my books is BlackPR.com.  Founded by business entrepreneur Dante Lee nearly 25 years ago, BlackPR.com offers the most extensive press release distribution to the Black media that I have seen, and has served over 5,000 clients.

That being said, while it is true only six percent of traditionally published books among U.S. authors are written by black people, the fact remains that we black people are never going to stop writing, sharing our individual and collective truths. If we have the audacity to call ourselves creative writers, our intent is to produce written works that entertain, educate and enlighten. Once our written works have been produced, it is our hope there will be readers standing at the ready to support our efforts with their dollars.

To support my efforts with your dollars, visit my Amazon Authors Page.

A Reconciled Nation of Equals

Clint Smith’s book How the Word Is Passed bids readers to reckon with the history of slavery across America, but after I read it, I concluded that it does so much more.  In an era in which white American conservatives are championing campaigns to suppress black American history and stymie contemporary black American progress, it is a gut-check reminder that Black Americans’ struggle for life, liberty and happiness is far from over.  If anything, it’s only the beginning.

Smith trope’s is important to remembering the treacherous road we Americans have traversed just to get to a place where we can even consider the importance of treating each other with decency and respect, regardless of skin color.  While it is true that white Americans subjugated black Americans during the Transatlantic Slave Trade and the post-Reconstruction Jim Crow era, and the governmental leaders of these bygone eras tried to make amends for this original sin through the passage of legislation, the fact still remains that too many contemporary white Americans believe that enough has been done to correct their white American ancestors’ original sin. 

What Clint Smith makes clear in How the Word Is Passed is that today’s unenlightened segment of the white American majority is committed to perpetrating campaigns designed to suppress inconvenient truths about the Transatlantic Slave Trade and the passage of post-Reconstruction Jim Crow laws.  This historical suppression is in line with the conservative Republican Party’s voter suppression in states controlled by Republican governors and legislatures.  And they’re using the removal of Confederate statues in places like Richmond and Charlottesville to condition white Americans to rally around whiteness by falsely telling them that the removal of these statues is an affront to what their white American ancestors have built, these United States of America. 

But if they would start taking this line of thinking a few steps further, and understand what Clint Smith is getting at when he explains to us how the word is passed, they would recognize that the true change-makers and entrepreneurs were the enslaved Blacks whose uncompensated labor laid the foundation for what this nation is becoming, a more perfect union.  In other words, the United States of America was built on the backs of enslaved black Americans.  And the only way to truly perfect this union is to acknowledge their white American ancestors’ crimes against other human beings (black Africans), offer contemporary black Americans an apology for their white American ancestors’ crimes against other human beings (black Africans), and compensate the descendants of enslaved black Africans for the next 400 years through reparations.  More importantly, though, contemporary white Americans must believe wholeheartedly that all men, humans really, “are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Know this, the word that my black African ancestors passed to members of the contemporary Black American Diaspora is that we should use our righteous words and deeds to light the way to the kind of enlightenment that allows all of us to become a reconciled nation of equals.  

“On Homecomings” by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Originally published in The Atlantic, May 9, 2016.

In the summCoates Headshoter of 2001, my family and I moved into the Prospect-Lefferts Garden neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York. I was 25. My partner was 24. Our son was 11 months. Prospect-Lefferts Garden is a lovely neighborhood marked by quiet streets and some of the most beautiful architecture in the city. There are several blocks lined with perfectly preserved limestones and brownstones. There is a strong sense of community. Block parties are a tradition. And for those of us who fear the suburbs, Flatbush Avenue hums at the neighborhood’s border. When we moved into the neighborhood, it was predominantly black. A haircut was a two-minute walk away. Great jerk chicken was everywhere. My best friend from college lived on the same block. On Friday evenings you could find us out on his stoop with Jack and Coke in hand (which we drank that back then), watching the world go by.

Click here to read the rest of the story.

My Harlem Renaissance

20150717_102549TO PURCHASE J. A. FAULKERSON’S “ADINKRAHENE: FEAR OF A BLACK PLANET”, CLICK HERE.

On June 23rd, I received an email from Max Rodriguez, founder of the Harlem Book Fair, which, in 2015, celebrated its 17th year of operation.  He advised that my debut novel, Adinkrahene: Fear of a Black Planet, had been selected as one of three finalists for a Phillis Wheatley Book Award.

To say I was elated would be an understatement.  I was overjoyed, unashamedly floating above, and well beyond, the stratosphere.  But now that this news had been shared with me, I found myself sitting on pins and needles in anticipation of being named the First Fiction Book Award winner at the July 17th awards ceremony, which was held on the campus of Columbia University.

20150717_205819I didn’t win that day.  Neither did the other finalist, Amaka Lily, for Shifting Allegiances: A Nigerian’s Story of Nigeria, America and Culture Shock.  The award went to Nigeria Lockley for her debut novel Born at Dawn.

I think my 11-year-old son took this news the hardest. When New York Times bestselling author Omar Tyree announced the winner, my son exclaimed, “Aw, man! I wanted you to win!”

20150717_211503All I could do was peer over and down at him, a smirk masking my disappointment.  “It’s okay, buddy,” I told him.  “I’m honored from just being named a finalist.”  Then, without skipping a beat, I added, “Maybe next year, we can both enter something.”

He smiled at that.

20150717_140128What my son didn’t know was our NYC weekend would be special not because I was being considered for a prestigious award – even though it would have been nice to have won it.  It would be special because I was spending it with him.  Even before we boarded the Metro train on 72nd Street for the short ride Uptown to Columbia University, we had spent the early afternoon sightseeing in Times Square and eating lunch at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company.

While walking the streets in and around Times Square, I received a peace blessing from a Chinese monk.

20150717_141903My son marveled at the sight of a woman dressed as the Statue of Liberty (standing completely still for several, long minutes), and the Naked Cowboy playing his guitar, curbside, for his adoring female fans.

And I fought, to no avail, to avert his eyes as we walked past two women clad in body paint, high heel shoes and shiny shorts that left little to the imagination.

The next day, Saturday, we walked from the Hotel Beacon to the Starbucks across the street for breakfast.  After we received our breakfast orders, I explained the game plan to him. We would catch the Metro on 72nd Street for the short ride Uptown to 135th.  Once there, we would locate our vendor booth along a street next to the Countee Cullen Library for the daylong Harlem Book Fair.  From there, we would proceed to sell our books to the hordes of readers that would be swarming around our booth.

He nodded, letting me know he was game.  But then it happened.  It started raining, cats and dogs really.  All I could do was nod my head as my heart sank.  We had flown from Dallas to New York City to sell our books, and now we were going to be forced to contend with the rain.

The two previous times I had attended the fair, rain had never been in the forecast, only sunny skies and the accompanying heat.  Lucky for us, the rain went from a torrential downpour to a sprinkle.  And by the time we emerged from the 135th Street subway station, it had stopped completely.

20150718_112620_001Selling books at the Harlem Book Fair was a transformative experience for my son and me.  As people stepped to our table to inquire about our titles, we had to dig deep to give them good reasons to purchase them.  I told them that the first book in the Adinkrahene series is all about introducing readers to a new reality, one in which a select group of Black men and women (100 total) are lower-case gods, and they mainly use their supernatural abilities to establish peace and prosperity for all, not exact vengeance upon their enemies, the Anglo-controlled (but Satarian-possessed) Corporate Cabal.

20150718_170258My son told his readers that the Leaf Knight (from his The Leaf Knight Chronicles: The Knightly Origins) is an 11-year-old boy destined to fulfill a prophecy.  And when he added that the story and illustrations were all penned and drawn by him, these same readers didn’t hesitate to reach for their wallets (and purses) and pay him for autographed copies of his book.  All this proud poppa could do was smile, because it became crystal clear to me that, on this day at least, he would be the most popular author working under the Culturally Coded Content banner.

20150718_194015We celebrated that night by going Downtown to see the Broadway play Wicked. Seeing this play had been on my to-do list since my days as Director of the Bruce Wells Scholars TRIO Upward Bound Program (2001-2005).  That was more than 10 years ago.  But as I sat there, with my son, watching actors bring novelist Gregory Maguire’s words to life, I daydreamed about what life would be like to have stage and screen actors do the same for my novels, short stories and screenplays.

Only time will tell.  My son and I just have to keep doing what is necessary to grow as writers.

When I first started this journey, my goal was not to become a hack, kicking out book projects that didn’t add value to readers’ lives.  My goal has always been to produce creative works that speak to the relationships that we humans share, both individually and collectively.  Having my debut novel selected as a finalist for the 2015 Phillis Wheatley First Fiction Book Award lets me know I’m a good writer.  I must now be about the business of becoming a great one.

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