India.Arie: A Sista in the Spirit

Years ago, my dear friend Tanya was early in her medical residency, and had been a part of an emergency room team trying to save a man’s life; she felt his spirit leave his body. I think, as well, of my dear friend Gail, who christened me her “sista in the spirit” a year before she passed away ten years ago at the age of 34. I remember both occurrences now as I think about what it means to encounter someone’s spirit. For, even those who don’t subscribe to a belief in the independent life of the spirit recognize that there is something inside of each of us that holds our emotions, informs our philosophy, shapes our personality, and makes us who we…even as we grow, mature, and, eventually, die.

This past Saturday, I had the opportunity to encounter a very generous, talented, and wise spirit in the form of India.Arie. Ever since my first knowledge of her with her debut album Acoustic Soul, I have been a fan. (It’s why I felt moved to reference her in A Love Noire and again in Hunger; it was my small way of thanking her for her rich and evocative music.) Saturday was not the first time I had seen her live in concert, I had that pleasure twice prior: once with the release of Voyage to India, and the second time on the cusp of the release of Testimony Vol. 1, Life & Relationship. Both concerts were beautiful musical experiences that I treasure.

But this time at her New York City concert, I felt something more: from the voice so honest and the lyrics that just seemed to wash me clean. I squeezed Kevin, my husband, sitting beside me and he smiled in return. He felt it, too. Something big was happening.

It was the music, the songs, to be sure: “Wings of Forgiveness,” “I Am Not My Hair,” “Private Party,” along with her classic “Brown Skin” among many others. But it was her spirit—that part of a person that you feel rather than see—that permeated the space. It beckoned to each of us from our place along life’s journey and encouraged us be our best selves. As I sat there, I recognized a sista spirit in India.Arie.

I first encountered it when I received her email on the eve of Hunger’s launch saying how much she was enjoying the book. I was incredulous…and humbled. As a writer, I hope that the stories I weave resonate with my readers and offer them entertainment, encouragement, insight, and healing. So when I hear from any reader, it’s a gratifying experience, indeed. For me, India.Arie models the transformative possibilities of one’s art, something I strive for in my writing. So her compliments were a powerful affirmation for me that arrived at an auspicious moment in my own career.

It was meeting her after the Saturday concert—one spirit to another—that highlighted for me, once again, that life’s blessings often come in the form of people. India, the gifts of your spirit have touched me. Thank you for your generosity and for being courageous enough to be yourself: a beautiful black woman fearfully and wonderfully made who is touching life with her whole hand….

A Kinder, Gentler Condoleezza

Only this morning, an intrepid emailer to Black Ivy, the listserve of black Ivy League graduates of which I am a part, posed a question to the list: "Does the Secretary of State date?" She was referencing United States Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice's 60 Minutes interview last night with Katie Couric in which Couric devoted significant airtime to Rice's dating/personal life. The aforementioned emailer interpreted the line of questioning to be "inappropriate" at best, and (in a follow-up email) suggested that there may have been some gender bias. (Regarding the other big interview--Steve Kroft with Pakistani President Pervez Musharraf--she states, "No one asked him about how he met his wife, or what he does to relax after being threatened with bombing by the US gov't. I suppose what's appropriate for Georgie's bestest buddy, doesn't work for a world leader.")

And she's right. No matter how far a male world leader's popularity rating falls or how many grimaces and expletives he uses within earshot of CNN, BBC, and Aljazeera microphones--albeit unwittingly--he's not being asked what he plans to buy his honey for Valentine's Day. Even when said hypothetical world leader offers an unsolicited massage to another world leader--a woman--at the G-8 Summit, there's no talk of the sweet nothings that he might whisper into his lover's ear.

So a question (actually multiple questions) about Condi's personal life can seem to smack of sexism. Even if she approved the questions herself--as other Black Ivy members were quick to assure us has most certainly happened--this desire to show Condi's kinder and gentler side when the same wouldn't necessarily be the case if Condi were a man, even an unmarried man, does suggest a double standard.

Then, why is it happening? Why do we now know her workout schedule (and that she likes to sweat--at 5:00am--to the music of Cream and Led Zeppelin)? Why did she speak with such passion about her experience growing up in Jim Crow Birmingham, Alabama and share that she was playmates with one of the four little girls, Denise McNair, who was killed in the infamous bombing of a Birmingham Baptist Church when Rice was only eight years old. Condi's not new to the political stage; why is her human interest story getting mainstream airplay now? (I should mention that Essence magazine has done a feature story on Rice for their upcoming October issue.)

I'll leave the political opinions to political pundits who can spin a story quicker than I can say Condoleezza. But I'll say this: Dr. Condoleezza Rice is one of the most powerful, educated, and professionally accomplished black women in the world. She's also fiercely loyal to a president that many would argue is one of the least insightful and most polarizing of American presidents in recent memory. An odd pairing at best. His [disgruntled] political base is disproportionately populated by social conservatives and those with large corporate interests (this century's landed gentry). In our president's first term in office, then National Security Advisor Rice had succeeded in presenting her staunch credentials and fierce loyalty to Bush in a way that was above reproach (for his supporters) despite her membership in the black race and female half of the species.

Now, in his second term in office, George and his team are focused on the end-game: how to position his legacy in way that doesn't lose Republican votes come November's House and Senate elections and that paints his presidency with a forgiving and patroitic hand. Therefore, as further proof of her loyalty, Rice has taken up the mantle of softening the cowboy edges of our president--along with First Lady Laura--and is now emboldened to share her own softer side. She is a woman, after all, and women are often called upon to display these aspects of themselves when their man--that is, their president--is having a rough go of it. What a woman. Even Condi's blackness has been able to do a little something to boost Bush's image: by bringing attention to her experience growing up in the segregated South and overcoming the obstacle of racism, we on the receiving end may end up feeling that George W. Bush does indeed care about black people, thereby debunking the myth that the people left to fend for themselves in the hospitals and on the rooftops of New Orleans' most underserved communities in the wake of Hurricane Katrina just so happened to be black...and poor.

Beyond Fiction

The writing enterprise can be isolating and offers little feedback, so it's always a pleasure to connect to folks who have read (or plan to read) Hunger and A Love Noire when I make appearances and through email. Since I last blogged, I have been doing just that in both Atlanta, GA and my hometown of New York City.

My reading at Hue-Man Bookstore & Cafe on Wednesday, September 13th, proved to be an especially poignant exchange. Occuring just two days after the fifth anniversary of the 9/11 terror attacks, the reading's timing was auspicious since Hunger is set in the immediate aftermath of that terrible tragedy. What I didn't know was that two of the people present for the reading had had their own stories of escape from the World Trade Center. One woman, who described herself as a 39-year-old former dancer with an internationally renowed modern dance company and part-time emergency management professional, was vivid in her description of carrying injured people from the burning building and her own flight for survival--hauling an injured person across her back--when one of the towers began to fall. The floors, as they collapsed upon each other, sounded like handclapping, she said. And the trauma of that experience--of escaping with her life and turning to find that her supervisor hadn't managed to escape with his--and the memory of the sounds and smells continue to haunt her.

Another man shared his experience and that of a close friend who managed to escape from the 23rd floor. He also shared the news that a relative, who worked at Windows on the World, didn't make it out. Their stories--the passion with which they shared them and the intentness with which we listened--gave me pause. I was humbled by the fact that my novel had been the catalyst for this very necessary sharing. The dancer had explained that when she learned about Hunger and read about my own story of loss and redemption in the September Essence, she felt compelled to meet me. The connection she felt was beyond the fiction and lived in our collective human experience.

And on September 16th I again connected with a crossection of people, both through the Brooklyn Book Festival and later on that evening, at "A Lounge Noire," held at Frank's Lounge (a Brooklyn institution) and put together by outerboroMUSIC (producer of A Love Noire/Hunger: The Soundtrack) and Nouveausoundz. The evening event was slated to be a sexy and soulful Saturday night of music that featured Marlon Saunders and LEANiN6, both of the Soundtrack. But again, it ended up being more.

In attendance was Bob Davis, whom many know as the co-owner and creater of Soul-Patrol (along with his brother Mike). Touched by the display of family working together, Bob, sent a poignant reflection to his email list, of which I have excerpted a small portion:

"[...] So that's what the event was, it was a combination Book Signing, Book Reading and Nu Soul/Funk concert. However it was actually more because it was all hosted by Erica Simone Turnipseed and her husband Kevin Webb. Because of their presence it felt like a family gathering and therefore you couldn't help but leave with a smile on your face. It's always a nice thing for me to see couples working together, focused on a common direction and set of goals. It kinda flies in the face of how the mass media portrays Black families. Yet we know that the mass media has an 'agenda' in trying to portray Black families in the most negative light possible. So in addition to enjoying the hospitality provided by Erica Simone Turnipseed and her husband Kevin Webb, I enjoyed seeing the mass media myth about Black families once again being dispelled in REAL LIFE!!"

In a private follow-up message, Bob expanded on the powerful example of family working together on a shared goal. I was both moved and amazed by his observations. Surely I knew Kevin and I to be a husband-wife duo rolling out an innovative concept--the creation of a book soundtrack--to expand my books' market while also promoting the Soundtrack project and its artists. But until Bob put his thoughts into words, I hadn't fully grasped that Kevin and I were modeling something important, something potentially inspirational to people. I certainly feel blessed to be able to work with my husband in this way, but I hadn't realized that we were blessing other people through our model of marital focus and teamwork.

So, already this journey has been rich with lessons and revelations--for me and for others. It reinforces that what I do as a fiction writer reaches beyond the bounds of the page and touches people where they live. And for that, I am indeed humbled.

The Magic of Myspace

So, if I didn't know better, I'd think that I've suddenly become popular. In a matter of days--five days to be exact--I've become a friend to 64 people at last count. (And I've got 70--yes, seventy--so-called friend requests pending.) Such is the [virtual] world of Myspace. It's sort of like that house on Southfork Ranch that all the Ewings shared on Dallas. So much land (not unlike the world wide web) and yet they all shared the same house, with each individual (or couple) laying claim to one small room, each outfitted according to their respective tastes. Myspace is a 106,693,063-room house. Isn't the internet grand!

After never looking at Myspace only a couple months ago, I've spent maybe eight hours (and perhaps more) on it today alone: trolling for friends, spiffing up my space, trying to muddle through its design limitations, and lamenting what I've become. I mean, I'm not a teenager seeking friends for validation, nor am I single woman expanding her prospects for a suitable love interest. (Sistas, I've been there.) But in this literary climate of ever shrinking marketing and publicity budgets at major publishing houses including my own, my presence on Myspace feels very necessary to the success of Hunger.

So, HERE I AM. It's actually cool to "meet" so many people who seem to share at least some interests in common. But it's also deceptive. I mean, how many of us really have 64 friends? But things are different in cyberspace. (Things are also different in Hollywood, and on reality TV, but I digress.) So, I'm feeling at least momentarily popular, even though my husband has managed to amass 83 friends in about the same amount of time it took me to secure 64.

In a moment of bizarre reverie, I mentioned to my husband--who sat beside me on our living room couch, typing away on his Mac--that the phenomenon of acquiring friends on Myspace is not unlike the transmission of infectious diseases. You know, the whole "they told two friends, and they told two friends, and so on..." or, more insidiously, the way in which folks [belatedly] trace the sexual history of themselves and/or their partners to figure out how they got caught by an STD and realize that everyone has slept with everyone. But of course, Myspace is more pleasant than that. Or at least it should be. If used responsibly.

We'll see how long my zeal for acquiring friends lasts or when I'll finally "tip" and more folks will be sending me friend requests rather than the other way 'round. But for now, I'm digging it. And if it means that more folks will support my second novel, then I'll be more than pleased.

The Book Partay

There are book parties and there are book partays. I'm happy to say that the launch of my second novel, Hunger, fell into the latter category! With over 225 loved ones, artists, writers, filmmakers, book aficionados, and other assorted tastemakers feelin' the vibe at New York City's Crash Mansion on Tuesday, August 22, 2006, it was the kind of spirited, music-filled, happy people event that I had hoped for.

It was great to collaborate with my husband, Kevin Webb--executive producer of A Love Noire/Hunger: The Soundtrack--to make it possible. I could not have asked for a better partner! And the love was flowing with a strong showing of friends and family as well as an incredible group of fans.

Adding to the festivities was the musical showcase that featured artists from the Soundtrack. Playing to a standing-room only crowd, Gordon Chambers kicked things off with a medley of his songs (several from his own album and some popularized by the likes of Anita Baker and Beyonce), Marlon Saunders and his band Mood Control definitely heightened the feel-good vibe with funky rhythms and lyrics, and Leisa Johnson's voice blew folks away and had them calling for an encore. The musically ambidextrous LEANiN6, featuring a fearless Kevin Webb on vocals, took folks on a journey of the mind, heart, and soul. And Soulfege connected all points of the contemporary Diaspora with their fluid Afrobeat/reggae/hip-hop sound and conscious lyrics.

With books and CDs tucked under their arms, folks left only reluctantly but with the promise of being transported, once again, to the world of Innocent and Noire with a glass of merlot, their brand-new copy of Hunger, and the Soundtrack striking just the right note.

A Note About Katrina

It's the wee hours of the morning and I'm fresh from watching When The Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, Spike Lee's chronicle of the tragedy that was Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and neighboring areas. This time last year, I was stationed in front of CNN, watching the Hurricane ravage the Gulf Coast, but still ignorant of the destruction that was yet to come, once the levees broke.

There's more to say (and much more to do) about this natural disaster cum national tragedy on its auspicious first anniversary, but for now, I'll simply state that Katrina's aftermath confirmed for many that the worst forms of indifference, neglect, incompetence, and racial and class bias still live in this country.

Mmm...searching for an appropriate segway. Difficult at minutes to 3:00 in the morning....

Well, I must say, I'm happy to be here. Here in the world, with my second book, Hunger, only a week old (more on the book release party and soundtrack in the next post), and here in the blogisphere chatting with (to?) an unknown number of people. It's good. It's always a good thing when people who care about other people get together in cyberspace, I think. But right now, this good person is going to sign off, thankful to have a warm bed to share with my loving husband, and with a prayer for the survivors of Katrina. I'm wishing them a special good night.

Introducing Hunger

In the captivating follow-up to A Love Noire, heartache fans the flames of lust when freethinking Noire and Innocent, her urbane African ex, reunite.

Noire and Innocent are both having a thirtysomething crisis. His former identity as a successful investment banker and eligible bachelor has disappeared. A beleaguered graduate student, she's got no money, no man, and no Ph.D., yet. A year of predoctoral research in Haiti leaves Noire drained. And a trip home to Côte d’Ivoire offers Innocent little more than intermittent sexual gratification. In the aftermath of 9/11, Innocent and Noire are back in New York City and find solace in each other's bed. But even that arrangement collapses under the weight of Innocent's revelation that he has unfinished business in Africa. For Innocent and Noire, patching together their unraveling lives becomes an exercise in hope and humility.

With Hunger, Turnipseed lives up to the promise of A Love Noire and has matured into a writer who fearlessly explores the intersection of sex, love, identity, and loss in a cross-cultural context.