Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Katniss Everdeen, Tris Prior, Clary Fray, Hazel Grace Lancaster. What do these all have in common? They are all characters from popular YA Novels. But they are also all white, and this is problematic because Black, brown, indigenous, and other kids of color need to see themselves reflected in the books they read.
Introduction
Science Fiction (sci-fi) is a fascinating genre with an endless possibility of worlds to explore. However, you won’t often find many brown or Black people like me in them, or anyone who isn’t an allo, cis, het, white male. And this is a shame since blerds (Black/brown nerds) are starving to see themselves as space captains, genetically engineered super soldiers, or mutant superheroes.
At its heart, sci-fi is about exploring the human condition through the wonders of science and technology, so why then are people of color often omitted from these stories? As with most things, history provides an insight.
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Orcs and elves, vampires and werewolves, angels and demons—you’ll find these creatures and more in Fantasy novels. But what you’ll seldom find are people like me: Black and brown folks. But why is this? It’s not as though people like me don’t read and write in this genre; you have fantasy greats such as Octavia E. Butler, N.K. Jemisin, and Charles R. Saunders. And in recent years there has been a push for more diverse books in every genre, so why the hold up with Fantasy? This post aims to answer this question.
First, we must examine the history of Fantasy.
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If you grew up Black, then you’ve probably heard it said, “If time travel is ever invented, no Black person will ever go back beyond the mid ‘60s because of racism. While funny, this anecdote holds much truth as prior to the Civil Rights Movement Black and brown people had to deal with Jim Crow, lynchings, homes and churches being fire-bombed, and in general being treated like crap. And before that they had to endure the horrors of slavery.
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It’s February, so once again history teachers will be dusting off their syllabi about The Civil Rights Movement in honor of Black History Month. On the surface, focusing on Black history for a whole month seems a worthwhile endeavor, until you realize the same figures get trotted out every year: Meager, Malcolm, Martin, and Rosa Parks being the chief ones.
Dig a little deeper and you’ll find that Black History Month is really an excuse for white people to alleviate their white guilt for the shortest month of the year. Then they go back to ignoring Black people and their issues outside of posting #BLM and related hashtags, all while maintaining systems of white supremacy that they benefit from.
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Dear gay white males:
When you slide into my DM’s with, “you’re pretty cute for a black guy,” realize this isn’t a compliment. It’s a microagression and worthy of a black eye.
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Destiel Denied: On Supernatural, Queerbaiting, and Bisexual-erasure
Recently, Supernatural ended after fifteen seasons, but not without controversy.
For those unaware, Supernatural was a fantasy series about two brothers, Dean and Sam Winchester, who hunted supernatural creatures. Following the monster-of-the-week formula perfected by Buffy and Charmed, Supernatural was a mainstay of the WB network and later the CW network. And its hunky male leads Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles drew in female and queer viewers alike year after year.
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I Am Not Your Ken Doll
Introduction
To the uninitiated, the most popular genre of books is romance—stop laughing. These much-derided books rake in billions of dollars each year and have subgenres such as so-called Mommy Porn a la Fifty Shades of Grey, Paranormal Romance featuring werewolves and other creatures, or Portal Fantasies like the Outlander series. In recent years there has been an explosion in male/male romance or M/M Romance to its ardent fans. Heralded as progressive and ground-breaking by some of its readers, these can contain some problematic tropes and themes, which I’ll discuss in this post.
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It’s January again, which means a new year filled with new goals and dreams. The first month of the year gets its name from Janus, the two-faced Roman god of beginnings, endings, and transitions, among other things. You can read more about him here.
And it’s at this time of year the days grow longer with the hope of spring on the horizon, that we look to the future.
After the dumpster fire that was 2020, we could all use a fresh start, right?
Over the last year, our lives underwent a seismic shift as we’ve adapted to social-distancing, increased hand washing, mask-wearing, and staying home as our countries/states shut down.
Like any massive change, it’s brought with it hiccups and setbacks as we’ve adjusted to the new normal of remote working and learning, and the pain of not being able to see loved ones in person.
However, some good has come from this experience. The extra time spent at home has led to more people taking up a new hobby or an old one and learning new skills like coding or writing a book. It has also led to much introspection about what life will be like post-pandemic and our place in the world.
As of this writing, over 357,000 people in the US and nearly 2 million world-wide have died. Sobering numbers to say the least. This pandemic has laid bare all our fears and forced us to confront the fragility of life and its ephemeral nature. Thinking of one’s death is seldom a happy matter, but this experience has made me realize something. Everything is a work in progress
If 2020 taught us anything, it’s that when we think we have it all figured out, we’re thrown a curve ball. How many times over the past year have you groaned as the news reported the latest findings about the virus worse than the last? Or just when you had a routine set for work or writing, something happens to disrupt it?
This past summer I was all set to release my debut novel. Then my editor emailed me with their notes. It wasn’t good news. The story I’d poured my heart into wasn’t up to par, and this hurt like an MFer, a feeling I’m sure you know. After nursing my bruised ego, I realized my editor was right and we agreed a rewrite was in order.
While I could have chosen to see this as a failure, instead, I saw it as another chance to writer better story. Because that’s what a work-in progress is: your current best iteration of whatever it is that you do. It is subject to change as you grow and get better at your craft; it’s a growing evolving thing.
And ultimately, that’s life, too.
Who we were five months ago is vastly different than who we were five years ago. Just when we get comfortable, life changes, and so do we, because change is the only constant in the universe. But growth is seldom linear. Like a river, its path winds back and forth, forking this way and that way. And much like a story, we can lose the plot and need to reorient ourselves. But we’ll get to the end if we persevere.
Due to the virus, writers and other creatives have had their livelihoods disrupted, be it their publishing dates being pushed back, not being able to have in-person book launches, speaking events or book signings; or attending writer’s conferences and book festivals. But like everyone else we’re adapting.
Everyone is now doing virtual events, which means more people can attend and participants in these events, leading to more opportunities for networking, meeting and gaining new fans and new sales. With these changes comes growing pains as people deal with new responsibilities like managing zoom calls, or in my case web design and graphic design, but we’re managing this work in progress.
Change—whether spurred on by external forces such as COVID-19, or internal ones, such as insights from meditation or therapy session-—can be scary. Often it is the fear of failure that stops us from even trying, but the epiphany I’ve had during quarantine is this: life is a work in progress. Regardless of failure or success, keep growing into the best version of yourself and creating the best work you can at your current skill level.
January is also the time when we make New Year’s resolutions aimed at improving ourselves, most often by losing weight/getting in shape. My top resolution this year is to become a published author and to establish myself as a freelance writer and editor.
To that endure, I’ve revived this blog and have worked to redesign this site. This process hasn’t been easy.
Many times, I’ve given up in frustration at trying to style it exactly how I want it, but I keep at it until I find a solution or jury rig one. It’s not perfect, but it’s a work in progress. Gradually, I plan to dip my toes in the water of freelance writing and editing.
As most of you probably know, resolutions fail to stick because people lack accountability, so I’m asking you to hold me accountable.
If I don’t post at least once a week, send me an email or message me on social media and tell me to get back to work. I’ll do the same.
COVID-19 is a plot twist most of us didn’t see coming. There will more pandemics and natural disasters as climate change intensifies. No one knows the future, but none of that matters, because there is always hope.
Ultimately, our lives are our greatest work in progress. And regardless of what will or has happened to us, if we hold the pen, then we determine how our story ends.
Thanks for reading.
What do you think?
Let me know in the comments.
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I make ice scorching.
My heart has forgotten love,
It cuts diamonds.
Always and forever,
Though I endeavor,
I’ll never do better.
I’ll do whatever
To get us back together.
I miss your kiss,
A ghost on my lips,
Light as a feather
Against my skin.
This love is a battle I know I can win,
So I’ll fight to the end
And never surrender.
Hey, everyone,
Sorry for the lack of updates. I bought a new car and to help with payments I got a job, which doesn’t leave me as much time to write, let alone blog.
So, I’m going to experiment with writing shorter posts, say a few hundred words, post more poems, post book reviews, and try splitting longer post into smaller ones.
I’ll also be posting updates about Palingenesis, my dark fantasy/ sci-fi WIP.
Knees bent,
But cheeks spread,
Look out prostate,
Here I come.
Afternoon delight.
Physics is the poetry of motion.
Apply a force (F) to a mass (M), and you’ll produce an acceleration (A) every day, per Newton’s Second Law.
Once in motion, that mass will have kinetic energy, per K.E.= 1/2 M V^2, where V is velocity.
See, physics is the conductor of the cosmos, per Einstein’s Field Equations, which I won’t list here for the sake of those of a less science persuasion.
It’s the pied piper of particles, master of the ocean’s motion via Newton’s Law of Universal Gravity (F= G [M1*M2/ r^2], where G is the gravitation constant and r is the radial distance between the masses.
Physics is the destroyer of worlds, the cracker of the atom per Einstein’s Theory of Special Relativity (his famous equation E=MC^2).
Physics lays bare the heart of the universe.
I don’t mean to geek, but we are all children of star dust.
And once we shuffle off this mortal coil, we will return from whence we came to continue the great comic dance.
For the First Law of Thermodynamics states: energy can neither be created nor destroyed, merely transferred or converted from one form to another.
From one star brother to the another, the beauty and elegance of reducing the universe to a series of equations has no parallel in heaven or hell.
It’s the music of creation and makes my heart swell, the ringing of the universal bell and knowing exactly for whom it tolls.
Word to your mother, there’s no limit to the wonders physics can produce with a few formulas and numbers.
Hey, sorry I haven’t updated in a while. I’ve been dealing with some mental health issues, but I’ve talked with my psychiatrist and am doing better now.
To make up for not posting, I’ll post a new poem every day as part of National Poem Writing Month.
So here’s the first one called “An Ode to Summer.”
I can hardly breathe or believe you’re lying next to me.
You are summer personified, your legs entwined with mine.
I’ll never forget your meteor-shower hair, your sunflower-scent
Your eyes aglow, fireflies dancing to a song only we know.
Your skin, caramel ice cream; your face, a vision from a dream.
Your watermelon lips, kisses so sweet they ought-ta be a felon.
Your smile, radiant as the sun shining on us as we strolled, hand in hand, sand beneath our feet.
While I could praise your booty–I mean beauty from here to eternity, this poem has come to an end.
But summer will come again.