What Had Happened Was . . .

Writing has always been one of my strengths. In middle-school I wrote a story called "Pink and Grey" about Donna Lynn's death that my grandmother kept for many years.  In high-school Mr. Daley, my 9th grade English teacher, told me that a dystopian short story that I wrote was one of the best that he had ever read, professional or otherwise.  The best compliment I ever received was when my father told someone that I was a better writer than he was.  He is not one for compliments or flattery, but when my senior thesis about Father Divine won the Ruth J. Simmons prize in the African-American Studies Program at Princeton, I know he was proud.  He alone rode the train with me to the university to collect my award.

Why I was wearing a tube top to an awards ceremony is beyond me!

Despite my early promise, for some reason, I stopped writing after college.  Perhaps without the extrinsic motivation of deadlines and grades I didn't see the point.  Unfortunately, in my adult life, my talent with words was spent writing book long text messages to men who didn't care enough about me to read them (or respond for that matter).  I would write something and look at my deepest thoughts and feelings glowing back at me from the phone screen and think "damn, that was good!  I should be a writer."

Photo: Tumblr

When a former friend had the idea of creating a blog about food in Harlem I was unsure about whether I could write anything worth reading.  As I continued to write I became more confident and loved the mix of words and images that blogging allowed.  Even before the advent social media, I was the person who always had a camera in hand ready to document the moment.  

Early on in the life of the blog I found myself doing the majority of the writing.  It shifted from being a blog about food to something more personal.  I worked, tutored, job searched, raised Chloe, and maintained a social life, while writing as much as I could and enjoying the thrill of learning something new.  However, I resented the aforementioned former friend passively taking credit for a blog that she rarely contributed to, while complaining that she was "too busy" to write.  Ideas are one thing, execution is another- and I gradually began to make changes to the blog that made it clear whose work it represented.  Maybe I should have communicated before I did this.  Maybe not.  My coattails are purely decorative; they aren't made for riding on.

Brunch @ Ponty Bisto

When the blog was deleted I was shocked by the spitefulness of it; by the nakedness of the insecurity that inspired the action,  but I never thought for a moment that I would not start over.

Thank you to all of the friends, family members, former classmates, students, and exes whose experiences with me have inspired this work. 

Thank you to all of you who take the time to read, comment and share my words. I love your getting emails and texts.

Thank you to those generous friends and family members who have passed along their recipes, beauty secrets, and wisdom. 

Thank you to all of the cousins and second cousins who let me know how upset they were when the first blog "disappeared. 

And most of all thank you to my fabulous friends and family who consent to have their pictures taken even before their first cocktail has arrived!