Well, the school opened Thursday; however, I may not be in school teaching for another three days, possibly a week.
I was starting to get less anxious when I learned my schedule for the rest of the semester. After all, I'm a person that needs to know things so that I can plan and organize. I learned yesterday that the building I am supposed to teach in may not be ready until Wednesday, possibly the end of the week, so I'm forced, yet again, to play the wait-and-see game. There is a plus to it in that I have essays I can grade and I have some time to organize and think how I will teach for the remainder of the semester considering the circumstances. There is a negative because I am ready, for good or bad, to get this semester over with and to do the best just I can do.
Today, I plan to see how many students I can locate online and off so that I can let them know that I'm thinking of them and wanting to get back into the swing of things.
Outside of that, I need to start working on the creation of The Nubian Chronicles' Fall 2005 issue, which I had to push back due to my time away for Hurricane Rita.
For now, I'm trying to fix my laptop. Spyware GALORE has attacked it, and I'm doing everything through my TASKMANAGER because the explorer/desktop is not working for me at all, :-(
Just would like for SOMEthing to go right, you know?
Friday, October 28, 2005
Friday, October 21, 2005
School, Author Interview, and Almost Writing: OH MY!
Well, I learned that school will open on October 27th. However, I do not know if my classes will have added minutes to them or not; I hope to learn that soon. Not sure how I feel about starting school again. People keep jokingly referring to our time away as VACATION, but I just can't feel that because NOTHING of it was vacation-like. I'm SO tired from that whole shelter experience; it changed me, and it's hard for me to explain to people who weren't there JUST how changed I am. I need a vacation FROM that experience. Now, going back to a rebuilding school, to a changed class and class time and classroom and trying to get through this semester as best as I can...it seems like it will be an extremely hard task. You'll get an EARFUL about just HOW hard it is.
Moving from that--I contacted one of my favorite authors, Bernice McFadden, and she has agreed to do an interview with me for ChickLitGurrl. I am BEYOND thrilled. I interviewed her for my magazine, The Nubian Chronicles several years ago, and I wrote about her debut novel, SUGAR, in a college paper about four, five years ago. She is one of the best writers out there in my opinion. She's literary. She's bold. She's poignant. She's heart-wrenching. She's life. She's real. She's good. If you haven't read her, PLEASE check out SUGAR. The first page alone just grabs you, body slams you, and forces you to continue reading it. It'll be fun to get her into a new interview, especially since she has a new PSEUDONYM and a racier side with her latest novel. Be on the look out!
Another move--During my "time" in the shelter, I thought a lot about writing. I think one of my main reasons for being in a dry spell is because of my frustration for not getting published again. I first wondered if I just sucked individually and people only wanted to publish me if I worked with others. That's not the case. In my heart, I feel that some day I will come out and people will love the work I do. It will take time and much more initiative on my part. The plethora of ideas that I have generated over the last year or so has been mind boggling. I came up with two while I was on my "hiatus": one non-fiction and the other fiction. I have begun work on the non-fiction (with a friend -- haha, maybe I do work better with partners), and I outlined the fiction while I sat in the coliseum, daily, at the shelter. I plan to start work on it soon.
I've learned so many things--both good and bad--since I was away, and one of the things is that the only way I can get what I want is to make it what I want and to make others believe that they must have it. It's hard because I still, daily, second-by-second, get my thoughts of I can't do it or I'm not good enough, but I just have to learn to combat them with things like I can do anything I put my mind to, or I am great, and soon everyone will know that.
Even through adversity, important lessons are learned, and I learned enough of them during my time in the shelter to write a book...(hmm)--*smirk*
Moving from that--I contacted one of my favorite authors, Bernice McFadden, and she has agreed to do an interview with me for ChickLitGurrl. I am BEYOND thrilled. I interviewed her for my magazine, The Nubian Chronicles several years ago, and I wrote about her debut novel, SUGAR, in a college paper about four, five years ago. She is one of the best writers out there in my opinion. She's literary. She's bold. She's poignant. She's heart-wrenching. She's life. She's real. She's good. If you haven't read her, PLEASE check out SUGAR. The first page alone just grabs you, body slams you, and forces you to continue reading it. It'll be fun to get her into a new interview, especially since she has a new PSEUDONYM and a racier side with her latest novel. Be on the look out!
Another move--During my "time" in the shelter, I thought a lot about writing. I think one of my main reasons for being in a dry spell is because of my frustration for not getting published again. I first wondered if I just sucked individually and people only wanted to publish me if I worked with others. That's not the case. In my heart, I feel that some day I will come out and people will love the work I do. It will take time and much more initiative on my part. The plethora of ideas that I have generated over the last year or so has been mind boggling. I came up with two while I was on my "hiatus": one non-fiction and the other fiction. I have begun work on the non-fiction (with a friend -- haha, maybe I do work better with partners), and I outlined the fiction while I sat in the coliseum, daily, at the shelter. I plan to start work on it soon.
I've learned so many things--both good and bad--since I was away, and one of the things is that the only way I can get what I want is to make it what I want and to make others believe that they must have it. It's hard because I still, daily, second-by-second, get my thoughts of I can't do it or I'm not good enough, but I just have to learn to combat them with things like I can do anything I put my mind to, or I am great, and soon everyone will know that.
Even through adversity, important lessons are learned, and I learned enough of them during my time in the shelter to write a book...(hmm)--*smirk*
Monday, October 17, 2005
Back "Home"
Hey chitlins!
It's been a long and winding road, to borrow from the Beatles, and I'm finally home. Been here for a few days now. I will be LIVE and back to blogging and all my other crazy things now. I hope to have a new author interview in a few weeks, and a lot of other interesting things are coming up soon, too.
For now, I'd like to share my "coming home" feelings with you all.
After 2+ weeks in a shelter in Shreveport and about four or five days at the Holiday Inn in Bossier, I was finally able to come home. There was a huge part of me that wanted to go home because I had to. I knew that the house probably stank, and I wanted to clean my house and rest before school started back up, longer and more complicated and tiresome than ever.
The first thing that hit me when we made it to Lake Charles at midnight was the stench. Second, the darkness. I can't even begin to tell you how disgusting it smelled. It was as if all animals--on land and in sea--had died and was piled up to roast in the 100+ temps of Lake Chuck. Within a few minutes, my nose became immune to the smell; however, daily, I am reminded that the funk can get worse.
We drove to my friend's house first and then mine. The ride was an eye-opener. It had been three weeks, and I don't know why, but I expected to see "my" Lake Charles, but that LC is long gone. The road felt off, tilted, surreal. Trees jutted out into the road. Some lines were still down in various areas. At one stop light, I looked to my right and what greeted me was an 8-foot root of a tree that was tilted over onto a house. (Side note: would take a year to explain it, but I have a fear of "big things": huge flags, big bodies of water, airplanes, cruise/tanker boats, etc.) See something so huge right in my face gave me pause. I couldn't imagine the wind that would knock down such a formidable tree.
Signs from stores and restaurants were gone. Everything was closed because everything closes by 9...many by 8.
We were near my friend's house, and all I could think about was just how dark it was outside. Street lights were on, stars were in the sky, yet I had never seen it that black before as if life was zapped from our sky. The word "dark" can't be used to describe the vast nothingness that encompasses Lake Charles now.
Luckily, my friend's house was okay, and after we surveyed just about every nook and cranny of it, we made way to my house.
I was nervous and did not know why. My mom had stayed through the storm and had already been to the house to tell me that the house was in good condition and nothing was damaged except for the stinkiness of the fridge.
Despite knowing these things, my stomach tightened and my eyes grew heavy with tears. We reached my house and when I stepped out of the truck, I slipped on cement and rubble that had been chunked out of the sidewalk out front of my place. Something skipped in my chest and then stopped.
I went into the house and as my mom said, everything was okay. The fridge stinked, and I knew I would have a job to do over the next few days. I still could not get rid of the pain that consumed me and the tears that threatened to fall.
When I went back to the truck to retrieve my last bag, I looked at my friend, T, and she was like, "Are you crying, girl?" I tried to fake like I wasn't, but I was, and I have been just about every day since I've been back.
Why, you may ask? Well, I've been through a lot of stuff in my life. Stuff that books are made off, but I never had to run from my home and hope that it would be there when I returned. I never had to live in a shelter. I had never been reduced by some in society as merely an "evacuee" as if being one meant you were not human. I had never wished to be home, to be back in my life (for all its good and its bad) as much as I did when I was in the shelter. And then I returned and I saw the trees on houses. The signs of my favorite restaurants gone. A casino boat up on land. Smaller boats piled up like cards in a deck. Stench that made you think death might be better than smelling it. Darkness that envelops a sky, wraps around you, and makes you feel as empty as it is.
I'm home, but it doesn't feel like my home. Not anymore. I can only hope that through the upcoming weeks, months, even years, we grow and move into a Lake Charles that is even better than the place I came to and learned to love over four years ago.
It's been a long and winding road, to borrow from the Beatles, and I'm finally home. Been here for a few days now. I will be LIVE and back to blogging and all my other crazy things now. I hope to have a new author interview in a few weeks, and a lot of other interesting things are coming up soon, too.
For now, I'd like to share my "coming home" feelings with you all.
After 2+ weeks in a shelter in Shreveport and about four or five days at the Holiday Inn in Bossier, I was finally able to come home. There was a huge part of me that wanted to go home because I had to. I knew that the house probably stank, and I wanted to clean my house and rest before school started back up, longer and more complicated and tiresome than ever.
The first thing that hit me when we made it to Lake Charles at midnight was the stench. Second, the darkness. I can't even begin to tell you how disgusting it smelled. It was as if all animals--on land and in sea--had died and was piled up to roast in the 100+ temps of Lake Chuck. Within a few minutes, my nose became immune to the smell; however, daily, I am reminded that the funk can get worse.
We drove to my friend's house first and then mine. The ride was an eye-opener. It had been three weeks, and I don't know why, but I expected to see "my" Lake Charles, but that LC is long gone. The road felt off, tilted, surreal. Trees jutted out into the road. Some lines were still down in various areas. At one stop light, I looked to my right and what greeted me was an 8-foot root of a tree that was tilted over onto a house. (Side note: would take a year to explain it, but I have a fear of "big things": huge flags, big bodies of water, airplanes, cruise/tanker boats, etc.) See something so huge right in my face gave me pause. I couldn't imagine the wind that would knock down such a formidable tree.
Signs from stores and restaurants were gone. Everything was closed because everything closes by 9...many by 8.
We were near my friend's house, and all I could think about was just how dark it was outside. Street lights were on, stars were in the sky, yet I had never seen it that black before as if life was zapped from our sky. The word "dark" can't be used to describe the vast nothingness that encompasses Lake Charles now.
Luckily, my friend's house was okay, and after we surveyed just about every nook and cranny of it, we made way to my house.
I was nervous and did not know why. My mom had stayed through the storm and had already been to the house to tell me that the house was in good condition and nothing was damaged except for the stinkiness of the fridge.
Despite knowing these things, my stomach tightened and my eyes grew heavy with tears. We reached my house and when I stepped out of the truck, I slipped on cement and rubble that had been chunked out of the sidewalk out front of my place. Something skipped in my chest and then stopped.
I went into the house and as my mom said, everything was okay. The fridge stinked, and I knew I would have a job to do over the next few days. I still could not get rid of the pain that consumed me and the tears that threatened to fall.
When I went back to the truck to retrieve my last bag, I looked at my friend, T, and she was like, "Are you crying, girl?" I tried to fake like I wasn't, but I was, and I have been just about every day since I've been back.
Why, you may ask? Well, I've been through a lot of stuff in my life. Stuff that books are made off, but I never had to run from my home and hope that it would be there when I returned. I never had to live in a shelter. I had never been reduced by some in society as merely an "evacuee" as if being one meant you were not human. I had never wished to be home, to be back in my life (for all its good and its bad) as much as I did when I was in the shelter. And then I returned and I saw the trees on houses. The signs of my favorite restaurants gone. A casino boat up on land. Smaller boats piled up like cards in a deck. Stench that made you think death might be better than smelling it. Darkness that envelops a sky, wraps around you, and makes you feel as empty as it is.
I'm home, but it doesn't feel like my home. Not anymore. I can only hope that through the upcoming weeks, months, even years, we grow and move into a Lake Charles that is even better than the place I came to and learned to love over four years ago.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Hotel Living
We're in a Holiday Inn in Bossier City, Louisiana. Thank God. We arrived late last night. It was an E-X-P-E-R-I-E-N-C-E to get the two rooms, but we are very grateful. Word from my mom, who is in Lake Charles, is that operation Calcasieu Comeback starts tomorrow. There are places in LC that have electricity, water, and gas working. There are still places where a lot of work is needed, but it's been almost three weeks now and LC wants to get itself back together.
I hope to get back home within the next week. Who knows what exactly will happen because I don't drive, and really, because I came with a "group," we will leave as a group. I just want to get home so than I can start cleaning the mess that will undoubtedly be there.
There is so many crazy stories that have taken place over the last two weeks or so. Some will be to come.
I hope to get back home within the next week. Who knows what exactly will happen because I don't drive, and really, because I came with a "group," we will leave as a group. I just want to get home so than I can start cleaning the mess that will undoubtedly be there.
There is so many crazy stories that have taken place over the last two weeks or so. Some will be to come.
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