Look and Listen

Biography

I was born and raised in Harlem U.S.A. I've taught public school for the past 23 years. I've earned a B.A. in Political Science from New York State University at Potsdam and a M.A. from Long Island University in Urban Studies. Over the years, I have received numerous teaching award, Science Fellowships awards, and has written for the National Historical Society. Currently, I resides in Da Bronx, New York I've been a rapacious reader since the age of twelve. I was the moth, and Langston, Ellison, Dunbar, Baldwin and Hurston were the flames. Just to name a few. However, I can’t leave out Maya. She taught me why the caged bird sings. As long as I can remember, I’ve been in search of the cosmological secrets of the Universe, or the meaning of life. When my undergraduate and graduate courses failed to deliver, my search turned to metaphysics including: Carlos Castaneda's The Teachings of Don Juan, Joseph Pearce’s Crack in the Cosmic Egg and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig. These works led me delve into more scholarly offerings. Which included Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell and their theories regarding symbols, myths and the collective subconscious. Along the way I became enthralled with classical African civilizations, including Egypt, Nubia and Cush. I feasted at the academician table of African authors as they spun truths of African giants who walked the earth. Around 1995 my mother pleaded with me to put my ranting down on paper. She plus the fact that Barnes and Nobles didn’t offer any Afro-centric/Jungian/ Zen/ Christian/Quantum Theory novels lead me to write. The result was American Messiah, a post-apocalyptic novel. Had I known what an arduous undertaking it would be, I would have never started it in the first place. Inexperience has its advantages. Around the turn of the century, personal issues then lead me to inscribe my memoir, Between Shadow and Smoke. Toni Morrison’s The Songs of Salmon and E. Lynn Harris’s own life story would serve as my literary and emotional compass. I lost my nerves several times, and sailed back to shore. However, in the end, I knew that I have no other choice but to plunge head long into the icy, but often healing waters of life. I pray that absolution and spiritual expurgation lies in wait at the other side, waiting to caress me, suckle me and restore me. (Excerpt from Between Shadow and Smoke) The spiritual voyage to the farthest regions of my past left my exhausted and often terrified, yet restored. The Celestine Prophesy and later the Alchemist resurrected my passion for the genre and Secret of the Nile Valley was born, my third novel. The escalating crisis in the Middle East, Darfur, and the attacks on American soil moved me to render a more worthy planetary paradigm, an alternate path for the world, if you will. For the first time I was faced with a totally unfamiliar backdrop, as the plot spanned the globe. I took advantage of every community resource from visiting authors to campus lectures. But, my trusty library card proved the most valuable. Since moving back to the Big Apple from Virginia, ideas for a sequel to American Messiah began swirling around in my head. Six months later, it’s halfway completed. Thought it remains without a title, I'm sure one will evidentially surface. Blogs, chat-lines, and bulletin boards (excellent modes of networking with agents, publishers and other artists) have prompted me to dabble in short stories. I’ve just completed my first two. And, I’m slowly warming to group chats, necessity being the mother of valor. Some of my future projects will cross the great divide over to literary and mainstream fiction, a challenge I’m looking forward to. Let me close by saying, that my novels deliver classic tales, told with post-modern twists, meaty tales seasoned with romance and betrayal, fellowship and envy, good and evil, war and peace, love and hate, and life and death. My book suggest a transcendence of opposites, a union. It is done unto you as you believe.

Inspiration

Recently, I experienced a life-altering event. My faith in life (God) had always been strong. Mind you, I am not the typical Christian. My believe system includes Eastern philosophy, Jungian Psychology, the metaphysical, New Age theories and aspects of African and world mysticism and more. Obviously, it's hard to find a place of worship that meets that spiritual criterion. For the past six years I had gorged on a steady regiment of meditation, prayer, long runs and walks in the country and the absorption of as much of Virginia's natural beauty as possible. I never missed an opportunity to smell the roses. During this time, I milled out four novels and labored arduously at horning my craft. I wrapped myself in long periods of stillness as I sort to commune with my inner-self (collective consciousness) in hopes of finding the pot of creative gold that lies at the end of the spiritual rainbow. Needless to say, I had become something of a recluse, the very opposite of the person that I was before I heard the siren's call. Life, including those most dear to me, took a back seat to my writing. I had never known such prolonged peace. That being said, a string of recent hardships shattered my fragile peace. My faith deserted me. During the darkest periods, I never felt so lost and alone. My belief in the efficacy of recitation, visualization, prayer, mediation and benevolent Universe faded like a morning mist in the face of a dazzling sun. As I began to sink deeper into despair, it was family and friends that slowed my descent. Their unconditional love served as a reminder that life was to be savored. Life for me had become a superbly set table, beautifully garnished with an array of culinary delights. Not wanting to disturb the flawless image, I chose to nibble around the edges. One afternoon I was riding home on the Bronx # 2 train. A few stops before mine, a man with no arms got on. I observed him closely, trying not to stare. He seemed to have made peace with his circumstances. In fact, he seemed quite happy. Unbeknownst to the man, his courage to meet life head on rekindled something within me. From that moment on, I began recounting my blessing. My faith greatly restored, I went back to writing, jogging, mediating, and conversing with my Creator again. However, I have shed my periods of prolonged solitude. I find time now for friends and family: enjoying jazz clubs, cultural happenings, sporting events, impromptu road trips, and nights out on the town. Writers write is what they say. And, it's certainly true, for all gods are jealous gods. I will live and die a writer. But, I will never forget to delight in all that life has to offer. Why nibble when you can feast. Have any of you ever experienced a similar illumination? I would love to here about them.