Racing Within. . .

When it’s time to rise and shine, my first thoughts aren’t ‘I’m a woman,’ or ‘I’m a black woman’ or ‘I’m too short and wished I was taller!’ No, those aren’t my first waking thoughts.  Once my body adjusts to movement, I’m usually in gear to get ready for work, and start thinking about the weather, and what is on my plate for when I reach work.  So why do many of us walk around with this “woe-is-me” attitude about ourselves?  Is this what you think about when you first get up?  Sounds ridiculous, but many do—why?

Here’s what I’m NOT!

The color of my skin.  I am not the pain my body feels.  I am not what you see in outward appearances.  I am not my clothes.  I am not ‘just’ a woman.  I am not ‘just’ a light skinned woman.  I am not my eyes, nose, lips, ears or hair.  I am not my chosen career path.  I am not what others think they know of me!

But I AM!

An intellectual.  I am a thriving, deep-rooted soul which forces me to live out my dreams.  I am a proud being from rich African heritage.  I am humble.  I am strong.  I am weak.  I am emotional.  I am a blessed child lent to my parents from a God.   I am human.  I am a sinner.  I am a constant work in progress.   

Explain to me why when you look in the mirror all you see is the image staring back at you?  Just how deep do you look at yourself?  If you don’t see past your reflection, you don’t know much about yourself at all.  Which brings me to a very interesting topic today?

Being a woman of color, my family made it a point to make sure I didn’t grow up wearing my ‘color on my sleeve!’  I was taught and still told by my loved ones that I’m a beautiful person.  I was taught and still possess, self-esteem, and I display as much.  I was taught to respect myself, as well as others, but most importantly, to love myself, and I do whole-heartedly. 

Those things seem pretty simple, right?  Unfortunately, there are many people I know who don’t feel this way about themselves.  In fact, their each and every moment is spent degrading themselves, beating themselves down, and hating who and what they are, all for one major reason—the color of their skin.  It’s so sad, but for some black people, they can’t see past their skin tone!  How you view yourself has a great deal to do with your upbringing.

I am often complimented on my looks, and although I greatly appreciate them, when I see myself, I don’t see what others see.  The beauty I see comes from within and I suppose what you’re viewing is what I possess inside.  What I find so captivating is when I post my pictures on Facebook or Twitter, I read the comments and I smile.  But what I’m smiling at is the face they see is my mother’s face.  The older I get, the more I look like her.  I see my father a great deal, but my facial structure is my mom.  She is a beautiful woman inside and out.  So would it surprise many of you to learn that my face, which is almost a replica of my mother’s, has dark brown skin?  She’s been told, at various times in her life, “you are such a beautiful woman to be dark!”  The first time my mother told me that, I had to fight back the tears.  What the fuck does her being ‘dark’ have to do with her natural beauty?  I can feel myself getting angry just knowing people have said that to her!

It outrages me to receive racism from some white people, but to have racism within my own race, is just a devastating blow—one that packs a punch so hard, you almost can’t bounce back from, and unfortunately, many black people don’t!  This is why so many of us have complexes and are mentally scarred.  Anytime you learn firsthand about racism from your own family, how do you think that affects the mind of an impressionable child?  To have two siblings, one being dark and the other light, and seeing the light skinned child get more out of life because he is considered the beautiful one, whereas the dark child is told he’s worthless.  Talk about emotional scarring at its best!

This is why I can’t wait to see the independent film, actor/director, Bill Dukes, just produced entitled Dark Girls.  If you haven’t seen the clip, you may view it right here on Mello & June, It’s a Book Thang! book blog.  The clip is a little over nine minutes long, but well worth the watch.  My soul cried hearing the dark skinned women tell their horrible stories of how they were and still are treated today because they aren’t light or fair skinned.  And their stories resonate for me because my mother has told me some horrific stories about her own experiences with her dark skin—from family and friends alike!

I know the demons that haunt my race, and I know where this evil stemmed from—slavery!  I’ve read a great deal on my history, as well as being taught about my heritage from my family.  For me, I don’t see color of individuals—that’s how much it doesn’t matter to me.  When I think of my friends, I don’t think about how many black or white friends I have.  I just have friends.  Isn’t that the way it should be?  Because let’s face it, if you’re keeping a count of how many different colored friends you have, what exactly does that make you?  Certainly not a friend!

Unfortunately, I’ve dealt with racism from within, which may come as a surprise to some because I’m supposedly the “fortunate” one for having lighter skin.  Let me be the first to tell you, light skinned people deal with racism too!  I remember when I was in grade school; there was a dark skinned girl who kept picking with me.  She continually called me “yellow,” and it was getting on my nerves.  This was such a shock to me because I never referred to anyone by the color of their skin, and to have this schoolgirl calling me ‘yellow’ was very hurtful.  For days she would call me this, until one day I had had enough and I returned the ignorance in kind by calling her “a black spook!”  I was sick that I called this girl that name.  I wasn’t brought up to be mean to anyone, especially not call another person out of their name, but she kept bringing my skin color into it, so I felt she deserved it back.  And the funny thing is, I felt like shit having said that to her.  How could I call this girl “a black spook,” when I went home everyday to a mother who was the same color as she?  I was devastated for calling her that.  She has no idea how that scarred me.  I went through a lot of emotions having said that to her. Hell, reflecting back on it now, brings sadness to me.  We were two black children saying mean and hurtful things to one another.  Thank god my mother helped me through it.  Needless to say, once I brought her color into our stupid banter, she never called me anything but “Kim,” which is what she should have done in the first place.

Often times I would get picked on because I had what black folks consider, “good hair.”  My hair was longer than most of my childhood friends, and pretty straight, so immediately, that brought about jealously among the girls.  All the women in my family, on both sides, have long hair.  And our hair is fairly straight.  I never thought about it, but boy did the girls I grew up around have an issue with that.  I remember my mother visited my school for some type of orientation, and a very good friend of mine, who is also the same complexion as my mother, was in my class.  When the teachers took the parents around, some of them pointed to my girlfriend thinking she was her child, and when my mother said, “No,” pointing directly at me, “that’s my baby over there!”   I was so happy to see my mom, and I waved to her, not knowing what the conversation was among the parents.  I noticed some of the women looking at my mother funny, but I had no idea why?  When I went home that day, mom told me what the parents assumed, which almost always happened because my girlfriend was the same complexion as she, but I'm not.  I never think about my mother's complexion--not ever!  The only time I'm reminded of it is when someone makes an ignorant statement about my mother's beauty, and then adding the insult by mentioning her complexion, and that immediately sets me off!  She's my mom plain and simple, and her color means nothing to me!  I love her for her, and that's that!  I'm honored to be her daughter and blessed to have her! 

When I was born, some people thought my mother was watching someone else’s baby because there wasn’t any way a woman that dark could have a baby that light.   No one ever took into account that my father was the exact opposite of my mother.  He was what black folks consider “high yellow!”  He was so light, the kids in my neighborhood thought he was white.  So with the mixture of my mom and dad, my brother and I came out tanned, although we were very fair when first born, and then browned up as we got a little older.  This is not uncommon among black people.

My father hated his skin color.  He said he was called every type of bright-light-damn-there- white name you can imagine.  He hated that he could see his veins in his arms and legs.  He didn't like that kids teased him for being so white looking.  He had major complexes due to his skin color.  And I’m sure some dark skinned people may find that hard to believe.  Every person who is lighter or of fair skin isn’t all happy-go-lucky to be that way either.  He truly detested his color--so much so, he prayed when my parents were pregnant with me his child wouldn’t be his color or my mother’s color, but to be an equal balance between the two extremes, because he felt if  I came out either or, I would be picked on because of it, just as they had when they were children.  (Sorry dad, I still got picked on regardless).  But, lucky for him, my brother and I did come out tan/brown, but when dealing with black people, that isn’t always the case.  Do you see how deep color goes for black people?  My dad actually prayed about it.  I am certain he isn't the only black person to have done this.  We are the only race of people who can go from white to being as black as coal.  My race spans the entire color chart.  So when two black people reproduce, it doesn’t mean the child will be the color of its parents.  There are many factors to consider such as, what family dynamics are in the parents’ background? 

I think what bothers me most is that our skin tones have to be debated at all.  What's with this whole light skin/dark skin battle?  I’ve been accused of trying to look white, talk white and act white.  Hmm, it took me many years to get my head wrapped around this whole white concept.  Let’s see, my mother is dark skin and my dad is light skin, and I’m tan/brown, so I’m trying to look white?  I received an awesome education and I show it by the way I speak or write, so this makes me talk white?  I carry myself as a lady should, and I love fashion and I dress accordingly.  I wear different hair styles and because my hair isn’t what black folks consider “nappy,” I’m not displaying my true heritage?  My hair isn’t nappy, so. . .what would you have me do?  This means I’m not a black person, really?  Why is looking the way I do, speaking the way I do, and acting in an appropriate manner considered being white?  What exactly are my people saying about me, when some say you’re acting white?  What?  Are blacks supposed to be nappy-headed uneducated horribly mannered people?  Perhaps this would please some of you and make me a “true” black person then.  Do you hear yourselves?! 

Why is it I’m accused of thinking I’m better than everyone else because my skin is lighter than some?  I never said anything of the kind, you did!  I got to be acting white because I’m educated, as if my people are supposed to be dumb and ignorant—wow!   And if some black people do happen to have nappy hair and decide to get a relaxer or perm, why are they not being true to themselves?   Why do you have to be accused of being ashamed of it because you don't like the way it looks on you?  I don't like certain songs, does that mean I'm not a lover of music?  There are some books I don't read, does that mean I'm not an avid reader?  Why are these things such an issue with my race?   Damn, with problems like these, who the hell needs racism from outside?  It’s really sad that these things go on, but go on they do!

I learned early on that my physical being is not what I am—I am so much more than what you see!  I was taught these things from my mom.  And if anyone would understand how to look past your physical self, it would most definitely be her.  I feel sorry for those who were raised not to understand their self-worth, regardless of your skin color.  For some, they will never fully grasp what it’s like to really love yourself for what you truly are.  I’m so blessed to know who I am sincerely.  I pray that one day my people won’t put so much emphasis on their color, but more emphasis on raising children who love themselves, so they can, in turn, love others.  We need to break this horrible cycle and start positive new ones.  Ignorance hinders growth, and it needs to be nipped in the bud before that ugly seed festers in our children’s young minds.  Black adults need to learn how to love their people without using color as a hateful tool against the other.  I don’t know about you, but my creation was no mistake.  I’m exactly what I’m supposed to be from head to toe, and whether others agree with that, is not my problem—but yours to deal with!  I embrace me fully--flaws and all!

Know what you are and be mindful of how you address other people of color!  We’re a beautiful race, and we need to stop allowing hatred and ignorance to divide us.  Education is always the key!  Unlock your inner soul and see who you really are!  You might discover something great about yourself!

Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet
To Contact Me, Please use the Envelope Icon on the Wibiya Bar Below!
Love Yourself!

Photos of Women (outside of my pictures) are courtesy of Young Brian on Facebook!

Summers In June. . .

I was sitting out on the deck, one summer morning, reading the newspaper and going over my fan mail.  One in particular stood out because the handwriting sort of reminded me of someone from my past.  This letter couldn’t be from you know who?  I thought he died years ago, or so I assumed?  The author of this letter asked me to join him for dinner, since it had been about twenty years from the last time we saw each other.  My eyes were getting rather watery from reading his words.  His words?  So many emotions flooded my mind.  I had to clutch my chest to make sure I wasn’t having a heart attack.  What did he want from me?  Why does he want to see me now after all these damn years?  He was the only man I truly ever loved, and now here this son of a bitch comes out the wood works and asks to see me.  Truth be told, I’m terrified.  It’s not like we’re young people anymore.  I’m seventy-four years old, wealthy, the world’s number one romance novelist, and alone.   And yes, being alone was by choice.

Looking back at it now, it’s funny how I came to meet Mello.  I was eighteen-years old when that grease monkey approached me.  He and Vanessa’s boyfriend, Walter, worked at an auto body shop.  Vanessa is my big sister, and worked as the receptionist for that same auto shop.  I lived with her and Walter because my mother was tragically murdered when I was fourteen years old.  My father couldn’t deal with my mother’s untimely death and had to be committed to a mental institute.  That left me to live in our big house all by myself, and my sister didn’t want me to be forced into foster care, so she, along with Walter in tow, came back to take care of me.  I owed so much to my big sister and Walter.

Walter was riding me to school one day, and he had to stop past the shop before dropping me off, and while I was listening to my walkman, I see this tall, high yellow, light skinned brotha coming toward the car.  Pink lips looking like inner tubes with tons of red and white heads sprinkled about his face.  He taps on the window and starts rapping with Vanessa.  I wasn’t sure who he was, but Nessa didn’t introduce me to the ugly fellow, which I thought was very rude.  So I start coughing to get her attention and she tells me his name is Mello and that he works as a mechanic alongside Walter, whom helped him get the job.  He extends his hand through the window to shake mine, when I noticed his fingernails were riddled with dirt and grease, and his fingers were very grimy looking.  He takes a towel from his back pocket and begins wiping his hands on it.  I suppose the disgusted look on my face gave him a clue.  I immediately took offense to his asking for my hand and I told him as such.  Nessa got mad at me stating I was being rude and acting childish, but I don’t give a damn, his hand was nasty, and I wasn’t shaking it.

His uniform name tag said Jordan, which didn’t make much sense to me.  If his name is Mello then why did his shirt say something different?  When I inquired, he mentioned Mello is his nickname—yeah. . .whatever dude, is what I was thinking!  Hard to believe this man I couldn’t stand ended up being the one that I lost my mind over.  Isn’t that always the way it is, ladies?  Especially for the men that are no damn good and dog the shit out of you, those are the ones we want—the bad boys.  I always prided myself on having more sense, but I soon found out that I didn’t have as much as I gave myself credit for.  I don’t know what the deal was about that?  I suppose losing my mother at such an early age may have had something to do with it, who knows?  Whatever the reason, I damn sure wasn’t happy when I got his letter that’s for sure. 

After all, that motherfucka broke my damn heart!  I recall one night Vanessa invited Mello over for dinner and it was very obvious that we didn’t like each other—or let’s just say, I didn’t like his ugly ass.  He had the nerve to tell me for as beautiful as I am, my potty mouth made me extremely ugly.  Well ain’t this a bitch!  Where the fuck did he get off saying such a thing to me?  I don’t know where on earth he got that fuckin’ notion?  Do you?  Why is it when a woman knows what she wants and refuses to take bullshit off of people, she’s got to be branded difficult, a bitch, or have the angry black woman’s ‘attitude,’ or a potty mouth.  Nobody tells me what to do and he can go to hell, which is exactly where I sent him!  I remember he shook his head at me as if my language disgusted him.   All that acne on his face made me sick.  The fact that he’s ugly disgusted me.  I could have shaken my head at that!  Mello can kiss my ass.  I’m not even thinking about him.  I’ve never been one to sensor myself and I damn sure ain’t gonna start now!  Hmmph, I didn’t contact him—uh-ah, it was the other way around brotha.

Enough about Mello, you can read all about the bullshit he put me through in our love story.  Wow, is what we went through considered love?  If loving him seemed right, boy was I wrong!  What made it easier to get through was the music to our story.  One of my favorite scenes is When a Man Cries, by Tony Terry.  I learned some very interesting things about Kim through that chapter, as well as about myself.  Amazing how hard it is to mend a broken heart!  Two other scenes I loved were For the Love of You, by the Isley Brothers and Bad Man, by R. Kelly.  The passion felt between Mello and I literally burn up the pages, so make sure you’re paying attention.  You know, Kim angered me when she refused to listen about the song chapters which should make it into my story.  I mean after all, I’m the star of this story, so why couldn’t I have any input.  At least I’ll say this, she did cut me some slack, unlike what she did with Clarence, she didn’t let me pick the songs for my story, but she let me sing some of them, which was cool of her.

See, the problem with Kim and I are we’re too much alike.  When you get two head strong sistas in the same room, what the fuck you think gonna happen?  I wasn’t afraid of Kim like Clarence was.  I didn’t care if I was the main character or not, nobody runs me—fuck that!  I was bold and woke her ass up many nights, while she tried to sleep and ignore me.  I told that bitch, get the hell up, I got shit to say!  Oh she tried as she might to cast me aside, so I decided to scream so loud in her head, she had no choice but to get up and run to the laptop.  I kept that heifer up for many hours each and every night, and I knew she was tired, but I told her, you don’t run me—I run you.  She didn’t know who she was fuckin’ with, but she soon learned.

She tried her best to quiet me down, but to no avail.  What she found out was I only calmed down when things went my way.  That’s the difference between me and Kim’s other characters.  I found her weakness.  If you let her think she’s running the show, then Kim is willing to give more of what you want, and I loved that she displayed me as the true spit-fire I am with such vigor and spunk.  I am a classy woman, but a bit rough around the edges sometimes, and it’s all good.  My family loves me just the way I am.  Hell, what they got to be complaining about?  I’ve got a bank roll that would make James Patterson look twice!  Do you think becoming the number one romance novelist was by accident?  Hell no!  I’m very business savvy, and I put my skills to use when it comes to managing my writing career.  I’m a loner, but not alone!  There is a difference!

But you want to know something funny.  Being a writer was not my first choice in careers.  I told that gat damn Kim I was an actress.  I showed her how well I could put on a show, but for whatever reason, she felt the need to make me a writer.  I suppose that was her way of showing her comedic side, except many of you weren’t aware of what my real aspirations were.  I remember she was laughing at me, which I absolutely hate, and she rearranged my whole career.  Thinking back on things, I guess she really was in control of me, but I made life difficult for her ass though.  She’s never come across a character quite like me, that is, until this new chick she’s working with came on the scene.  She thought I was too much—hmmph, she really doesn’t know what to do with this woman.  I’m glad to know other characters she works with are giving her a hard time too.  But knowing her the way I do, I know she will work it out. 

I will say this, the one thing we share in common; we both thrive off of pain.  And not only our pain, but the pain of others, which is why we can write some of the wildest drama you ever want to read.  Don’t tell her I said this, but secretly I think Kim is borderline sadistic.  She enjoys seeing others go through shit!  I told her that too.  I said, “You’re sick, you know that?  Why the fuck you gotta put a bitch through all this madness?”  I think girlfriend got a few screws loose upstairs, if you know what I mean.  She once did an interview and told the host that she likes to write drama, but doesn’t want to live drama.  That’s all bullshit!  How the hell you come up with all that stuff, if you aren’t living some of it.  It appears too damn real, if you ask me.  However, in her defense though, her best work is written from that dark place in one’s soul.  So whatever this new character is showing her, although it’s been difficult for Kim to deal with, she doesn’t have a choice but to pull it out and do her thang, ‘cause that’s what we writers do. 

For those who know my story have asked us if there will be a sequel to Mello & June, and we came to a decision early on this would be it for us.  We didn’t enjoy working together, although we made the best of the situation while time permitted, but Kim is too damn stubborn for me, and I know I’m the shit, so it just made for a difficult situation for everyone involved.  Very few people know that it took me twenty years to get Kim to finally write about me.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to live in someone’s mind, but they continually cast you aside?  This is why when she gave me an inkling of a clue that she was thinking about venturing down this road, I fucked with her throughout the entire process.  I know she hated me for it, but I didn’t care.  You make a character suffer for twenty years, taunting and toying with her emotions, only to keep dismissing her as if she has no real validation.  Kim repeatedly told me it’s not time.  I told her years ago, the time is now!  But I was made to wait twenty years regardless.  So, when it was time for me to be born, I enjoyed messing with her mind—I just had to do it.  That’s called character vengeance, and it brings me such delight to know her newest heroin is driving her crazier than I did.  Wait until you read her latest novel, if she finishes in time.  (Chuckling), she always finishes in time—I can’t stand her ass for that!

But, please don't get me wrong.  I don't dislike her, it's just that both of us know we're good at what we do, and we're not willing to compromise--at least, Kim isn't.  I suppose I'm a bitch too, so I can't fault her for that.  If you want to learn more about me check out Mello and June, the Musical Romance Soundtrack Novel!  Just scroll down the blog, named after me, and follow the links to purchase.  Ciao baby!

Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet
To contact me, please use the envelope icon on the Wibiya bar below!

Character Invasion. . .

I hope you enjoy my special guest who practically begged me to write up his blog post.  Even though I was against doing this type of interview, he twisted my arm, and I agreed.  Since so many people have gotten to know me, he thought it would be nice for you to get to know him from his point of view, and also poke fun at me while doing it.  Happy Reading!

Whaddup Readers,

You know, I've been living in Hollywood for about a decade working in the film industry.  Christmas was fast approaching, but it felt weird because there wasn't any snow present and it was relatively warm for December and didn't feel at all like the holidays.  I suppose growing up on the East coast and seeing snow just helped one to be more in the holiday spirit.  I was sitting in my office going over an outline I may be doing with Spike Lee, and all of a sudden my Blackberry is blowing up.  Reg's name kept appearing on the screen and I hit ignore several times, but he wouldn't stop calling.  I had no idea what he wanted, but after the sixth time he called, I knew it had to be something.



Still choosing to ignore his calls, this time he sent a text which read, URGENT!!! IT'S ABOUT POPS.  I pushed my papers to the side and called him.  Reg told me his dad is dying and only has a few days left to live.  He asked that I come home so I may pay my respects to his father, who was a surrogate father to me.  I must admit, I had misgivings about doing this for one major reason.  I detested the projects and vowed I'd never return to Woodland Heights.  It was because of my family situation we were forced to move there, and now that I finally received an escape route, here was my best friend asking me to come back.

What was a brotha to do?  I hopped on the red-eye and headed back home.  When I got there, the weather felt more like December--10 degrees, wind blowing and snow gathered everywhere.  I hadn't seen Reg in years, but we stayed in touch through emails and occasional phone calls.  His apartment still looked the same, but appeared smaller than it did when I was a kid.  Reg took me in to see Pop.  What I found was a shell of a man.  Mr. Dunn was a muscular man, pretty tall and seemed larger than life, and now here he lay looking like someone had shaved half of his body away, leaving just a pencil size man in the bed.  It was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping.

Mrs. Dunn entered and asked that I let Mr. Dunn get some rest.  She hugged me so tight, I thought my ribs would crack.  We sat and looked at the old family albums, when there was a hard knock on the door.  I couldn't believe some of my childhood friends had stopped over to see Mr. Dunn, but actually they were there to see me.  It was a great reunion.  Carla, Vicki and Connie kept staring at me as if they were star struck.  I suppose they were since I have made a name for myself in Hollywood.  It was getting late and everyone retired to their homes for the night, while I rested up in my hotel suite.  That's when it hit me.  After talking about old times, I decided to do a documentary about our childhood, the way it was growing up in the 70s.

I threw a New Year's Eve party at my suite, and dropped the surprise on everybody.  They were bursting at the seams with happiness.  When I inquired of the whereabouts of Marcus, another childhood friend who was also in our crew, they informed me they hadn't seen him in years and didn't have a clue as to where he might be.  I couldn't do the documentary without having Marcus there, so I told them that when we begin filming it, we would look for Marcus while in the process.  Everyone was in agreement.  What I couldn't possibly have imagined is what my documentary was going to do to me.  The harsh realities that were revealed almost killed me--and most definitely destroyed my friendships with the old crew.

I am often asked how I feel about my fame and about my creator, Kim.  First off, I wish she hadn't depicted me as being so intelligent, only to expose my vulnerabilities and how naive I actually am.  I felt embarrassed especially in light of all I learned from my friends about who they really were and some awful truths about myself.

Kim and I went around and around about Carla, one of my dearest friends who was my first in a lot of things.  She was my first kiss, first real crush and she was my first sexual experience, and I kept saying to Kim, you need to expand on my relationship with Carla, but she had the nerve to tell me that this book wasn't about a romance--it's a mystery suspense story and for me to get on board.  Every time I hinted we could make this work, she threatened to remove me from the story, so I did what any self-respecting main character would do, I let her run the show.  Personally, I don't know how she writes this stuff, which is why I'm a film maker and not a writer, 'cause I couldn't put up with all that drama.  She sure didn't have any problems putting me through a whole lot of bullshit.  Thank god she gave me a good family to work with because I don't know if I would have made it.  Hell, I'm still in counseling over the mess she put me through. 

Lastly, I'm glad she decided to write this story about me and my friends.  Though, I'm so damn glad it's over with.  That whole process was rather grueling and there were certain scenes we struggled to get through.  But don't take my word for it, you need to read our story and join the countless fans who enjoyed it, at my expense, I might add.  ~~ Clarence Knight, Film Maker of Silent Knight.

Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet
To contact me, please use the envelope icon located on the Wibiya Bar



Mind Over Matter. . .

Hello Fans:

It’s a brand new year—a time to get yourself in order and get your mind right.  There isn’t any time to waste.  If you’ve wanted to start that novel, but never got around to doing it, what the hell are you waiting on?

One thing I’ve learned as I watch my dream blossom more and more is nothing can stop me but me.  The only thing standing in my way is standing in my way.  Five years ago, I finally decided it was time to stop saying I’m a writer, and be the writer I was born to be.  So, I began the grueling task of outlining Mello & June and wrote my first novel.  I didn’t publish it until November of 2009, but I knew I was onto something great.

While thinking back upon my writing journey, I sometimes get frustrated that I wasted so many years not doing what I said I was created to do—write!  And that’s when a huge revelation smacked me atop of my head.  It wasn’t my time to do any of the things I’ve been doing these last five years.  Confused?  Don’t worry, so was I, but I have finally found my path.

I realize now that everything I’ve been through, all the trauma, drama, highs and lows of my life was presented to me for a reason.  For all that I aspire to be, I had to go through those things in order to get to the place where I am now.  What’s so wonderful about that is, everything I’m dealing with currently, is preparing me for even bigger and better things in the future.  So that left me with a burning question.  Did I really waste many of my writing years?  The answer is no.

Although I have wasted time on stupid things, what person hasn’t, but my experiences I’ve been through were preparing me for this very moment.  But how could I have possibly known what was to come?  The funny thing is, I always knew, I just didn’t know when it would happen.  I think my ah-ha moment came for me when I got fed up with the career I chose that pays my bills.  I just kept thinking with each passing year, is this all there is to my life?  Is this how the rest of my life is going to go—get up, go to work, come home, and eventually retire, if possible?  Retirement is almost a thing of the past these days, but what’s important to remember is it got me to thinking.

What is the purpose of dreaming, if you don’t see any of your dreams come true?  Why imagine what the future may hold, if you don’t have faith and aspire to do something with your life other than what you are doing to pay your bills?  Who said I can’t make a new career for myself?  Who said I can’t do what I love?  Where is it written I can’t do what I set my mind to do?  I realized I was standing in my own way, but by standing there, I was also pushing myself to another level without realizing it.  I never stopped dreaming and I never ever stopped writing, I just sat back until it was time for my gift to be received.

Make no mistake, my gift has been received by many and I couldn’t be more proud of myself.  To have fans say to me that my work has left an impression on them and is still talking about my novels, is the highest honor an author can receive.  I’m often asked what do I want my readers to come away with, and simply put, I want them to get the lesson I’m teaching.  I write for the sole purpose of educating others.  My success has been slow crawling, and I’ve learned to accept that.  There are some indie authors out here that receive lots of glory—selling several thousands, if not millions of eBooks on Kindle or Nook, and I sit back and wonder what is it about their stories that have so many readers flocking to it?  Another revelation occurred to me.  My writing style is very different, and what I write about is not the same typical stuff that many authors write about.  I pride myself on being different, and I will stay that way.

 

I’ve learned to listen to my reading audience, and although I know many of them read a multitude of genres, one thing I’m always told by them is that my stories aren’t like others they’ve read, and that’s a great thing.  But at the same time, it is also the reason why my success is so slow because what I write isn’t the standard subjects writers choose to tell.  So, in essence, I’ve found my voice, and I’m sticking to it.  I will never do what others do—not ever!  And if I choose a genre that others write about, I can guarantee you, it will not be like any other you’ve read.

 

I love that I’m a unique person, but I remember a time when being different was a rather difficult thing for me to deal with.  It was a constant struggle worrying about what others thought of me.  I’d get upset because I wasn’t accepted, so I hid within myself and wrote out of frustration secretly.  Only a precious few people knew of my writing talent because I was a coward afraid to be rejected by the world because of the way I had been rejected by my peers.  Just writing these words on this blog is laughable to me now.  I was hated, envied and ridiculed by children I grew up with because they could see something I possessed—my uniqueness.

Wow, I’m so not that young, terrified little girl anymore.  I’m so far from that child; I can’t even believe I allowed others to make me feel not worthy to be on the earth.  I know now that I serve a purpose, and that my faith has gotten me this far in life, and will continue to push me to the next level.  I allowed others to hold me back!  I allowed myself to hold me back!  But no more!  No, I haven’t wasted any of my writing years.  It’s my time to shine and my sun seekers gravitate toward my rays.  I’m no longer afraid of what others think—in fact, I really don’t give a fuck one way or the other!  I am a woman of substance—a woman with a vision—a woman with a plan—a child of God and—a work in progress.  I know my limitations.  I know who I am and I embrace me!  I’ve finally gotten my head right.  I’ve finally matured into the woman I’m supposed to be, and I’m doing exactly what God has intended for me to do.  I’m living my life like it’s golden, because it is!

See, Fans, that’s the purpose of this post.  Some of you may be dealing with the exact same things I have gone through.  You may be tucked away in your shell afraid of the unknown and that empty space out there not knowing what’s ahead.  I write my story to help you see that no matter what it is you’re going through, you can do anything if you put your mind to it.  There is truly nothing stopping you, but you!  I don’t care what your dreams are—you owe it to yourself to go for it and get the happiness you so rightly deserve.  Humans were not meant to suffer and be miserable.  You are meant to experience joy—and of course there is going to be sorrow sometime, but you’ve got to make the best use of the time you’ve been granted while here—which is why there’s no time to waste!  You have no idea how much time you have left, so why waste your precious minutes?

So, I’m going to ask you again!  It’s 2012 and what the hell are you waiting on?  Who’s stopping you?  What traumatic ghost lies deep within your past lurking in your future hindering you from being all that YOU can be?  Only YOU can stop you!  This is the Year of the Indie Author, and I approve this message!  (chuckle)

Until Next Weekend, stay focused, get your mind right, and handle business!

Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet
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