Still Under Construction

Bare with me. I am still under construction so before you roll your eyes and snap your fingers, know that only God can judge me. What you thought I was going to say something else. Wrong. Seriously, I am trying to build up this site.  And, once it is ready. You will be hooked. Trust me babe. You will love it. You will think about I am Journalism, every waking day of your life. Trust me babe. You will be hooked:) Yeah, I like the cadence so I had to do a repeat, like a hot Beyonce song, “All My Single Ladies.”

It is A Joke

I like to joke a lot. I mean, I like to really joke. You know, call up my friend and explain to her that her ma just died. (Yes, my sense of humor is  gross). It is only a joke. Geez.

A New Way Of Thinking About Journalist

Writing really is just as complicated as building a house. Those words are  from my poet-professor teacher.  You get frustrated because you want every window to sparkle and every brick with cement to fit perfectly.

See, the thing about writing is you are either called for it, admire it, or just born to simply manipulate words into beautiful stories. My mentor-mother, does not fully agree with this comment, but I do.

How I do it.

I sit at home  on a wooden dining room table with my cell phone on silent, looking down every now and then hoping some hot guy has sent me a message or at least called. My eyes are always  glued to the computer screen, but a worry Monkey stays on my back. I worry about if, I am staying true to the person who trusted me to share their story. I worry about what the mean-spirited commentators would say.  I just worry.

More so with death stories.

I don’t think people realize that as a journalist or a good journalist, we have to re-live the incident. We think about the people we are writing about before we put the pencil to paper or the keys to the keyboard. You can call it what you want, but I do believe that a journalist has to become that person, then leave that person to capture that story. Maybe because it is 3:31 am that I am thinking about this.

Stay with me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being a journalist. I love piecing together beautiful stories that you can read.

Sometimes, I get lonely, but like a caged animal this is what I was meant to do. I try to run, but it always finds its way back to me. I try to convince myself that may be, just may be, I am not that good.  I am reminded everyday that God lives in me and through him I can do anything. To be honest, I just want to be a good journalist.

This is why.

I want to always stay loyal and true to my reader. And, treat this like it is brain surgery, not exactly on the same page but trust me it is similar in more ways than you will ever know. Well, okay, okay, let me explain. We have to take our time, just like doctors. We need nurses, but we call ours editors. We can  save people’s life too. Think health writers, science writers and news writers.

Yours Truly:)

Welcome Back

The journalism world is really changing. I’ve been very busy trying to keep my passion alive. After, numerous lay-offs I decided to get back to the basics. Go back to my first love. I mean not be in love with her but love her enough to get going, does that make sense. This blog with be a combination of news, music, opinions, and relationships. Let me know what you think.

 

Xoxox,

The Writer

 

Republicans Plottin’

Hey Guys,

Here is something rather bothersome. It seems the Good Ole’ Boyz have yet another tactic up their sleeve. But this is low, and down-right sad.  What do you think about this article?

Yours Truly,

Wondering what’s up?

Well, loyal readers I am Journalism, is on a stay-cation, and will come back soon. I know, you are saying, well there’s only three post, don’t worry, I promise, more will come.

IAJ

My sweet, sweet, Miss Journalism

Dear Journalism:

I loved you from the day you were born, and now you can’t give me a job. What’s up with that?

Who was trying to protect you when  Gannett and McClatchy ate you for lunch?  Me. I came to your rescue, and even convinced them you were worthy.  And, when your stories left you for the Internet, and every Joe Schmo with a computer could make you a hobby, I was in the trenches studying you, getting a degree, learning about how to write a captivating lead.

And remember the time, when your great great grandfather “the Paper” was terminally ill, and Media Conglomerates wanted to pull the plug? I introduced you to your second husband, Mr. Blogger, who was born and raised on the Internet. This was before Leonard Pitts made you look like a fresh young prostitute with his sizzling columns that always made you look a size smaller. And, Mitch Albom, fed you steak, and shrimp on Tuesdays with Morrie.

Both of them treated you like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, and you have the prizes to prove it.

Journalism, I love you, and always will, but you have crossed the line. And if this continues, I will be forced to leave you completely to write flowery novels.

LisaRaye and all the hubby drama

When I came across the disturbing pictures of actress LisaRaye who supposedly had been bruised up by someone, but not by her she-made-him-famous husband, the guy from the Turks and Caicos Island, I swear, for a second I was going to write a juicy woman’s empowerment speech, about how women rule the world. But the only question, I can sputter out is, how long my brothers, how long?

The King kids are wild’n out

Civil rights Dreamer, Martin Luther King Jr., might never have dreamed this: His adult children embroiled in a messy lawsuit with whom? Each other.
I have to admit, this was a touchy subject to write about, because I felt King himself was sitting next to me shaking his head. And to make matters worse, a small postcard with his portrait sits ominously on my wall.
I wonder what Dr. King would say. For all the black people who think Martin should replace the Holy Spirit in the trinity, I’ll spare you on putting curse words in Rev’s vocabulary, because we all know MLK never uttered a bad word. He just cheated on The Misses.  Here’s what he would do: Look each child in the eye, interlocking his fingers under his chin, sigh, and then say, “I had a dream.” Were you waiting for something spectacular? For real, that’s all he would say.
Then mumble under his breath, “y’all already know what Jesse thinks about our people, now stop acting like……”