I bang my keyboard and words come out. Sometimes, they're worth reading. Sometimes, they're even good.
40-something, M, NYC. He/Him/His. #TPWK
To Whom It Does Not Concern: An Open Letter Regarding Janet Jackson Appreciation Day (#JJAD)
For the sixth year in a row, we, the fanbase of Janet Jackson – from hereon referred to as #JanFam – will be honoring our Empress, Blueprint, Queen Muva, and all-around fave of your faves, Janet Damita Jo Jackson, with Janet Jackson Appreciation Day, a day-long tribute to her five-decade long (and counting!) career as a singer, dancer, actress, activist, and trailblazer.
Most Writers Write. Here's Why I Haven't - Again
I’ve been here before. More than once. More than twice, actually. More than … okay, who’s counting? I know everyone and their mothers are tired of the “I’m ready to write again!” song and dance I’ve been doing for ages. To be fair, I’m pretty damn tired of it, too. After my big “here we go again” announcement in 2021 (2022 for Vocal readers), I thought I’d finally cleared out enough wreckage to keep this fire blazing and get these words flowing.
Shortly before Momma died, I began to take stock of where my life was and how things could turn out for me should the worst-case scenario occur. I stood at the tail-end of a two-year battle with depression, leisurely reconfiguring my life and easing back into a world that had gone on without me.
Sometime this morning, a Twitter friend expressed their desire for their Mom's potato salad. Funny enough, it just so happened that I had been craving some myself for the past week or so. I couldn't even recall when the last time I partook in the delicacy was... until I did, and it all made sense why I'd gone without it for so long.
The Story Continues
There’s a part of me that wonders if I subconsciously avoided giving power to an unavoidable and undeniable truth by refusing to speak about it. It’s one that I’ve known and held onto for months or, maybe, even years by this point. Perhaps I was afraid of what it could mean to place this feeling into words, and what those words would cement not just to myself, but to others who pay me even an iota of their attention.