Gone til November, I mean August, please.

I feel lost this morning. Lost in my thoughts and ideas. I woke and went to sleep over and over again all night long. I am trying to practice listening more but I am also getting distracted more by what I hear. I have my ideas…too many maybe. Not enough maybe.

August says finish what you’ve started so you can go onto your next thing. “You want your next thing, right?????!” He teases.

I am obsessed with the next thing always which is why I think this time around I am being forced to stay still more and not be so obsessed with the next thing of it all.

I started a play. My goal is to get that done by August. I go to Austin next week to listen to the blues (AUGUST’S FAVORITE!) and to hold two book events and to eat new food and see new things but mostly to do nothing.

Spend some time with August Wilson the only man I really trust. A love affair with a dead poet makes it difficult to find a living one to love.

This is good for me because I have to just get started and hold space and not let holding space for others distract me from holding space for me. Don’t let community be my excuse for not seeing what I seek to see. And then I question always the doingness the constant need to people please. Maybe if I could just do less I could hear more. What do you hear now. Now I hear me saying, August, I want to be free. Always the same request. I want to be loved, AUGUST. I want to be free!

“What’s love look like for you today?” He asks.

It’s like I just want to be held real real tight. Not smothered but perhaps mothered. Can’t wait to leave for Austin, maybe I’ll find what I am looking for there.

Seeking fills some sort of need. Deep extended alone time maybe. A way to not be needed. I hate coming back, nothing is ever the same as when I left it. I have to delegate they say. Can I delegate my whole life to someone else. LOL

I will just start over again and just do it myself as usual. How you gon do it yourself, Jeannine. You don’t know what youre doing. And you are leaving. I know enough to get it done until I find someone I can trust.

When I got to Philly, twenty years ago, my friend Omar used to say, “trust no one, bust your gun.” What type of mentality is that, Omar. If I listened to him I would be busting my gun at everyone. But he wasn’t fully wrong. Trust is a big lesson for me. How to trust and how to trust less how to be trusted. I be so trusting. I be like here’s the keys —to everything! Part of that is because I am fearless. I am protected and know nothing can harm me. Not the real me. But some things can make me cry. Make me sad. Flatten me.

Lots of fish in these seas they say. But I don’t like fishing.

Requires so much patience and waiting and throwing back the baby fish that won’t fill me. This is why I have to trust me at least. But I love. I need someone who loves like August Wilson loves me. I need an ugly lover. I want to see your grossest wounds right away. People don’t know, but August is ugly.

I want to hear you weep so I know you can. I want to hear you scream and throw things and curse and be as ugly as can be so we can get that out the way without waiting two years for your ugly self to appear from behind a wall and surprise me. I don’t need no pretty lover. Covered in fluff and eye shadow. I want to see the shadow first so I can see the part no one else sees.

What I am really saying is I want to show someone else my shadow self and let myself be seen. I’ve worn plenty of eye shadow. It makes my eyes heavy. It makes them water. It makes them bleed.

And that gets me to crying right here in my corner on the chair. Cause maybe that is not as true as I wish it were that I want to be seen. SHUT UP & WRITE even if it makes me wail. Sit still. Be quiet. Lock yourself in the closet. SHUT UP. Ok I aint said nothing in 40 minutes. Twenty minutes to go.

I think I can write in environments where others are there. I can definitely write when the other writers are writing. Writing aint as easy as folks wish it were. It is not easy being your writer self publicly. And it’s not easy quieting the mind so you can hear. It’s not easy doing it and it is not easy teaching it.

Just quiet yourself. Find your stillness. LISTEN. I am so easily distracted. So it’s like I keep trying to build myself the best environment for me. Silent but filled with people. But I miss my house cause it had fewer distractions. I need a house so my nana can come visit me.  All week I became obsessed with facing the fact that eventually I am going to lose my nana. Eventually I am going to lose the last part of the old me. That makes me want to ugly cry and curse and throw things. First August Wilson and now Nana. How can this be. There’s other things I can write. Like I want to turn my book into a series. I probably can do it too. But like being a barista, I don’t know how. See once again that feeling of feeling lost. Passed the baton to Thalia. It’s not an easy job, serving others and yourself. Making space for others and yourself. Meeting their needs while also meeting your own. Hoping for August Wilson to reincarnate himself into someone I can hold, or better yet, someone who can hold me. AHHHHHHHH! AUGUST come back. Please. I miss you in January. And February.  Funny how the Philadelphia Film Society and Free Library have asked me to partner on an August Wilson screening. Of course they did. Why me? Because I am his bereaved girlfriend. Maybe I can channel him. August. Oh August. Speak to me. What do you want me to know, hear, see? Take it easy, Jeannine. You have done plenty and you have plenty more to do. You are not alone, I am here with you. I love you too, August. -Jeannine

Stop. Look. Listen.

When we were young and we learned to cross the street, the rules were simple—stop, look, listen. I am realizing I have not been listening enough. In my haste, I’ve been flying full speed through lights and conversations and life causing traffic collisions or near misses because I am not listening enough. To myself, to the earth, to my guides, to others. So 2026 for me will be about listening. Fitting the next book is called Shut Up. One thing that happens when we don’t listen is we become disoriented. Same as when we don’t stop or don’t look, we miss stuff. I was missing what was right in front of me because I was either talking too much, listening to my device or lost in the sauce. Mr. Magoo. There but not present. Just walking. It’s ok to walk through traffic. To be so determined that you just keep your horse blinders on. Until a 4000 ton train is barreling your way and had you listening you’d have heard the horn screaming “Move” again and again. Good thing it was just a close call and you’re still here to tell the story. And I realize if I get better at listening to one thing, I will get better at hearing others. The more I listen in, the better I get at listening out and listening up. Ok. So now I’ll shut up.

The Writers Room

Co-curatin’ with Khemist —this was a night with special guest Sunni Patterson, Black Ice, and Immanuel Wilkens. I built a mini bookshop for each featured poet. Then after their performance they signed and folks purchased. We sponsored and co-curated a full season of The Writers Room together with all types of amazing folks from Laurin Talese to Mahoghany Browne to Joshua Bennett to Jasmine Mans. I don’t know what Khemist did with all that footage. But…one day. Whew! Community got to take all the fruit home. Poetry was next level insane. Literal and spiritual nourishment. I can’t believe I lugged all this shit into the space and then back to the shop. That’s borderline insane. Whole community had to help me unload and reload. That in itself was a community building exercise month after month. A marathon, not a sprint. But I do get why I am tired AF these days. This was June 22, 2023

On seeking validation from August Wilson

So one big lesson from publishing my debut novel is confronting my need for validation. The journey to self actualization can be lonely and quiet and sometimes so loud it’s deafening, so in comes what feels like a “once in a lifetime” opportunity to make something great that supposedly validates existence. But really it’s a chance to look super deep inside myself. And to dance with my shadow self. My shadow self, it turns out, needs a lot of validation. Perhaps it’s been ignored so long that it wonders if it’s still there. So this publishing journey has allowed it to run free and a muck as the old folks say. It has allowed me to traverse a range of emotions from guilt, shame, and imposter syndrome to elation and bliss. I have had to confront the ways that different reviews make my emotions fluctuate. And the one I think I’ve been most scared of, more than I hated it this, is I don’t get it. I think more than I knew, I want to be understood, not liked, not loved, but not seen as completely insane. Well releasing art into the world allows one to experience everything. And it magnifies any voices you may be scared to listen to. Early on someone told me to hold onto my first five star review because when the one stars rolled in I’d need it. Not me the overachiever getting a one star review, but in fact that has happened. And worse I’ve felt ignored, or the one I struggle with most, misunderstood. But a stranger told me the other day to grow some rhino skin and make it so tough that horns nor teeth could penetrate it. I usually see myself as a soft bunny. But I think that too is a lie from the pits of shadow self hell. In fact my skin is a lot tougher than I thought and almost like rubber, so sleek the rain just bounces off of it. I think my tough childhood gave me the very best thing, resistance and something to fight against. All that said after crying to Ms. Marie that my book made no lists, one day later it made three! Ironically. This one came from Seattle and I attribute it to August Wilson always listening and being a funny ancestor . Love you too, Mr. Wilson. And I love this review. I have not checked Good Reads in days and that feels so good.

Love Notes

Once I was feeling really down about a lover and one of my mentors said, “It’s ok, you will fall in love with your readers soon and they will fall in love with you and there you will find the love you’ve been searching for.”

I did not understand. I thought maybe this was a ploy to get me writing again.

“One lover could never provide it,” she laughed.

Whoa?! Right?

Well fast forward to the love letter I got this morning on Good Reads. They tell me not to read the reviews but it’s like telling a child not to eat the candy.

This morning I got my sugar rush. Especially that he wanted to dig deeper into the text and that he found it cozy. Cozy!!! That’s beautiful.

Ryan Small, I love you, too.

Jeannine

Spoiler alert

I think she’s right, it’s designed to be discussed. I hope more people do that eventually. I met a baby and realized she’ll be 18 in the year 2042. It made me tell myself to be patient.

I am not writing a book at the moment after having powered through two. But I am thinking about a part two to both books. We’ll see how we do. It would make more sense to readers if they knew I was thinking of it as if I were writing a series of novels and a series memoirs and not just one.

Ms. Marie said I gotta see it like I am in it for the long haul. And I am. That’s the spoiler alert.

“Ms. Marie said I gotta see it like I am in it for the long haul. And I am. That’s the spoiler alert. ”
— -Jeannine paraphrasing Ms. Marie

Reviews

I attended a book talk and told the audience I’m a genre-fluid writer. I don’t think my stuff fits nearly anywhere. The novel for sure but the memoir even more. If anything it’s surrealist. The whole experience feels real and not real to me. Like I wish there was a group I could talk to just about book talks.

Here’s a reader from that event and her thoughts. 👇🏾

Chai and reading and libraries

Today one of my customers bought her daughter by. Her daughter is 25. She lives in NYC but was in Philly for the holiday. The mother had to bring her daughter to the shop because she’s like I was talking to my daughter and she’s telling me I need to read this book that she checked out from The New York Public Library. She said she’d gotten two books but only really enjoyed this one called It’s Me They Follow. So her mom flips her wig. Because first off I met her mom almost a year ago when she first moved to Philly and walked into Harriett’s. I invited her back for the Deeply Rooted Dinner Party where she got to see the space when I was hosting a small dinner dedicated to my parents roots and culture. Anyway they came in because we all agreed it was an uncanny experience. Them both reading the same book at the same time and the mother having met me already. The daughter is fine and the mom is on pg 163. Her daughter wants to open a chai shop on the side. Turns out the mom teaches literacy to preschoolers. I tell her to bring the children by and also have some stuff for free. Small world. Yet big. Thankful.

Below is not the image from the mom or the daughter but instead the photo I was sent today by a different reader on Instagram. To those on the journey with ME —I know this all thread of webs feels awesome to experience.

Thanksgiving

I only wish I’d started sooner. Spent so long hiding. I was using my gift to help others, but forgetting about myself. In that time I wasted, I missed the opportunity to share this moment with folks who are no longer here on this side of life, but I know they are enjoying it from some place else on the other side. 🙏🏾

Surrealism

Surrealism aims to revolutionise human experience. It balances a rational vision of life with one that asserts the power of the unconscious and dreams. The movement's artists find magic and strange beauty in the unexpected and the uncanny, the disregarded and the unconventional. -Tate

This image is surrealist to me.