My novel is actually an instructional booklet for peace for world peace, in the form of a novel, in the form of a mystery, adventure, suspense novel. A drama.
And this is a rejection letter, in the form of a letter of rejection.
I’ve spent the last half-hour trying to write an appropriate eulogy for Karyn Washington, who recently passed away. I wanted to tell my story, the other side of the dark-skinned experience, growing up in a household where my skin tone was almost revered. I came to dislike many things about myself while growing up, but being black as hell was never one of them. I wanted to admit that I’ve only started wearing lipstick, after decrying makeup on the whole for a long time. But the telling is too complex. Suffice to say, I know my place in the culture of beauty: somewhere near the bottom, a few steps from falling off the edge entirely. Regardless, it took me 33 years to get to where Karyn Washington was at 22—accepting her appearance and going as far as to create a safe-space for the rest of us. A place of affirmation and support. It breaks my heart that we’ll never get to see her full potential.
Set to “automatically reply to anyone whose message doesn’t pass spell check” and “automatically reply to anyone who clearly CTRL-V’d this turd of an opener”.
2. I love that Dude in Publishing is posting all Harley Quinn, all day today.