Black Mission (Every Mo Is WriMo)

photo of woman holding pen
Photo by Ree on Pexels.com

It’s November 1, 2019, also known as baby’s first National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)! But I’m me, so of course I’m not following the script and writing a novel.

Instead, I’m banging out several short/flash stories, a stand up set, and two script treatments for NaNoWriMo 2019. I hope to very much break with character at some point, probably around Thanksgiving, and squeeze in a #drunkenwritein because #yolo.

I kicked things off early yesterday by submitting a short story I wrote named BLACK MISSION for a literary prize named after a famed writer’s writer who…well, someday I hope to be worthy enough to touch the hem of his garment. Someday. Here’s a snippet:

Her father died painfully in a creaky hospital bed with only a bored second year resident named Jarrett at his side, idly trolling his nemesis’ TikTok feed for shits and giggles. Later she’d allot exactly three minutes to mourn Pops’ youthful incarnation, the bearded and rail thin teen dad who’d braided her thick hair, read to her, gave her piggyback rides to pre-school, nurtured her inner-city urchin’s love of nature, and told her most men were lying liars who lied.

Off to get my every mo is wrimo tattoo.

Stitch Bitch

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I wasn’t surprised to fall in love with handsewing, mending, or machine sewing this past year — the practice of it, not just lusting after it in books, real life fashion, Insta, Project Runway binge watching or via frantic Pinteresting. That crafty love story has been a long time coming.

But the idea of #visiblemending, of repairing clothing while all but flaunting the fix? Biiiiiish! Be still my imperfection loving heart.

I dedicated part of the recent Labor Day weekend to remedying the #chubrub every pair of my jeans inevitably suffers with a little first time sewing machine freestyling and interior patching. And my inner thighs approve this message.

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