Where I'm at

It feels like there are so many projects living rent free in my head, but I really need for they asses to start kickin' in.  Life is good, it could be better.  Pouring my soul on here doesn't always feel like the best use of my time, but I'm doing it anyway.

Project 1, I'm working on some flash fiction stories that need to be finished and polished.  I'm trying to figure out if I should have them here, on the blog, or on Medium.  I'm not really particular, but I feel like I need the press, the attention.  (That's the funny/soul on here part)  It's always a strange feeling when I promote my writing, it oddly feels like I'm promoting me.  So when I talk about press, I feel like I'm talking about attention--but that's not really the case.

Project 2, I'm always working on promotions and marketing for the books.  The latest is a cooperation with a IG influencer.  And it's ok, but I'm not throughly convinced it'll garner more sales. It's frustrating, the cost needed to promote a great book.  But it's like the homie Eryk always says, you can write the greatest book, but if no ones knows about it, it's not really the greatest book.  

Project 3, I'm working on a manuscript for a book or short stories and essays.  It's somewhat of a slow go because of project 1.  But we'll see.  I'm also kicking around the idea of doing a short chapbook of poetry.  I really want to go through the book cover phase and find some really dope/beautiful artwork for a cover.  Maybe even have some of it within the book.  Not super sure right now.

But that's where I'm at.  Couple all this with being an educator full time, and trying to figure out that life...it's just cruel.

So if you come across this post, and wonder how you can help, here's some suggestions

1. Post a pic of any of my books on your IG, Twitter, FB, or Tik Tok.  (totally free & easy)

2 Repost my pinned tweet that talks about the new book "Fire Molten & Ash" (totally free & easy)

3. Follow my Author Clarence Barbee on Facebook, and tell people about it (totally free & easy)

4. Buy a book and leave a review (ebook is $4.00)

If you can do this, I'd appreciate it!  Also vote for where you think the new short stories should go!  See ya soon!

Love for Slam Nuba Open Mic/Slam (Denver 2023)

 Every open mic’er knows…you either go to perform, or support.  But the reason is that seeking.  Whether you seek to be seen (behind that mic) or support, and connect, you go.

Tonight I went.  Not to perform, but be seen, be supportive, and be fed.  And I got a meal, I received nourishment.

Tonight I found connections I regretted not furthering, tonight I found connections that were recent, tonight wasn’t historic, but history is always in the building.

Let’s move on.

I have a secret podcast that I’ve done for about a year.  It’s been a personal podcast for the most part, but in one episode, I reviewed a book, from a poet, a Queer Denver Poet.  He happened to be where I went tonight–that person hosted…and I must say, Aerik Francis did a fantastic fuckin’ job!   

When you are connected to a community, you’re connected, when you put yourself there.  When you text or call, or show up at a show, or (scrunch face) actually get on stage on the mic, the connection is.  Tonight I connected…I think.

About a week ago, I attended an open mic.  It’s a well known spot in Denver, called the Mercury Cafe–or the Merc for short.  I performed, but not really.  I read a piece.  There is a difference.  

Q-Feature @ Slam Nuba/Host @ The Merc

In any case, the host (at the Merc) was the feature at Slam Nuba, the spot I supported tonight.  Slam Nuba is a staple in Denver, it’s a staple in Black Denver.  If you’re a Black Poet performing anywhere, and you do research, then Slam Nuba will come up.  Aerik was the host tonight.  

I preference that because I saw Aerik perform a couple of months ago at another open where he was the feature, and damn…the boy killed it.  So seeing him host was community, seeing him host was connection.  

About a week ago, I attended an open mic, it was at the Merc.  And that’s where I was introduced to Q…and a host of other poets and performers.  Many of them were there.  Now mind you, Black Poets in an integrated society are a bit of a novelty; and this is the case in Denver.  

The word novelty is not what I want to use…let’s say unicorn…sorta, but not really…integration has (in many cases) divided this nation more than anything else, and has done more harm than anything else.  (think welfare, and interracial relationships, think small business and jobs that pay more if you’re a bilingual spanish speaker, think cops shooting Blacks that get media attention, but not if cops shoot “illegal” immigrants, think free space, where this is spoke on…on a mic, in a room full of people.)

And think of the people that attend.  Think of the people, the people, the people, the people that attend.

Disclaimer:  I AM A BLACK MAN, HETEROSEXUAL, AND A POET.  I WILL ALWAYS HIGHLIGHT MY PEOPLE.  

Hope that makes sense.

I focused on the open mic, the feature, and the winner of the slam.  Why the open mic?  Because that’s who came to share, that’s who came to heal and for healing; those who came to speak deserve a spotlight because (see earlier words).

Sparrow, was one of the first open mic’er…dope, intelligent, free Black Lady.  I don’t use these words lightly.  She was free.  Free enough to have a laughing spell at the beginning of her set, and still finish strong

with her piece, her opinion, and her food.  She fed us.  With defiance toward religion, she brought the heat, opened our soul, and prepped us to listen. 

Shout out to Sparrow, who opened the ears, brought the smiles, vulnerability, and poetry.

Julian Thomas followed Sparrow, and he brought professionalism, the reality, and the truth about love.  I had witnessed Julian about a week ago at the Merc.  However, I didn’t understand his words until tonight.  He’s a bit of a reader, who’s a budding performer.  His piece about ‘don’t talk to me about love’ and the examples he gave should be vows that every married couple keeps.  If you’re 86 and been married for 50 years, you can relate, if you just got married last month, and had your first argument, you can relate, if you’re in a baby mama/daddy/dramatic entanglement…you, can, relate.

Shout out to the activists that always attend an open mic.  Shout out to Sleepy, who's an activist that spoke about Black Wall Street.  

Shout out to Michael Jackson and the SLS who spoke on the people behind you. It’s real, both Black Wall Street and The People Behind You.  When poets piece together the struggle with the present…it’s a powerful picture, that sometimes we don’t comprehend until maybe hours later.

Shout out to Zoy and Moses Graytower.  

Zoy tore the mic down.  He has a book coming out, and forgive me, for misspelling his name.  I wouldn’t label him as a political poet, but his political poetry will let you breathe, big breaths!  

And shout out to Moses Graytower.  This was a young brother I got to share a little bit of time with at the end of the show.  All I can say is … when hip hop and poetry meet, it will get you up in the morning. Young Moses, got me up this night.  His understanding of friendship, storytelling, words, and rhythm are, not to be fucked with.

As far as the feature goes, I spoke to this man, and witnessed this man in two settings.  He's a poet, a storyteller, a griot in the highest sense of the word.  Q is a storyteller, a cataloger of lives, time, and space.  To understand life, and speak on life are two different things.  Some of us live life, and understand it, some of us live life, understand it, and then are able to speak on it.  Q is the latter.  Q is a big part of me getting back to writing…& performing…& community.  You don’t always fold into the fold, sometimes you give thanks for fold-makers that fold you into community.

His poetry is heavy.  It’s heavy for the old afrocentric, and new age Negro too; heavy for the white woman who came to support, and lay her guilt ridden bustier upon the stage.  But the poetry has merit, meaning, and substance for the new Negro and old alike.  It’s our past, and our meaning, america; ours meaning Black americans, ours meaning Mulatto americans, ours meaning us–human in america.  Blending spoken word with acoustic drum, flute, and song; his performance was something we all should witness. 

I wanted to give a shout out to the winner of the four poet slam Mahogany.  This young lady brought the self love like nobody’s business.  After listening to her poetry, I was inspired, as a poet, a writer, a black man, a human.  So big shout out to this young lady! 

All in all, I was fed.  The people who were there were fed.  No chicken, no drinks, no physical nourishment to speak of, but we all left full.  There was community there (special shout out to the 4 year old who ran around free) there was life there.  

We witnessed it. I implore you to visit a poetic open mic.  It’s different.  It is about sharing, it is not about judgment.  It’s about acceptance, and learning.  Learning can be hard, and so can acceptance.  But I dare you to visit one, stay for an hour, stay for the whole set.

  

I challenge you to be changed.

From the Writer’s Soul: Planning & Prepping the Manuscript with a Collective

Writers go through it, even when they decide they want to write a book.  It was always a goal…that’s what we say right, it’s always been a goal. And you try.  You give it what you feel is full effort.  And you hate your manuscript, you’re embarrassed by it.  So you try again.  And somehow you become satisfied with the work.  But it needs editing; anxiety rises, imagination goes wild with what the editor might say.  You sit down for a drink (insert coffee, tea, or the whisky of your choice) and decide, the goal is now a dream.  I can’t deal with the emotional turmoil.

Anxiety is normal. It ranks right up there with that knot called pessimism that rest in your belly, then visits you at 3 am when you think the manuscript is done.  Anxiety and pessimism will lead to that other wonderful P—Procrastination.  

This is where the work happens.

There’s an old adage that says: opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.  This is a popular saying because if you’re dressed in overalls you’re prepared to get messy.  Writing is messy, our emotions about our writing is even messier.  

Do the work. Put on overalls literally if you must.  But do the work. When the work is working, the writer is winning—win writer! Work!

Part of writing work is clarity.  Some alcoholics know this concept very well—they call it a moment of clarity.  It’s when they not only see their mistakes, they can own them, and even seek help at this point.  Clarity is not a single celled organism, it is not a single use item like toilet paper or q-tips.  Clarity is collective.  The collective gives you perspectives, and it is those perspectives that help you gain clarity.

Every writers’ collective is different.  We all have friends, and we all have friends who will read and critique our work.  There is also family, that favorite auntie, or opinionated uncle who will praise the manuscript, or rip it to shreds.  These people are important to have, but are they objective; are they your target audience?  

One of the best things a writer can do is find a good editor.  An editor will provide good feedback for changes or highlight things that are great in your manuscript.  When working with an editor it’s really good when you’re able to speak directly to the editor rather than just text, IM or DM back and forth.  When there is a conversation there is voice inflection and real time understanding that doesn’t lose it’s translation when texting or DM’ing.  Editors are really good when it comes to something that didn’t read very well.  Or they are able to tell you, this section or paragraph confused me, what were you trying to say?  The process of working with an editor is also very good for anxiety.  One of the causes of anxiety is not knowing.  Writers can be unsure of many things in their manuscript, having conversations with an editor clears things up.  Whether the writing works or it doesn’t, knowing and being able to rework things is key.

Another part of the collective for clarification are beta readers.  Beta readers are people who will read your work and give you feedback.  The great thing about beta readers is that you can find some within the criteria of your target audience.  Beta readers are also great because while editors can put a financial dent in your budget, beta readers come relatively economical to free.  

Anxiety is an emotion that’s real.  Writers are emotional about their writing.  Life, emotions, and writing is messy.  In order to clean, writers must do the work.  Work=winning.  A writer’s work requires a collective for perspective.  The collective includes family, friends, an editor, and some beta readers.  Be messy in your writing, be clever; get clarity.  

Don’t be afraid to buy a pair of overalls, and write comfortably in them.  🙂

 

Breaking the Silence, on a Monday... 12/5/2022

 It’s Monday.  And it’s really Monday.  

Here’s the skinny on a catch-up for the last two years.

Back in education, working full time as a Dean in a charter school that has a majority Hispanic/LatinX population, and a dress code.

This morning has been the dress code.  For the record, as a student, I would never endorse a dress code, but as an adult, I get it–somewhat.  I believe in freedom of expression, I believe highschool students should have that freedom.  As an adult, who came from high schools that had active gang members, a dress code can be an agent of safety.

With the school I currently work at, this is not the case.

The school I work at does not have a gang problem.  However we do have many other “school problems'' i.e., drug use, apathy, social media addiction (heck yea, it’s a real thing) and of course simple defiance.  

Like I said, it’s Monday.  And simple defiance is strong in the area of dress code or the uniform policy.  Our students have understood and understand the policy since day one.  

So my job is to make sure the students are following policy.  Granted, it’s a week before finals, and two weeks before Christmas/Winter Break, and I wasn’t here Friday.  I’m questioning myself this Monday:  how hard should I go on the dress code thing, how hard is the principal wanting the Culture Team to

go...

........why am I here on a Monday.

This has not been the easiest year.  I’ve switched positions, a promotion as such; but I feel much less satisfied.  And this Monday isn’t helping.  

I think I’ll take the next week and try to be creative, and post more here.  

I think I’ll try to be more positive, or not speak negatively on my day.

I think that there are still wonders, and understanding, and good times even when we’re in our feels.  I think that 1:13 pm is better than 9:13 am.  I am hopeful my final hours of my Monday are better than the starting hours.

It is Monday, it really is.

The Long Pause Ends

 

It's November.  I can believe it, even if I don't want to.  I haven't blogged in about 4 months.  

Recap:

• School started in August--1st time history teacher, teaching in a pandemic in some aftermath of summer racial protest
• Working from home with family.  Bounced between having a three year old and one year old at home while I was working.
• Financial issues as only working one job, and depending on book sales.
• Worked on various marketing strategies for book; ie book reviews, articles written about book, personal videos on IG, Facebook, & Twitter, ads through Facebook--still not a bestseller
• Inconsistent #vss365 writings
• On hiatus with Wherdzmyth magazine, however did write one article last month
• Felt need to write creative post

So yes, has been a busy bit of time for life.  Teaching is not an easy job.  Do I enjoy it more than working at the mental hospital?--absolutely do!  Do I miss really focusing on writing, developing stories, or creating marketing materials for books?--absolutely do!

Because I started back doing some #vss365 writings and posting them on Instagram and other places, I thought, meh, what the hell--go 'head and do a blog post too.  So this work is from 10/31, and has a bit of a halloween feel, but not totally. Please enjoy the ranting creativity of the word #danger.

#Danger, danger

like Things Stranger,

Penny It’s is rising 

from Hell’s grip—

& Nightmares masks

are manufactured on Elm

as sharpened gloves

remain on charred helms

It’s the 31st so quench 

your thirst w/the blood

from infected innocents 

@ your door

#vss365 #danger 

I initially posted this piece on Twitter, and thought I'd get a good response.  Not that I was seeking hard for a good response.  But I thought it was a good piece for Halloween and a bit clever.  However, I was wrong.  Not a real big response.  And speaking of Twitter, I haven't been getting a much in the way of engagement from them as late.  So it may get lowered on the social media food chain so to speak.  

The next two are blog exclusives! 

The voices are

waking 

placing my safety 

in #danger

As sitting still or

sleeping becomes impossible 

in this pre-manic state,

I want to swallow 

this fearful hollow hole

tied to my frontal lobe

Yet I am late 

with my lithium 

here come the 

white coats, ready to

take me,

captive once more.

I really liked this piece; wrote it while being a 1:1 with a mentally ill patient during a shift I picked up at the hospital.  Who can say the dangers of mental health aren't real. Who can say living that best life isn't hard, isn't frustrating.  Just realized the pic cut the words off a bit, but that's why the poem is written across from it...you know balancing the picture with the poem.

NEXT!!

#Dangerous puss popped

from space pimple.

The ooze from 

ozone layer infection created

COVID—

It wasn’t the Chinese.

They were just

victims of Venus’

vicious plan to vaporize 

the human race.

As we run to the polls

placing our fate

to liver spotted faces

because we refused to try

fresh faces;

we deserve our choice.

Climate control 

refused by the boys

allowed the lack of belief 

to make the world 

bleed

Who's not up for a selfie poem.  I really enjoyed writing this one simply because it's political, it's conspiracy, it's Covid; we vote in like 48 hours...it's just a lot of stuff I liked writing in this piece. 

I hoped you enjoyed this post.  I've been thinking of doing a mash-up rough cut spoken word piece of the last few #vss365 poems.  If you think it'd be a good idea, then drop a line, and let me know.

And for those who don't know #vss365=VeryShortStory365 (like in days)

Until next time readers!!

Some Good

Three years is a long time for some.  2017 was what I like to call my return to adulting year.  It was the year my eldest was born, and sacrifices I’d begun to make to ensure good parenting.  

So I took this job with this state hospital.  Was it a dream job for me?  Far from it.  I never wanted to go back into mental health, but I did because it was paying more at the time.

Other than really great stories about the patients, their psychosis, voice inflections, and personal interactions--there were the staff.  There’s nothing better than a good damn co-worker.  On the shift I worked, I had several.  Some took a minute to get used to, others were Saints from the start, and others still went from co-workers to friends.  

It takes a special type of muthafucka (and I mean that with the greatest respect) to work with acutely mentally ill patients.  There’s a level of professionalism that sinks slightly and is still acceptable.  There are pauses when patients say certain things, and staff faces become purple or red, doing their damndest not to laugh in a patient’s face; there is silent understanding, and inner laughter.  

These individuals knew me as a new dad.  A proud man who would glowingly show baby pictures to anyone if it would brighten their day.  They knew I worked hard, didn’t shy away from confrontation, or the trash at the end of the night.  They also knew I was always good for a smile if nothing else.  And they helped my black ass out!  They gifted me with baby shower offerings, covered shifts for me, and gave me space when I needed it.

I will miss many of my co-workers, our rituals, our routines, our ways, our end of the week jokes, and mutual respect for the work we put into the job.  We put in 40 hours a week, and rarely were there off days taken.  We knew our patients and forged relationships with them (at least most of the time).

It will be hard leaving these excellent people, it’s always hard leaving someone you’ve grown with.  I can honestly say I respect the bulk of my co-workers--definitely the floor staff.

In closing, this was some good.  In the end when you’ve checked out, suffering from compassion fatigue, with zero fucks to give, you look over at your co-worker.  And they’re doing their job.  You stand up, and remember your interview, when you said, ‘yes, when the time comes, if the time comes, I will give a two week notice.’ 

Then you bust tail for two weeks, because your co-worker deserves that.

Goodbye Old Frien-a-mie

It’s come down to this.  July 23rd, I’ll serve my last shift in the mental health field, and resign my position with Fort Logan Mental Hospital here in Denver.  Nine years ago this was a new field for me, now I feel the need to move away from it with impudence.  The field has been helpful, informative; but here in the end, the right move, is to move away.

Nine years ago I’d crash landed just outside of Denver, in Aurora; right on Illif and Blackhawk.  My car went down, and my hustle got me out.  I’d scored a job with a hybrid online school, that wouldn’t start until the fall--it was May.  I had to survive.  I’d found a job spinning signs to make ends meet, but I was homeless staying in a shelter.  Then June hit, and Excelsior interviewed me.  I had experience working with kids, but knew nothing of psychology, mental health, treatment centers, or “going hands on.”  Excelsior stabilized me economically.  By the end of the summer I had a job with decent pay, somewhere to lay my head other than a homeless shelter, and was working on getting a car.

I worked the cottages, worked with the girls, learned about triggers, self-care, strength based care, trauma informed care, CPI, manual holds, grabs, and got my cardio in just about every shift while running around campus behind our clients.  It was mental health, it was hard, they were young girls who’d been abused, and it was our job to keep them safe.  

For 5 years I did that.  And I had progressed.  I was the only supervisor to go from being a campus counselor to a supervisor.  I worked my ass off, and felt a true sense of loss when Excelsior closed their doors.

Yet other doors were starting to open.  I’d gotten another teaching job as a technology teacher with Columbia Middle School--it was a great fit, and I was excited.  Then fatherhood came, and more money was needed.  I thought I’d left working in the mental health field behind.  I was wrong.  I had applied for a state job with Fort Logan Mental Institute.  The job description seemed familiar; work with adults who have mental health issues in a locked hospital setting.  

I didn’t want to go back into mental health.  I was happy in education, I loved working with my kids, I loved working with the information, rather than behaviors.  But I needed money, I had a little one on the way, and the hospital was paying more than the school.  So back I went.  

Back into the behaviors, and outburst, the delusions, the checks, the feeling of being on guard, while knowing the importance of building relationships.  

I need to process--a term mental health professionals know all too well.  It means take a step back, look at the whole of a situation; weigh the pros and cons, see where you were wrong, and see where you are right.  Through these next couple of entries I’ll go back, and look at the pros and the cons; see where I went right, and where I should have improved.

But at the end of the day, my last day here will be July 23rd.  Like any good milieu worker, I have a plan, there is structure, and barring any critical incidents, we’ll get to that date smoothly.  

I look forward to processing the last three years at “the fort” with you--