Dirty Girls' Weekend

Novelist Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez made history again this past weekend. The best-selling author of novels such as Dirty Girls Social Club and la madrina de chica lit (the godmother of chica lit) organized and hosted the 1st annual Chica Lit Club Fiesta in Miami Beach. About seventy chica lit aficionados from all over the country gathered at the Miami Beach Resort and Spa for a weekend of books, fun and sisterhood.

In addition to fun activities such as a BBQ buffet across the beach to a fabulous dinner at Bongo’s Cuban Café, the fiesta also boasted a variety of panels that informed and inspired the creative spirits in attendance. I’ve learned that even booklovers who don’t aspire to write and are content to find great reads and support their favorite authors love to learn how publishing works. Well, they learned a great deal this weekend with over ten panels and workshops from “How to Become a Chica Lit Writer” to “Blogging for Modern Day Chicas.”

Alisa set and kept the sisterly tone by being such a warm and gracious hostess, and her indomitable volunteers kept things moving smoothly. In her welcoming remarks at our first breakfast, Alisa proved to be just as intelligent, spirited and funny in person as she is in writing. She also spoke a great deal of truth but always imbued her message with hope (which I sometimes forget to do!) I am truly heartened and inspired by how Alisa continues to blaze trails, whether proving to the publishing industry that mainstream fiction by and about Latinas can resonate with diverse audiences, using her visibility to speak truth to power or organizing an event like this to bring Latinas together to celebrate our accomplishments and learn how to build on them. The gal ain’t no Jill Sanchez (and if you’ve read her latest novel Make Him Look Good, you already know what I’m driving at!

I also finally had the joy of meeting many fellow authors including Mary Castillo and Berta Platas. These gals – along with Lynda Sandoval who sadly could not make the fiesta – keep me going with their emails. Not too long ago, I had to confess to them that I had yet to submit the novella for the anthology the four of us are co-authoring for Avon/Harper Collins. They gave me a much needed jumpstart with their understanding and hilarious words so it felt great to thank Mary and Berta in person with a hug.

Shame on me for not knowing about them before I landed in Miami, but I also discovered some wonderful Latina writers who have shot up to the top of my to-read list. One such writer was Reyna Grande whose debut novel Across A Hundred Mountains hits bookstores next month. Before reading from her second novel, Reyna told us that, yes, she made three attempts to cross the border illegally into the United States, and she took great issue with the notion that immigrants come here to take and not give. I agree wholeheartedly with her, and I can tell you that after her short reading of her work-in-progress, had Reyna not come to the United States, the loss would have been ours.

The fiesta also gave me an opportunity to reconnect with some other folks that I hardly get to see like Caridad Pineiro and Marcela Landres. For those of you who do not know, Marcela is an editrix extraordinaire who is on mission to help writers – especially Latinas – get published. As usual, she pulled no punches, telling us what we need to know and do if we are to succeed in this industry. Even though I am already published, I found her 10 Tips for Latina Writers to be insightful and will share it with every hermana I know who aspires to write. When I listen to Marcela speak I never doubt that her truthtelling comes from a place of passion for the written word as well as a desire to see su gente represented in that medium.

Sometimes the best moments are the small ones with those who know you best and love you anyway. J Because I had bought a new digital camera sans memory card – at tiny gadget I bought on the spur of the moment at Brookstone – I was only able to take a few pictures. Of course, my favorite is the one of my homegirl Elisha and me barefoot on the beach behind the resort. She and I – both as individuals and as a team – have been working relentlessly so to be able to get away from all the responsibilities and sit in the sand – even if only for a half-hour – was a blessing.

The downside of my weekend was I had to leave the fiesta a day early! Because of a speaking engagement at Foothill College on Tuesday morning, I had to return to New York City on Sunday morning, handle some errands and then head back to the airport on Monday evening to board a plane to San Jose. Still my whirlwind trip to Miami allowed me to have some much deserved and overdue fun and to remind me that there is a place for me – the authentic me – no matter where I go.

No More Cos for Alarm

Today I just made a decision that I will no longer debate with anyone about whether Bill Cosby is right.

Causing controversy seems to have become Mr. Cosby's raison d'etre. Most recently he gave a commencement speech at Spelman College, the historically Black women's university in Atlanta, GA. Among other things, he said to the five hundred graduates. "You have to know that is time for you to take charge. You have to seriously see yourselves not as the old women where the men stood in front and you all stood behind, because the men, most of them are in prison."

I know as I type, keyboards across Black America are on fire as people debate the veracity of his statements. Just as I was about to jump into the fray with a group of online friends, I had a revelation.

This is an utter waste of time.

I understand why Bill Cosby's words always strike a chord. He describes the painfully obvious, and nothing resonates like pain. Who can deny that too many Black men are incarcerated? Who can deny that too many Black women have to carry the weight? The problem is that all Mr. Cosby does is tell us something we already know, and the way he does -- or more like the way he does not -- uplifts no one.

Being a moral leader, public intellectual or what have you means having a sophisticated analysis --not just a mere description -- of the issues at hand. We need such people not to tell us what we observe or experience everyday, but to explain why things are as they are and to offer ideas how we can address them. The reasons, for example, why so many brothers are on lockdown, and so many sisters have to become superwomen, are complex. A true leader understands these complex forces, has both the capacity and desire to break them down for the masses in a way they can understand, and attempts to give them direction and, most importantly, HOPE.

I find that Bill Cosby does nothing but raise alarm, and that does nothing for our communities but create more problems, especially as we argue amongst ourselves about whether he is right or not. Why should we waste time arguing about his overly simplistic remarks of the month? Whether Bill Cosby is right or not, he's going to be fine. What about the rest of us?

Now that I've written this, I will no longer get into debates over whether what Bill Cosby says may or may not be true. Although I don't question that he only means to help by speaking what he deems to be true, I find his rantings about the obvious to be quite unhelpful. On the contrary, they're distractions. Unnecessary and sometimes even dangerous distractions.

There are many Black intellectuals who can give us the answers we seek about the issues that concern us. Robin D.G. Kelly, Tricia Rose, Michael Eric Dyson, Gwendolyn Pough, Mark Anthony Neal, Cornel West, Yvonne Bynoe. . . I'm brimming with hope in the revelation that there are too many to list. And then we have people in our own backyards -- social workers, community organizers, policy advocates and grassroots activists -- who work with these issues every day. Thes are the folks who not only have a strong command of what the problem are, they have some damn good ideas of how we can solve them. These are the people to whom we should listen. These are the people whose ideas we should engage and debate.

So until Mr. Cosby can offer a similarly sophisticated analysis and viable solutions that are as complex as the problems he is merely describing, I will be ignoring his alarmist and unproductive commentaries on the state of Black America and get my socio-political enlightenment from those who can tell me something other than the obvious.

Picture Me Rollin': The Movie

No one in Hollywood has optioned the film rights, but I just finished an intensive screenwriters’ lab in an effort to adapt Picture Me Rollin’ into a screenplay. The 4-day lab was sponsored by the National Association for Latino Independent Producers. I have until Labor Day to complete a first draft of the screenplay and then I’m off to Santa Monica for the second part of the workshop.

As you may know, a good adaptation is not a literal translation. While a book tells a story using as many words as necessary, a film tells a story using preferably no more than one hundred twenty minutes. Each medium has its advantages and restrictions so when you take a story originally told in one and tell it another, changes are not only desirable but necessary.

But as I plan how to adapt Picture Me Rollin’ into a screenplay, I want to start with a simple step: deciding which scenes from the novel must absolutely be in the screenplay. Well, maybe that’s not as easy as it sounds, but like I said, it’s a start. So I ask those of you who have read Picture Me Rollin’ which scenes do you think must absolutely be in the movie?

How Kaavya Got Desperate, Got Busted and Got Scapegoated

When the news broke that Kaavya Viswanathan, the 19-year old Harvard sophomore who wrote the bestselling debut teen chick lit novel How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life, had been accused of plagiarizing two novels by Megan McCafferty, I had no idea that two years earlier at the age of seventeen, her publisher Little, Brown and Company had paid her a half-million dollar advance for two novels of which How Opal Mehta was one.

So when I learned this bit of backstory, the last thing on my mind was whether Ms. Viswanathan was guilty or innocent of the allegations against her. Odd but true. The first thing I wondered was where the hell was I when news of this blockbuster deal broke? Then I realized that I was probably in the throes of writing one of my own novels. I know. . . that sounds pretty righteous even though I don't mean it to (still it probably sounds just like what it is.)

The more I read stories about the allegations, the more I learned about the book deal. You have to understand that these unusual figures are what makes this news story so big. This is not to say that if Ms. Viswanathan had been a few years older and offered a lot less dollars, the plagiarism accusation would not be an issue. But the only reason why the general public knows about these accusations now is because the book deal was such major news then.

So this past Wednesday I'm in my hotel room in Anaheim, California where I'm promoting my third novel (and the first to be published under my real name and in the chick lit genre... the same as How Opal Mehta), reading articles on the internet about the case as I wait for Katie Couric to interview Kaavya Viswanathan herself on that morning's show.

At one point in my research, I stop to check email, and there's one from a friend who asks, "Sofia, did she really get .5?" See, in the past I had told this friend that sometimes when it's reported that an author received a high-figure advance, it's not always true. Sometimes the figure includes other things as film options and foreign language rights although it reads like the amount is paid solely for the book. I told him that some of the spin doctors hired by new "authors" (because those who attempt to mislead booklovers this way are not often genuine writers as much as they are celebrities in another realm who landed book deals because of their celebrity) plant rumors of seven-figure deals that are just not true to generate publicity. Hell, some of these people don't even write "their" own book, at least not without the assistance of a ghost writer who may or may not be acknowledged (usually not.)

After first reading some of the passages under suspicion and Ms. Viswanathan's official response, I write back to my friend that while as much as I wanted to believe this young woman (yeah, I was thinking, "I don't want a sista to be guilty of this shit let alone one who's so young!"), I just couldn't buy that she unintentionally borrowed or "internalized" Ms. McCafferty's words. There were just too many passages, and they were just too similiar.

As I wait for the interview, I come across more articles about the matter -- new and old -- and my resentment starts to grow. There are times when I've bitched to my agent, "Give me a half-million dollar advance for haiku written on toilet paper and see if I don't end up on the bestseller list!" In more rational moments, I recognize that that's a gross exaggeration of the role advances play in ultimate sales. But there's more than a grain of truth to my contention.

Shit, there's a whole bowl of rice.

When a house gives an author -- especially a debut novelist who has not amassed any fame in another field -- such a large advance, it makes news. Big news. And that kind of publicity generates sales. The tome becomes top priority for reviewers who want to see if the hype is warranted (and, yes, some are foaming at the mouth in the hopes that it isn't.) That ensures more publicity when the book finally hits shelves. And no matter what these reviewers say, readers will plunk down their money to determine for themselves if the latest literary "it" guy or gal is the genuine article (can't say that's a bad thing, but obviously I'm biased.) It actually becomes irrelevant whether the writer in question actually has chops. Much more often than not, the hype generates sales regardless of whether it is warranted which is why in my cynical moments (and, OK, during those rare bouts of laziness), I'll whine that all I need to sell hundreds of thousands of copies of my book the in first weeks is for some publishing house to offer me five hundred Gs for my latest novel like they did So-and-So. Why not? I've proven that I can write (and in multiple genres), and check it, I'll even promise to spend a good chunk of my own advance on promoting the novel myself even though I know after such a hefty investment, the smart and lucky house will throw thousands more into the same to ensure they turn a profit. You know, you gotta spend money to make money and alla that. Well, spend it on me.

Seriously, I'm blessed to be make a living writing books and today to be in a position to say, dammit, there are some things about publishing that makes my blood boil. At the top of the list is the penchant for giving book deals (never mind six-figures) to nonwriters simply because they're famous and certainly not for any evident literary prowess. In the case of people like Karrine Steffans and Paris Hilton, they're infamous for scandalous behavior. Some are even famous -- as in the case of Paris's ugly chihuahua Tinkerbell -- just for being famous. In the halls of publishing, this is considered "having a platform." Even proven writers (e.g. journalists) who are attempting to sell their first book-length work or trying to move from one genre to another are pressed to not only quantify the existence of their audience but also to prove that said audience will consume their latest offering. In its worst application, the insistence on a platform in publishing is fueled by the same thinking behind casting singers and rappers in films whether or not they have proven they can act and giving record deals to actors and athlete who have not demonstrated the ability to sing or rhyme. This phenomenon at its worst exposes the publishing industry -- which by the cerebral nature of its product is supposed to be more intelligent -- as trying too hard to compete with its more flashier yet less substantive cousins in the field of entertainment.

So I start to wonder, "Well, what's Kaavya's platform?" Not because I buy into this thinking as much as I begrudgingly accept it (and my severely limited power to change it.) The question devolves into a rant when I read on the Internet that she landed the book deal without having completed the novel. See, it's virtually impossible for a debut novelist to land a book deal without having first completed the manuscript. Especially, as I argued above, if said novelist is not already famous in some other vain or at least published in another medium. If the rules of the game were being consistently applied, then Ms. Viswanathan would not have landed a book deal -- never mind a half-million dollar advance -- unless (1) she was already, like, a pop singer or something of that nature or (2) she first had completed a full novel that demonstrated amazing writing acumen.

Not only was there no evidence that either of these two factors existed prior to the deal, I come across another article that says that Miss Viswanathan collaborated with 17th Street Productions (now known as Alloy Entertainment.) According to the article, 17th Street, "a book packager that specializes in teen narratives," helped her develop the story. In other words, while writing How Opal Mehta Got Kissed. . ., Kaavya Viswanathan got help. Where do all the aspiring writers I meet sign up for that? Hell, I've written four books and a quarter, and I'd like a piece of that! Still Little, Brown and Company was quick to say that she wrote every word of the novel herself so that her collaboration with 17th Street Productions could not be blamed for the offending passages.

By the time Ms. Viswanathan appears live with Katie Couric, I'm furious. The kid's not a phenom nor was she famous before this, I'm thinking, so who the hell did she know? 'Cause that's the only way she could've gotten the deal at all never mind six-figures and all the publicity it brings. This is so fucked up, man!

And as I listen to Kaavya apologize profusely yet stop short of admitting to plagiarism, I discover just how fucked up it truly is. It hits me that the girl couldn't confess even if she wanted to. As she fidgets under Katie Couric's gentle yet insistent questioning as to how unbelievable her "explanation" is, I realize that the only way her publishing house will stand by her is if she does not admit that she plagiarized Megan McCafferty's novels. In the wake of the Jame's Frey scandal, to do that would mean that they dropped the ball and would have to take some responsibility for Kaavya's decision to commit literary theft. Yes, there's a possibility that Kaavya herself refuses to confess to her own house, but that's irrelevant. Surely, these folks know she commited plagiarism no matter what she says, yet they are eager to spin her denial to cover their own failure.

I watch Kaavya twist and, whether I want to believe her or not, I see a guilty young woman. But I also see an ambitious seventeen-year old girl who was given by even more ambitious adults a major opportunity she did not earn then to be saddled with a tremendous responsibility that she does not deserve now. Kaavya did not have the maturity to resist the money and fame dangled before her never mind the foresight to recognize that she was way in over her head (note: I'm not saying that said immaturity should absolve her.) That came later when despite the assistance from the book packager hired to help her, Kaavya realized that she could not deliver on the house's hype of her preternatural talent. So she became desperate and resorted to extreme actions. In a naivete -- and perhaps even a little bit of hubris not unusual for someone of any age who has been bestowed with more praise and rewards than she has earned -- she gambled and thought she would never be found out.

But then Kaavya was found out. And now the same people who set her up for their own ends won't make her or allow her to come clean. I don't believe that Little, Brown knew from the start that she had committed plagiarism, but I have no doubt that someone over there failed to do his or her job. In the most generous scenario, somebody at that house doesn't think it's important to stay on top of the genre in which they publish. If she or he had, they would've spotted the similarities between How Opal Mehta and Megan McCafferty's Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings from the first draft. But then again, should we expect differently from a house that doles out a half-million dollars to an unproven writer based on nothing more than a concept (a concept, I might add, that save for its ethnic spin, is itself too reminiscent of many existing coming-of-age novels and teen flicks.)

But the fact that Kaavya's publishers stand by her "unintentional borrowing" excuse and intend to put the book back on shelves after the offending passages have been removed doesn't strike me as loyalty. On the contrary, it seems to me that they just don't care. Certainly not about what's best for Kaavya. Rather they thrust her into the public eye to answer for what she has done while they continue to maneuver ways to capitalize upon her mistake. She takes the heat, and they make the money.

Whether out of hubris or desperation or both, Kaavya Viswanathan willfully committed an immoral act and for that she should be held accountable. But the mistake is not wholly hers alone so she should not be the only one made to pay. Her lapse in integrity for the sake of money and fame was modeled for her long before she began to type. For reasons we can only speculate, Little, Brown gave Kaavya a deal that she had not earned, and that should make us question their character as much as we do hers. Somehow they saw a great deal of money to be made from this young woman, and they weren't wrong . . . until she got caught. But while people understandably knock the discredited author for being greedy, arrogant and disingenuous, her house scrambles to get a revised edition of How Opal Mehta sans plagiarized passages back on the shelves. Too few are questioning this effort to turn controversy into profit at the expense of a 19-year old in desperate need of a moral lesson laced with a modicum of compassion for the factors and circumstances that contributed to her lapse in judgement.

Today, a second charge of plagiarism was made against Kaavya Viswanathan. Just like how Megan McCafferty's fans found the similarities and reported them to her, readers of Sophie Kinsella have come forward with several passages that Miss Viswanathan apparently lifted from the author of the popular Shopaholic chick lit series. Will these latest allegations finally compel Little, Brown and Company to take some responsibility, do the right thing and stop trying to make money off this fiasco at the cost of Kaavya Viswanathan's soul?

Come to think of it, perhaps the entire publishing industry, in its effort to emulate some of the questionable practices of the film and music industry, should take a little blame for this tragedy as well.

My Mexican Heritage: Or Why This Afro-Latina Caribena is Staying Home on May 1st

I write this from Los Angeles where I've been for the past few days promoting my novel Divas Don't Yield. Only now do I realize that when I return home at 12:33 AM, it'll be May 1, 2006 - the day on which U.S. immigrants are being encouraged to stay home in an effort to demonstrate how vital they are to this nation's economy. So before I began to pack to check out of the hotel and catch my plane, I wanted to share one of the many reasons why I, too, will beg out of the economy tomorrow.

About this time last year, I spent a week in Mexico. As part of the Rockefeller Foundation's Next Generation Leadership program, I and twenty-three other fellows visited Mexico City and Chiapas. Upon my return, I had lunch with my parents at el Gran Bohio, a mom-n-pop shop and one of our favorite restaurants in the East Tremont section of the South Bronx. As I ate my carne guisado con arroz blanco, I shared with my Puerto Rican dad and my Dominican Mom the things I learned during my trip.

Suddenly, my usually reserved mother says in a quivering voice, "I spent two months in Mexico."

My mother is a deep well of complex emotions. She hides this (not so well) behind a taciturn demeanor. Before that moment I only knew that Ma came from the Dominican Republic to Washington, DC in the fifties as the domestic of diplomat at the age of twenty-three. After an argument with the diplomat's wife, she stole out at 4 AM on her day off with only three Dominican pennies in her pocket and none of her paperwork to board a bus to New York City. I had to prod my mother to get this incomplete story so just imagine how much I have to nudge to learn how she ended up living in Mexico for two months. Until that time I never thought my mother had been anywhere besides the United States, the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico. It gets to the point where Ma becomes so emotional, my father has to complete the tale.

At one point, in order to stay in the country, my mother had to leave the U.S. and then re-enter. So she crossed the border to Juarez and checked into a hotel for the night. However, when my mother tried to re-enter the United States the next day, she experienced problems and was not allowed to re-enter the country. Ma had no choice but to return to the hotel.

She was in her room crying hysterically when the woman who worked for the hotel's laundry service came to her room to return a dress -- the only one Ma had packed for what she thought would be an overnight stay. Recognizing my mother as another Latina, she asked in Spanish what was wrong. My mother explained that she could not re-enter the U.S. but had no money to stay and nowhere else to go.

"I have to leave because I can get fired, said the woman, but you stay here, and I'll be back."

At the end of her shift, the Mexican woman took my mother home with her. Ma stayed with the woman and her three children in their one-room apartment. The children -- two daughters and a son -- usually slept in one bed, but they gave up the bed for my mother and slept on the floor the entire time she stayed with them. After two months, Ma was able to leave Juarez and enter the U.S.

It's at this point where Pa has to take over. Ma is so choked up on tears that she cannot continue to tell the story of this woman - a stranger to my mother who herself was a stranger to her homeland - who opened her home to her and shared with her the little she had. "For years afterwards, your mother would send the woman and her family money," Pa says with clear pride and approval. "Just like she did her own relatives in the Dominican Republic."

"Well, what was this womans name?" I ask.

My mother finds her voice again. "Sofia."

"For real?" I put down my fork. "Wait a minute. . . am I named after her?"

"Si."

My mother could not believe my surprise. She's adamant that she's told me this story a million times, but as I said, my mother is a woman who has experienced a difficult life and sometimes feels the wounds as if she only incurred them yesterday. This is why it took me until the age of thirty-three to hear for the first time that I was a namesake let alone that the woman I was named after was from another Latin American country.

So I have many reasons why I will stay home on May 1st. Being a Black woman of Puerto Rican and Dominican descent born in the United States, several of the reasons will be obvious to some. I tell the story of my name to share a reason that is not so obvious. Of all the things I can be reflecting on tomorrow's day of protest, I will be thinking about and honoring the Mexican woman whose name I carry.

I don't know if she is alive or if she has transcended.

I don't know if she remains in Mexico or if she has crossed back onto the land that once belonged to her ancestors.

I don't know whether or not, if she is here in the United States, if she has come legally or not.

What I do know is that once my mother found herself in an unfamiliar place, and a stranger who was a native to that land showed her compassion and kindness. I know that this woman did not care where my mother came from or the color of her skin or the amount of money she had in her purse before she decided to support her. I know after my mother who, despite being a contributor to the United States economy and playing by all its rules of residency, still suffered rejection and scrutiny by this country, yet found a haven in this woman's humble home.

And I know that this woman was Sofia Enriquez de la Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico.

A Film Executive Is More Likely to Try to Tell Me How to Be Latina

Lusty Lady Rachel Kramer Bussel (www.rachelkramerbussel.com) recently interviewed me for the Gothamist. One of the many intriguing questions she asked me was, "Has the publishing world been more open to Latina writing than the film world is to Latina actresses/producers/writers or are there just more opportunities to publish books than to get a film out into the world?"

My answer:

My book was one of three mainstream novels written by and about Latinas that hit bookshelves in March 2006, all published by major houses. When’s the last time you saw that happen in the film industry? Or even on television? Yes, it may be more expensive and therefore risky to produce a film, and many less films are produced in a year than books published, but I think even if you account for the uniqueness of each industry, the publishing world is more proactive about pursuing Latinos readers than the film industry is about reaching Latino moviegoers. And my experience with both has been that the publishing industry is more willing to let Latinos tell their own stories. If you look at the few films released in the past few years set in Latino communities, you’ll find two things. One, they’re independents. Two, the directors are White and usually male. When a Latina filmmaker wants to make a movie like Girlfight, Raising Victor Vargas or Maria Full of Grace, she faces more skepticism about the universality of the story and its commercial viability. I’ve found that a film executive is more likely to try and tell me how to be Latina than a book editor. I have yet met a Latina writer who told me that her editor complained, “You have to put a White girl in your story.”

Yeah, I went there. I had to. To read where else I went, check out the entire Gothamist interview at http://www.gothamist.com/archives/2006/04/17/sofia_quintero_1.php.

And if you've had an interesting experiences attempting to get your book published or film produced, do share!

Making Change and Doing It in Strange Places

I just received the following call for submissions from a listserv I belong to devoted to conscious women in hip hop. This anthology sounds like a fantastic idea. I know I'm going to cop it as soon as it's available, and I hope to discover some new ideas as well as great writers. Maybe you?

Call for Submissions - Young Women’s Anthology “Doing it in Strange Places… And Making Change: Young Women Fighting for Social Justice”

A commonly asked question at social justice events is, “What can I do to get more involved?” This question is usually answered in one of three ways: send money, call politicians, and volunteer. Unfortunately, none of these foster a sense of personal investment or involvement in an issue or offer solutions for how to be personally involved in solving the injustices in the world. It also doesn’t account for the lack of time, money and resources that these three answers require.

What if we could just incorporate our politics into our every day lives, particularly into our seemingly apolitical jobs/careers? In fact, that is just what most activists do. In this anthology, we want to hear from young women from all walks of life around the world, who have found creative ways to use their job/career/talent/passion (from writing to banking to computer programming to being a homemaker) as an outlet for social justice activism. We seek to create an anthology that makes activism more accessible and inspire others to use the resources they already have to contribute to social justice.

Changing the world won’t happen overnight, so let’s share our daily successes and strategies for making all of our visions of a better world possible. Tell us what worked and what didn’t because all experiences are valuable. We want to be sure multiple voices and perspectives are represented in the anthology. Writers of all experience levels areencouraged to submit work. All work must be original and should not be published elsewhere.

Submission Guidelines

* “Young” is about how you self-identify. We do not have age limits.

* We prefer to have submissions sent via email in a Word or Rich Text Format document to mandy_vandeven@yahoo.com with “Doing it in Strange Places” in the subject line. Otherwise, submissions can be mailedto: Mandy Van Deven 955 Metropolitan Ave, #4R Brooklyn, NY 11211

* If you would like your submission returned, please include a SASE.

* Word count: 2,500 - 5,000

* All submissions require your name, address, phone number, email address, and a short bio.

* Submissions should be received by May 15, 2006.

* Please direct any questions you may have to mandy_vandeven@yahoo.com

Topic Ideas Already Submitted Include:

* Biking for Women's Empowerment

* Blogging to Fight Street Harassment

* Living Choices and Neighborhood Development

* Bellydancing to Increase Confidence and Comfort w/ Sexuality

We look forward reading to what you have to say!

She Hate Me

Today I saw the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly which reviewed my novel DIVAS DON'T YIELD, and well. . .

. . . it sucked. The reviewer gave it a big ol' C.

So why am I admitting this to y'all? 'Cause if it had been a great (or even good review), you'd be hearing about it, LOL! So I'm just keepin' it real, rolling with the punches (or in this case, the sucker punches.) Consider my skin thickened that much more (but my heart remains unhardened. Hell, I can't afford to get cynical. I've got two novellas and another novel to write by July!)

I'll feel better when I walk into a bookstore tomorrow and see my book on the shelves. As my fellow author Mary Castillo (author of Hot Tamara and In Between Men) writes, "It never gets it old." I hope you'll check out the book anyway, LOL!

And if you're in NYC, stop by the party at Lava Gina on the 28th.

Black.White.

I won't front. I had no interest in the new F/X reality show Black.White. I'm a bit of race woman (and on really bad days I can be a straight up identity cop!) so this should've been a show that piqued my interest. But it didn't because of Ice Cube's involvement.

Admittedly this may be unfair, but he's just never struck me as the kinda brother who could bring the depth to this subject required for this to be a truly groundbreaking show. If your own views on race are narrow, outdated, etc., -- which I find Cube's to be -- one can hardly expect you to transcend the cliches in a media product meant for popular consumption (not to mention a "reality" show with concocted scenarios and edited footage to contrive an effect that's not real at all.)

I stumbled on an episode of Black.White this week, and after watching it, I feel that my reservations were justified. Maybe the members of the White family on this show are indeed typical of the way average White Americans view race (ranging from the naive to the guilty, LOL.) The problem is that "typical" doesn't move the discussion of race forward or engender any hope. As far as I'm concerned, despite its lofty intentions, the show does not deepen or refresh the shallow and stale "discussion" about race in the United States.

This show is still safe -- especially for the White members of its audience -- and that for me doesn't add much value in the quest for racial justice.

What Exactly Is Hip Hop Music?

Much too long ago I received a letter from a fan named Angie who wrote:

I have a question and it is probably stupid. I have loved rap music since probably 6th grade. I was born in 1975. I know that hip hop refers to a culture whereas rap is just the music, but is all rap music hip hop music? Is all hip hop music rap or could r & b for instance, or other types of music, also be considered hip hop music? I just want to be sure I have my terminology right.

Such an interesting question, and I like getting my terms right, too. I have yet to respond, however, because I just didn’t know the answer. Admittedly, I tend to be a purist when it ocmes to defining hip hop (yes, despite the fact that the traditional four element does not include what I do as Black Artemis) and have been quite opinionated (OK... proprietary, too) about what constitutes hip hop lit. But I felt that this question about music was one better taken to the hip hop community – especially the makers and the aficionados – to answer this question for Angie (if that can or should be done at all.)

So what do you think? What exactly is hip hop music? Does it matter? Why or why not?

Good Latino, Bad Latino

This weekend I attended the National Association of Latino Independent Producers's annual conference in Long Beach, California. Events like these are always a mixed bag for me. It's always a pleasure to reconnect with some wonderful people and meet new ones who believe that entertainment can be both fun, well-crafted and though-provoking. On the other hand, it's disheartening to feel that as a community we've hit a wall on some critical discussions (if we're truly having them at all.)

Case in point. I went to a panel called "Good Latino/Bad Latino: Do Latinos in Power Have to Hire and Portray Us Well?" My dear friend and business partner Elisha Miranda (who authored the YA novel The Sista Hood under the pen name E-Fierce) was on that panel. Call me biased, but she was the only one to address the issue. She said without reservation, yes, those of us who are arrive in a position of influence have an obligation to create opportunities for others, evolve with our craft and offer diverse and complex representation of our community.

But the panel quickly moved away from discussing the responsibility of media makers to our peers and audience to making excuses for why Latinos consumers should support anything and everything even if we don't like it. So if a TV show that is chockfull of steretoypes or is just poorly written flops, it doesn't became the creator's fault for serving up bland fare. It becomes the audience's fault for not tolerating mediocre and perhaps even damaging content. The argument was that if we don't support anything and everything a Latino produces, "we'll" never get ahead.

The way I see it, the only one who gets ahead is the person producing the problematic content and does so at the expense of his or her own people.

Now I'm not the last word on this issue, but I walked away from that panel feeling that we're not even trying to have an open and thorough discussion about this. In my opinion, support and accountabilty are two sides of the same coin. I feel for any artist - be it a filmmaker, author, recording artist, etc. -- to demand "support from the community" yet want to evade accountability for the images he or she offers is highly disingenous.

I once got a letter from a fan of my Black Artemis novels named Candace in Ontario. She started her letter with much love and praise for my work. Then she wrote:

One concern I have is that so far all of your heroines are beautiful. As disadvantaged as some of them are, don't you believe that beauty is an advantage in itself or at the very least a double edged sword? Do you think that there is a feminine ideal within hip-hop? If so, how does that affect women who don't fit that ideal. Please don't take this the wrong way. I'm not telling you what to write, but will you ever address the issue of feminine beauty in a male-dominated subculture and the trials of those who may not fit the ideal vs. those who do?

I didn't at all see this as a reader telling me what to write. And I certainly didn't take it wrong. On the contrary, I celebrated her feedback. I saw it as a supporter holding me accountable for the images I present, as she should. Shoo, Candace called me out, and rightfully so, LOL! (And because she expressed her concerns so honestly yet diplomatically, I wasn't able to conveniently dismiss the fairness of her critique by getting into a convenient snit about not liking the way she "came at" me. (Just a side lesson for all who might need it, present company included. C'mon... don't act like you've NEVER gone there.) So there's something to be said about opening yourself critique as well as being able to deliver critique from an affirming place.

So if an artist or entertainer wants his or her community to "support," s/he should be willing to "represent." Don't ask me to cop your joint, if when I say, "You know, I found your movie interesting, but, geez, all the villains were dark-skinned' or 'In your next book, you may want to depict the female characters as something other than dime pieces," your response is going to be, "Look, I just want to do my thing."

Yes, you are within your rights to do your thing. But if I feel that your "thing" involves dissing me, I'm within my rights to withhold payment for your misrepresentation. After all, I didn't order that.

Pulling George's Coattail

Last night when accepting his Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, George Clooney made an interesting statement. In response to the notion that Hollywood is out of touch with mainstream America because of its strident liberalism, he said that he was proud to be part of an industry that discussed issues and made films that pushed in social change.

In one notable example, Clooney praised the Academy for bestowing an award on Hattie McDaniels at a time when she was still forced to sit in the back of the theatre. Well, I hope that someone will remind George that the same Academy later denied Ms. McDaniel burial in the Hollywood Cemetary. Still I appreciate his intentions, and I have faith that he is esconced enough in his liberalism to openly acknowledge his ignorance. How mad can I be at him when I sincerely doubt that many of the Black actors in that audience themselves did not know that?

And I hope while the Hollywood elite celebrates the Best Picture win it gave itself for the self-congratulatory film "Crash," it will occur to someone that, yes, in fundamental ways it still remains out of touch with mainstream America. After all, Academy voters have yet to realize that the majority of Black people in America are not so hungry for their acceptance that we celebrate the nomination of our actors in the most stereoytpical of roles. As they party hearty over the win of the contrived, heavy-handed, and at time unrealistic treatise of race in LA called "Crash," many Blacks are mortified this morning that they bestowed an artistically mediocre and purposefully misogynistic rap song its highest honor.

Sorry, George, the Academy is out of touch in ways that should not make you proud at all.

If It's So Hard Out Here for a Pimp. . .

. . . just imagine what it's like for the ho.

APB: Latina Book Clubs

Are you a member of a book club either comprised of Latina readers and/or focused on reading books by Latina authors?

If you are, I want to hear from you! Email me at and tell me all about it. And please consider having a website or online forum so authors like me can find y'all!

I know such clubs exist. When I was writing Divas Don't Yield, I did a research trip to Omaha, Nebraska as it's one of the cities in which my heroines stopped on the way from NYC to Frisco (can't tell you more than that and not give away the story!) I was headed to Omaha for a speaking engagement at the University of Nebraska for Black History Month since I was invited to speak about Black women and misogyny in hip hop. After accepting the invitation, I decided to come early and stay later -- extending my time in Omaha for an entire week -- so I could get to know this midwestern city.

During my stay there, I had the pleasure to meet the executive director of the Latina Resource Center (which also makes an appearance in Divas.) She invited me to meet with her book club -- a diverse group of women -- who read books by Latina authors and meet monthly discuss them at a cozy independent bookstore. The group did not consist of just Latinas, but also African American and White women who for one reason or another felt a kinship to Latino cultures. For example, one woman was actually raised in Panama while another taught Spanish literature at the university.

So I got to thinking... if there's a Latina book club in Omaha, NE where the Latino population is young yet booming, surely there must be similar clubs all over the U.S.

The problem, however, is that unlike African American book clubs, it seems that very few Latina book club yet have an online presence. African American women in the U.S. have a very long tradition of coming together to read and discuss books and the issues they raise (one of my favorite authors Gwendolyn Pough is doing research on this very topic and will soon publish a book about it.) These intrepid women, including RAWSISTAZ and A PLACE OF OUR OWN to name only two, have brought this social practice into the new millenium by establishing a presence on the internet. They use listservs and bulletin boards to facilitate and expand their discussions, publish their reviews (especially on Amazon and on their own websites), and hold chats or interviews with authors.

I'd love to see Latinas follow the lead of African American women in this regard. I have no doubt that it's not a matter of "if" but only "when." But whether your club is online

or not, I'd love to know about it and spread the word to other Latina authors.

In fact, if you can make it to Miami Beach on the weekend of May 19th-21st, you will want to attend Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez's Chica Lit Fiesta. You won't have a better opportunity to have a slumber party with some of your favorite Latina writers!

Heartbreak on MySpace

I finally heeded the urging of all the young 'uns around me and joined MySpace. I've even enlisted my homegirls twenty-year old brother to pimp out my spot, LOL. In addition to inviting people I already know to join my list of friends, I did a search for members who listed one of books among their favorites. More on that in a minute 'cause I want to end on a good note.

But first let me vent a little on a heartbreaking observation. Of course, I'm a biased author, but I truly believe that books -- like music -- are for everyone. Now I don't expect everyone -- especially young people -- to be as avid a reader as I was (and still am.) Today's youth have so much more competing for their dollars and attention than I ever did. But there is literature out there for all tastes, interests, and, yes, even attention span! Hell, browse the daily paper or pick up a comic book or graphic novel once in a while. It's all good!

Now I can't say it was a surprise to browse MySpace and see how many young men don't read. I've accepted that despite the fact there's literature for everyone, not all people like to read, and that for various reasons, men are particular inclined to do so with distinct purpose rather than for pleasure. So be it. Boys especially have even more competition -- from videos to sports -- for their disposable income and recreational hours. But so many of the young men were practically BRAGGING about HATING books as if they much preferred to suffer a swift kick to their nether parts than read.

When the @#$% was reading declared unmanly and who do I bitch slap for that?

OK. Enough of the negativity and onto the good stuff. After having my heart broken at the scores of boys who hate books, it was put together again by the number of fans of my books on MySpace. I emailed each and every one I could to give them my thanks for their support. I'm looking forward to getting to know them better. And since they're overwhelmingly female, maybe we can come together and organize around getting the men in our lives to read.

I've already started at home. My father like to read occassionally, but of course, he much prefer to watch TV. Now Ive got him reading about two books per month. When I visited my parents in Puerto Rico where they've retired, I packed a bunch of books-turned-movies for Pa. I offered to help him put up that hammock he had lying in the corner of the gazebo and then handed him The Godfather. When he finished it, I handed him Runaway Jury. When Pa finished that, I handed him Disclosure. Now my parents are back in New York for a spell, I made sure to stack up on more mass paperbacks suited to his taste. He even asked me, "You got any more books."

Do I got anymore books?

It hasn't been made into a film, but I gave him Michele Martinez's Most Wanted (that's right, tweak that Latino pride) which he completed in days. Then he moved on to Mario Puzo's Omerta. And when he's finished with that, I've already got Deep Freeze by Lisa Jackson waiting for him. Mind you, I have yet to read any of these books myself. Then it's off to the bookstore to stack up on all the John Grisham, Nelson De Mille, and Michael Crichton I can afford. That should buy me some time to dig out The Da Vinci Code wherever the heck I stored it.

For now it's back to MySpace to add a slogan to my home page: Real Men Read.

The Cover of "BURN". . .

. . . is here! What do you think?

Carolinas on My Mind

At this rate, I may become a Southern gal.

Yesterday, I returned from the South Carolina Book Festival in Columbia where I had a wonderful time. I sat on a panel along with Chris Castellani and local heroine Dori Sanders where we discussed ethnic literature. The question posed to us by moderator Carmen Harris: should authors strive toward a consensus narrative? That is, should we downplay our respective racial and ethnic heritages in an attempt to create something more "universal."

I have "universal" in quotes because I find that when popular artists are pressed to do something "universal," "mainstream," or "broad," what is sought is actually something not universal at all. The assumption is always that nothing in my experience is universal, mainstream or broad. That I as a an Afro-Latina from a working-class family in urban community am not the norm. On the contrary, I am the "Other," and for acceptance I should draw attention away from my "otherness" in an attempt to "crossover" for no one who is not just like me would be in my stories.

In other words, "universal" becomes a code for "white."

And this whiteness we should strive for is bland, devoid of ethnicity, class, religion or any of the other things that make humans complex and interesting. So a consensus narrative, in my opinion wouls ont only be white, it would be a narrow whiteness that excludes Catholics, Jews and Buddhists. There would be, for example, no Italians, Irish, Germans, Polish or Greeks. And you can forget about western cowboys, rural farmers or urban bus drivers.

Well. Chris (the son of Italian immigrants raised in Delaware) and Dori (an African American daughter of the South) and I agreed. At best, a consensus narrative would be terribly boring because of the richness in humanity that would be lost. At worst, it would be dangerous as people who could be deemed "other" by the those with power would be rendered invisible.

The South Carolina Book Festival was wonderfully organized and well attended. On Saturday night, they treated the authors to some home-style BBQ at a place called the Palmetto Pig. If you're pretentious, you might not have appreciated the checkered table cloth, bandanas for napkins and the serve-yourself buffet. . . and your stuffiness would've caused you to miss out on some damned good fried chicken and iced tea.

I had some great conversations (and even a few debates) with authors Millenia Black, Tyehimba Jess (who posed a great question to our panel that linked hip hop lit to the Black Arts Movement), and Darryl Lorenzo Wellington (who wrote an interesting review of the book written by Strom Thurmond's daughter for The Nation).

In fact, Essie Mae Washington-Williams was at the Palmetto Pig with us, sporting a cherry red suit and a grey hat. The whispers at our table -- from African American and White local authors alike -- is that they wish she would have held her infamous father accountable for his racism. I haven't read her book, but according to the local authors, it reads as someone who is still yearning for the unattainable acceptance of her absent father.

BTW, you all have Milennia to thank for the fact that comments are permitted again on this blog. Until she mentioned how much she wanted to respond to my RANDALL IS RIGHT post and could not, I had no idea that I had accidentally turned off the capability to post comments! And here I was thinking, "Gee, everyone's stopped reading my blog," because I used to get (and appreciate) your comments all the time. You can imagine my confusion when I posted commentaries about such controversial topic as The Apprentice and The Boondocks, and no ventured an opinion! I guess when some joker decided to post spam and I changed the features to prevent that, I unknowingly went too far and shut the whole darn thing off. I'm so sorry, you guys! And thank you to my "labelmate," Millenia!

It was also fun to connect with my other labelmate Electa Rome Parks (that's Electra without the R) and her charismatic and funny homegirl Sharon. Jennifer Lopez, Terry McMillan, Star Jones. . . what did we NOT talk about? (Sorry, I ain't telling you what we said. All I'll say is this: if you've wondered about it, chances are, we did, too!) And inspirational fiction author Reshonda Tate Billingsley and I commiserated over the mixed blessing having multiple book deals.

I came home on Sunday night from my brief but enjoyable trip to Columbia, SC to fantastic news. I have been invited by the Carolina Circuit Writers Consortium to be their 2007 Artist in Residence. Now not only will I be headed to the Triangle Area (for you hardcore Yankees, that's Durham, Raleigh and Chapel Hill, North Carolina), I will be there for several weeks at a time, teaching young people of color the joys of writing. I'm so excited about the opportunity, I can't sit still. In fact, I'm headed there in April to meet with CC Writers so we can being planning this amazing program.

Hopefully, while I'm in the Triangle, I can set up an event to meet more of my Southern readers. Maybe my experiences will inspire the next Black Artemis novel. It'd be hot to set a hip hop story in the South if I can learn enough about the area to do it right. Any ideas?

'BURN" is (Almost) Done, and the Contest is Definitely Won!

If all Monday's could be this good. Not only have I just submitted the mansucript for my third novel BURN to my editor at New American Library/Penguin, I drew the winner of the my first contest.

First the correct answers to the five questions:

1. The name of Cassandra and Leila's principal in EXPLICIT CONTENT is MS. OLIVERA.

2. In EXPLICIT CONTENT, the hip hop artist that Cassandra and Leila have a debate about on the way to the concert is LI'L KIM.
3. In PICTURE ME ROLLIN', Priscilla had her ears pierced THREE TIMES.
4. Esperanza rubs COCOA BUTTER into the scar on her chest in PICTURE ME ROLLIN'.
5. The title of the next Black Artemis novel is, of course, BURN!

Although several people had all the correct answers, I could choose only one winner. So as per the contest's rules, I took all the qualifying entries and randomly selected one. The winner is:

JASMINA OF RIVERSIDE, CALIFORNIA!

Congratulations, Jasmina, and use your $50.00 American Express gift card in good health! Thanks to all of you who enter, and please continue to try and win future contest. Now there may not always be such an elaborate prize, but I'll try to keep it interesting. :)

Randal Was Right

Maybe we should not be surprised, but now that a person of color -- a Black man to be exact -- has won "The Apprentice," some Americans have forgotten how capitalism functions, and the racist backlash has begun. I won't bother to engage the nonsense being spewed on boards at AOL and Yahoo! Read any of those boards after ANY article that mentions a person of color has been published, and you'd think that you'd have stumbled into a cyber-meeting of the Klan. I'm more outraged at the supposedly liberal news media criticism of Randal Pinkett for not choosing to share his deserved spoils with the second place Rebecca Jarvis.

First, let me say that I happen to know Randal Pinkett. We were both in the final cohort of the Next General Leadership Program sponsored by the Rockefeller Foundation. I can tell you that not only is he a great mind, but he's a class act and a good soul (not to mention a snazzy dresser. We used to tease him about his GQ outfits all the time!) Having been in NGL with Randal for almost two years, when he announced that he had been selected to join the cast of this season's "The Apprentice," I knew that he would win by (1) the strength of his own ability and character, and (2) the fact that the impetus to create entertainment (i.e. put people on the show more for their personality than their skills) would ensure that some of his competitors would be weak.

One thing that set Randal apart from most contestants on any season of "The Apprentice" is that he's just a genuinely and consistently likable guy. Lots of folks in the corporate world rightfully pride themselves on being real movers and shakers. Very few, however, can boast that they are NICE people. If anything, too many busines folks perceive being nice as weakness as if you can't be shrewd without being nasty! The most underappreciated aspect of Randal's win, I think, is that we witnessed a rare instance when integrity prevailed.

So it really shocks me that after weeks of earning not only the respect but also the unabated fondness of his colleagues, folks now criticize Randal for not agreeing to Trump's suggestion that he hire Rebecca, too. This is not a cutthroat guy, nor was it a cutthroat decision that he made. The truth is, it was the shrewd business decision. No matter how much you may like and respect the person, you do NOT share your power with the also-ran. It may not be the sweetest thing in the world to do, but it's not in and of itself a terrible thing either, and in the world of business, it's the right thing. Even Trump knew it (more on that in a minute.) Yet by doing what any smart business person of any race or sex might have, Randal has gone from being painted as the overwhelmingly deserving favorite to reality TV show villain. See, an educated Black man who knows his worth is most dangerous Black man there can be.

Even more ridiculous than attacking Randal for not sharing his new position is the notion floating around that he had the job on lock weeks before the finale in Trump's effort to make a token hire. Let us not forget that that this is the same Donald Trump who bought a full page ad in the New York Times calling for the death penatlty for the men accused in the Central Park Jogger rape case (of course, there was no full-page ad pleading mea culpa when DNA evidence led to the overturning of those convictions.) While I don't doubt that Trump's producers look for people of color (and women for that matter) for the sake of diversity and entertainment (don't you dare tell me Omarosa was on that show because she's some great business mind!), my response to those who speculate that Randal was given his win weeks before the live finale is this: bullshit. If you followed the show, episode by episode, it's undeniable that Randal earned his victory every step of the way. So even if you want to believe that Randal was put on the show out of white liberal guilt, you cannot deny that he won that job fair and square (surprising the hell outta all of 'em in casting.)

It was ludicrous for Trump to suggest that Randal share the job. Oh, now that the brother won he can't be the only one calling the shots? My guess is that Trump did it for several reasons. First, Randal was such a more superior candidate than Rebecca, his win bordered on predictable so Trump wanted to throw a curve into the process for the sake of entertainment. Furthermore, Trump has also been accused of being sexist -- even more so than being racist -- and here he saw a chance to "prove" he wasn't. Had Randal accepted the ridiculous proposition, Trump would've killed two birds with one stone. But Randal didn't let him get political points at his expense, and while I'd love to see a woman win "The Apprentice," neither was Rebecca the right woman nor was this the right way for a woman to win. If she herself believes that she is as outstanding as Trump praised her to be, she should be at least puzzled if not offended by and suspicious of Trump's pandering. (And I wonder if, had she the opportunity to gain the job that way, if she would have been tough enough -- apparently Trump's favorite trait of Rebecca's -- to turn it down because of the way it was offered to her. )

Some have argued that Randal could have been more "gracious," but I actually think the way he refused to share the apprenticeship with Rebecca was quite gracious. If he wants to hire Rebecca to work FOR him in a position that fits her experience and skill levels, that would be ideal. But Trump's proposition was to share his position, and this is a business venture where the buck has to stop and start with one. Trump himself has admitted to the media that while he was suprised that Randal shot down the proposition, Randal's independent thinking affirmed that he made the right choice in choosing him over Rebecca. (And unlike some suddenly touchy folks who bizarrely are expecting to witness unprecedent levels of compassion from the competitors of a reality TV game show, I think Randal nixed the proposition gracefully. He did not trash Rebecca, and he used humor to argue compellingly that he was the best, single person for the job.) Now since he has never done this to the White male winners of past seasons, I can only wonder if Trump was testing Randal or not. But he has gone on record saying that he RESPECTS Randal for his unwilligness to share the position. Had Randal given into the emotion of the moment of winning and said, yes, Trump would doubt him now.

To me there is one unsung heroine in the finale of "The Apprentice," and her name is Marshawn Evans. I want to give a loving shout out to that sister for being the first to stand up loud and clear for Randal in the last episode. After watching Omarosa go out of her way to sabotage Kwame who could've won "The Apprentice" the first season (don't remember Trump asking winner Bill to share his job with him), it was heartening to see a woman of color stand by her brother when it mattered most. Reality TV is notorious for casting people of color who won't mesh. I've seen so many shows where the solitary Black man and Black woman loathe each other, it can't be a coincidence. And it's usually because one of them assumes that they'll have some kind of affinity toward each other because of race, but the other is bending over backward to ingratiate her/himself with the white cast members (not trying to be "too Black, too strong. Daps to you, Marshawn.

And congratulations, Randal. Revel in your win, 'mano, and keep your head up. Sometimes you have to look at the hate as a blessing in disguise -- it's often a sign that you're doing everything right.