In which our protagonist recognizes that he is a fortunate son-of-a-gun.
Among the most surreal feelings I've experienced recently has been the commendation of strangers on work that I've produced.
Nearly a month ago, my short story "Screamers" appeared in Omenana Magazine. My story shoots off a discussion thread at Short Story Squee & Snark. Bella Naija called the story amazing. People are tweeting about the story. The first seven words of the review at Quick Sip Reviews are "Well fuck. This is an incredible story...".
And I still catch myself marveling at the fact that the Oxford University Press let me wax on about Luke Cage and Black Panther. Upon its publication, friends both reached out to congratulate in addition to spreading the word about the piece. After having been surrounded by well-wishes and words of congratulations for so long in life, I am a bit surprised at how surprised I am right now. I write to be read, of course, but, at this point, it is startling still when I get notifications that people have read and liked my essays. It's almost more shocking than people hiring me to write things. Almost.
The same goes for finding 5-star reviews on iTunes for a podcast I and one of my closest friends from Tisch felt we had to put together. Again, friends spreading the word and us getting likes and well-wishes from people I don't know fills my heart to bursting.
As does the fact that tonight I will be seeing a very close friend who has spent the past few months reading a novel I wrote back in 2015 and whose every word of encouragement has led to near-swooning. In part because who she is and in part because she is an artistic collaborator and someone with whom I have worked and plan on continuing to work.
This morning, I finally put together a Facebook group for a thing I'd been excited to engage in all year. A book club wherein we engage with literature by writers from former colonies. The Commonwealth, Francophone West Africa, the Caribbean, etc. A book a month, beginning in the subcontinent and winding our way westward to the home of the Native Americans.
When I'd first floated the idea (which had started very much as a personal project), the response was overwhelming. Like the Les Miserables project and "Infinite Summer" after that, organization captures the impulse and a reading group is born.
Add to that the recent good news re freelance work and the transition I'm making to another professional realm, and I find myself bathed in that same beneficent glow that had swallowed me whole back in February when, over the course of 4 days, I signed a book deal, met a girl, passed the bar exam, and was gifted a new album by Beyoncé.
Not only that, but earlier today, a friend and former colleague who now works as a managing editor at Marvel gifted me with this haul.
Nearly a month ago, my short story "Screamers" appeared in Omenana Magazine. My story shoots off a discussion thread at Short Story Squee & Snark. Bella Naija called the story amazing. People are tweeting about the story. The first seven words of the review at Quick Sip Reviews are "Well fuck. This is an incredible story...".
And I still catch myself marveling at the fact that the Oxford University Press let me wax on about Luke Cage and Black Panther. Upon its publication, friends both reached out to congratulate in addition to spreading the word about the piece. After having been surrounded by well-wishes and words of congratulations for so long in life, I am a bit surprised at how surprised I am right now. I write to be read, of course, but, at this point, it is startling still when I get notifications that people have read and liked my essays. It's almost more shocking than people hiring me to write things. Almost.
The same goes for finding 5-star reviews on iTunes for a podcast I and one of my closest friends from Tisch felt we had to put together. Again, friends spreading the word and us getting likes and well-wishes from people I don't know fills my heart to bursting.
As does the fact that tonight I will be seeing a very close friend who has spent the past few months reading a novel I wrote back in 2015 and whose every word of encouragement has led to near-swooning. In part because who she is and in part because she is an artistic collaborator and someone with whom I have worked and plan on continuing to work.
This morning, I finally put together a Facebook group for a thing I'd been excited to engage in all year. A book club wherein we engage with literature by writers from former colonies. The Commonwealth, Francophone West Africa, the Caribbean, etc. A book a month, beginning in the subcontinent and winding our way westward to the home of the Native Americans.
When I'd first floated the idea (which had started very much as a personal project), the response was overwhelming. Like the Les Miserables project and "Infinite Summer" after that, organization captures the impulse and a reading group is born.
Add to that the recent good news re freelance work and the transition I'm making to another professional realm, and I find myself bathed in that same beneficent glow that had swallowed me whole back in February when, over the course of 4 days, I signed a book deal, met a girl, passed the bar exam, and was gifted a new album by Beyoncé.
Not only that, but earlier today, a friend and former colleague who now works as a managing editor at Marvel gifted me with this haul.