Apologies

Sorry for the lack of updates. I blame it on my lack of time. I get in from work and I'm epicly tired.

I'm dropping the D.C. spoken word post entirely, I've got hardly any motivation left to finish it off. I'll bring you up to speed with my work these days though.

I've been learning how to create marketing strategies, thanks in part to my boss. In my case, it's a plan of action to get the author and his book promoted. It's simple work, but very tedious--requires alot of research and email writing. But there are some parts I like: like back galley copywriting.

Galley being the preview copy of the book you send out for early review. The copywriting bit is a summary of the book that's meant to promote it. Maybe I just like the fact that I get to read on the job.

When I'm not writing copy, I'm doing the less glamorous task of researching publications, blogs, and other media to push our books too. That part is simple enough, you use Google and scan the web.

More interesting though, are the meetings with the authors. Like today. Today we got a visit from an author whose book we're going to be publishing in a few months. It was a standard thing, first we shot a vid-interview for her website, later in the day we'd have a marketing strategy pow-wow(woof!).

I think what makes the author meetups so interesting is that whenever I mention I want to be a writer, they look at me and laugh their heads off. I always take it in stride. It's only happened twice afterall.

But this time I got the skinny on how much writers really make. Even if you're a best seller, chances are you're going to make less than 15k from one book. If you just pump out one a year, you're stabbed in the foot more or less. So, you inevitably have to supplement your income. Most writers teach, but rarely get enough time. Unless you're the Dean Koontz type who can make over three books a year, you won't be able to do it fulltime. At least, not the writing you want to do.

I dunno.

The more people tell me this job, or that job sucks...The more I just wanna reach out and jab 'em in the eye. It's a recession, all the jobs suck these days!

Whatever.

Good news is, the marketing meeting I was in kept me at work for two hours after I got off, which caused me to miss the DC metro redline train. It got into an accident around 5PM, when I usually get off. Bad wreck. :/

My condolonces to anyone who's been affected by it.

Life in the village of C.C. Part 1

I'm on my second week in D.C. My only regular pattern is work. The things I want to do I can't yet exactly, but I'm working on it.

Work's fine. Settling into things. I'm mainly writing and reading--which is what I wanted, but I wonder if there's something that I'm missing. Still, it's only the first week, so we'll see.

My employer is a nice,  small publishing company, so I get to see how all the gears work. It's also an office--and most likely an industry--dominated by women. Everytime I walk into the office I imagine my co-workers in some kind of WWII era weapon factory. Except the weapon is a book. Every one that rolls off the presses was made possible thanks to generous grants(warbonds), elbow grease (Paper work), and an office full of Rosie the Riveters. 

My ma raised me, so I guess it makes sense that the world's books would be supplied by women. I wonder how it turned out that way, though. Maybe I'll ask sometime.

My overarching project--the marketing plan to push our books to University and College students hasn't come into material form yet. Just ideas floating around in my head that I'll talk about sometime.

So, now, about the city.

Last night I went to D.C.'s famous Bus Boys and Poets Cafe for their open mic. It was my second time going, the event always sells out, it's always packed, and there is always poetry(and more). 

The first time I got stuck on the stage watching other people perform with fellow latecomers who hadn't paid for tickets. This next time, though, I came prepared. Got my ticket early. Four bucks for two hours of poetry seemed fair.

I arrived on the spot an hour early to make sure I could get on the open mic list, this was, of course, after I scribbled poems I'd written into a notebook so I could read--one day I'll scribble them inside my head. A few minutes were spent browsing their awesome bookstore(which I need to hit up next payday, f'serious. They had some awesome books...) and then the doors open. People started heading for the door like pilgrims going to Mecca. I joined the ranks.

I pass by a room full of hip, twenty-thirty somethings, most of them Black, then the Kitchen. First the sounds of people enjoying themself hit y ou on the right, and the smell of soul food and ethnic spices hit you from the left. And all the while people are shuffling around the place, waiters are weaving through the crowd. Saw alot of strange people--poets are a strange crowd after all-- and a lot of beautiful people as well. 

When I got through the doors I was in the Langston Room, immediately across from you is the Wall of Peace. It's a huge mural decorated with faces quotes and photos of famous activisits, geniuses, and alot of other figures who've redeemed society's shortcomings, the rest of the room has this dreamy effect thanks in part to the lighting, and the heat coming off everyone when we crowd into the room. Then the door closes, the tech crew set up the stage, and it begins.

I made the mistake of sitting in the backmost, corner table. A booth. My company was a white couple, a group of kids my age from either Jamaica or East Africa(Or both), and an old MC named Lurch(Lerch?). Lots of interesting characters rocked the mic, but none better than the Emcee for the night, Bomani. Cat was mad funny, a Hip-Hop father with a good sense of humor. He starts off the night promoting his own, comical brand of "gangsta" hip-hopoetry as the unspoken sacrificial lamb and starts rapping about his childhood shortcomings. 

What followed was a series of all a village's members: from the elders, to the fools, to the outcasts.

The best part about it is that everyone had a voice before the rest of us(the tribe). 

More to come in Part 2.