What is "Literary"

Since I immersed myself BACK into writing about a year ago, I kept hearing this term "literary" being thrown around. I would hear other writers say, "this wasn't literary" or "that wasn't literary" and I was confused. I thought (I know I'm putting myself on the line to be called dumb) that if you wrote a book and it was readable, then it was literary since it pertained to literature. Since I knew it couldn't be that simple, I asked a couple of writers whose work I respect a great deal. When questioned they both spoke of writing that contained a certain life to it, a voice that took the reader on a journey of the senses, a journey that opened their eyes to the common, yet in a way previously unimaginable. I received their explanation in concept and I've read writers that have delighted me with their choice of words, but after reading DROP, I finally understand. Thoroughly.

Mat Johnson does an excellent job of taking the reader on a literary journey in this heart felt love letter to Philly; his native residence. It was well paced, funny, and delightful. The characters came alive to me and as I spoke of the story to my wife and daughter I spoke of the main character as if I knew him. They chuckled at how taken I was by the story. So, although these words don't quite express how much I really liked his book, I will end by simply saying it was quite a delightful read.

The book was his first novel, and you may have to order it either from your bookstore or someplace like amazon, but it is worth the wait.

I do however fear that not everyone will like him, because of his choice to be "literary", but if you are like myself, seeking to better yourself in this craft or just wanting to read "the good stuff", take a glance at Mat Johnson's work as he holds class.

He also has a blog that has long been a part of my links, practically since day one, and to think I just read my first book by him. But like most things that are divinely appointed, his book was right on time. I love the lessons it contained.

Check him out y'all.

Matt Johnson

Who Am I?

I’m still that lanky kid with the easy smile looking for the light in everyone he meets

Still the guy who wants everyone to get along and be happy although I always knew there would one joker who would mess it up for everybody

I’m the guy who hangs with everyone and no one, never really fitting in for long, but not really needing to either, because I like me

Still the guy striving to fulfill his name in every sense of the word

The guy who wants another chance to get it right and who hates to lose even when I feel like I’m running out of gas

The guy that just doesn’t understand why some people consistently go left when they know to go right

The guy who’s ever changing yet unchanging, ever pushing the envelope while examining myself to see how I can do it better

Compassionate and Critical

Rarely Unforgiving

Willing to acknowledge my mistakes

Righteous yet not without sin

A King and a servant

Mega Rich, Rich in the STL, R. Fitzgerald, Rich, but “Jerry” to my momma

No matter the day of the week, I'm still me.

chance encounters 4

chance encounters pt. 4 - weekly addition to the ongoing blovella (blog novella) -- If you haven't read the previous editions, please take the time to catch up - this story moves around a bit.

chance encounters pt. 1
chance encounters pt. 2
chance encounters pt. 3

And now the continuation of chance encounters......

Lying to myself had become this customary game that I played; a game that I dabbled in the way a toddler watched cartoons - small frames of make believe that could be viewed over and over and over again. It seemed harmless enough. My way of getting a needed break from reality. All too often, reality came through like surround sound being emitted from a sixty-inch Digital Light Processing monitor with the volume on forty. Animation was better; lighter and more digestible. That’s what I needed right now; a bit less volume and a lot more animation. I hated this feeling of guilt that was upon me. And despite the merlot colored cushioning, the pew I was sitting on was taking a bite out of my buttocks. But it felt a lot better than the spiritual beating I was getting. Church with Sheila was no fun today. Everyone seemed to be into the message except for me. Pastor’s smooth baritone was coming through way too loud and clear.

“Son. Daughter. God sees you. He knows your pain, and he knows your struggles. He knows the state of your relationships, but he’s waiting on you to hand it over to him. He’s waiting on you to get tired of trying to work things out for yourself. The bible says in first Peter that we should cast all our cares on him because he cares for us. So let me ask you a question. When someone is taking care of you do you expect to have to do the work yourself? Of course not. So what God is saying is that we should trade in our ability to solve our problems for his ability.” He pauses. Collects his “wells” and “amens” before continuing. Gathers his handkerchief into his right hand and wipes the spittle from the corners of his mouth. Looks seemingly directly at me, points his finger and says, “You aren’t strong enough to stop sinning on your own.” I did an internal leap back. Looked out of my peripheral to see if anyone else noticed that, especially Sheila. He turns to the left. “That’s why you keep shacking with Johnny.” Then to the right, “That’s why you still chasing Susie.” Then back to the center, “That’s why you still getting high.” He wipes his mouth again, “But if you turn it over to Jesus, he will give you strength. The bible says you can do all things through Christ who strengthen you. Do you believe it?” Yes’s reverberated around the sanctuary, “Do you believe it?” I finally let out a “Yes Lord!” to keep from looking guilty, “then let go of your past and let God do a new work in you.”

So like I was saying, I like to play this game. In the game, this is where I drift away from Technicolor and into the land of Hanna Barbera. The place where I magically sweep everything under the rug. Convince myself that my little bit of dirt doesn’t matter. That he wasn’t really talking to me, because I ain’t even done nothing yet. Still, Kayla is on my mind more than she should be. She’s become my new drug of choice. And if I could light up now, I would.

I want to live right. For real. You believe me don't you? You just don't understand my situation (another lie that came full circle). You see, I only married Sheila cause she got pregnant. Told myself I was in love. Too bad it was just the love of wanting to be a father. I wanted to be a real daddy. Not like these dudes on the street. I was going to be with the mother of my child. Raise my kid in a loving environment. Come home everyday and be a shining example. I needed to prove to myself that I was better than the man who gave birth to me. Problem was...that didn’t translate into love for Sheila. I overlooked the fact that I needed more than an axe to grind to keep me on the right path. But if you lie well enough and long enough you can convince yourself of anything. So, I faced “deep like” and "good sex" at the altar and said I was doing the right thing. Two months later she lost the baby. Five years later here I am trying to live right and be a good Christian Husband to a fruitless woman while playing “I can be friends” with a woman who moves me with just the sound of her voice. Boy! I loved the way she talked. If there was ever a voice meant for impropriety, hers was it.

Pastor was giving an altar call as my my mind crawled out of La La Land, “Is there anybody who needs prayer?” I checked for Sheila, her eyes were glued on Pastor. I wanted to run up there and slide into home and hear the Lord say "SAFE", but I just sat and watched. “God can deliver you from the hand of the enemy,” came Pastor’s voice. I wondered if he was talking to me.