it's that time of the year again...

Was just thinking about the 'lunch ladies' from my middle school cafeteria and how epic those cookies were. As big as my head and came in three flavors: sugar cookies, melty chocolate chip, and double fudge. Even after I went on to high school, my dad still brought some home. Miss him and those cookies. 

February comes around and I think about two things: my dad, Valentine's Day, and Chinese New Year.

My dad was diagnosed with stomach cancer in January 2007 after he had to threaten his worthless primary care doctor, a shiftless idiot he should have left years ago. February is especially egregious as the cancer progressed and he underwent surgery. This in turn made the cancer spread. He passed away on February 23, two days before his and mom's anniversary. He was born on February 12th, traditionally Abraham Lincoln's birthday. 

During this time, I was in a long-distance relationship- won't do this again. It's not for me- and this as well as deciding to celebrate Chinese New Year was probably those two things that helped get me through this month. 

But now that I resigned, I know I will need some other traditions and rituals to perform to handle this month. I'm still holding on to Lunar New Year in mind as it's widely celebrated by a variety of Asian cultures worldwide as well as their diasporic communities. And Valentine's Day wasn't worth much to me though while I was in the long-distance(boyfriend was Asian), I did receive a V-Day gift, one of the few I've received from a significant other. 

I'm an introvert and not good at dating. My relationships also don't last as long as I want. I've actually wished I was from a culture that does arrange marriages because I can't stand going on dates. They fill me with dread. And now with how emotionally fraught February is even more for me, no thanks.

Yes, this post was more about me than the memorial posts I've done for my dad in years past, but I just don't have it in me now to do that. 

Here are a few photos of my father: Kenneth L. Welsh Sr.:

💔💔 💔

For My Own Good...

There is an online chat I attend every Sunday at 7:00 PM EST.

Tonight's topic was junior high and I decided, for the betterment of my mental health, to bow out of it as I have many painful memories from that time in my life.

Experiences I'm still processing as a middle-age adult and mining its fodder for my stories and my illustrations.

So, while I won't discuss such matters with people I've chatted with for probably seven years (ancient in social media time!), I would prefer to regurgitate in writing and in art.

"A quarter of an inch"

If asked what is the favorite among my art supplies, it would have to be this. Yes, the answer surprises even me. People know I have favorite types of pens, I know which are my go-to nibs for calligraphy, I even have my favorite color pencils, design markers, the weight of sketching paper I prefer.

 

My T-square

0.05 micro (black ink pens - preferably Staedtler)
Calligraphy nibs #4,5, and the double-digit plain nib (will either be 99, 00, etc.)
Prismacolor (color pencils & design markers)
70 lb-100 lb Canson (paper for all types of graphic art mediums)

But what it all boils down to is this T-square. In junior high, it was one of a few items I needed for my toolkit in Draft/Graphics class. It was a half-semester course, if I remember correctly, with Woodshop being the second half of the term. Led by Mr. Pool, we were given geometric shapes to draw in 3-dimensional form with all sides visible. My classmate, and friend, could always draw shapes perfectly.
"Not an inch off. Good job!" Pool would praise her as he went around each table. We had those draftsmen-type desks that professional animators, cartoonists, and fine artists used.

"Uh-oh. You're off a quarter of an inch here and here! And 3/4 here, too." Pool would always tell me.
He would mark up my paper with his red pen.
My friend, who sat next to me, would get an A+ and I would get Cs. Few art-related classes frustrated me as much as this course and I grew jealous of my friend's ability to craft perfect shapes. Yet, she was so nice, sincere, and humble that I never reached pure envy for her. I worked harder but couldn't achieve her seeming perfection. However, we were friends outside of class, which was an achievement for me at the time, and when I mentioned that she could become an engineer with her drafting skills, she actually looked annoyed by my suggestion. She told me she wished she could do illustrations as I did. That was some consolation.

My T-square became a repository for my creativity while sulking away in Graphics class. No where did this important drafting tool draw so much attention than when I began to scribble on it. A few other kids wrote their names, crushes, a boyfriend/girlfriend, and maybe a symbol or two, but, I did much more. Having a mad crush on the rapper/dancer M.C. Hammer at the time, especially because of his breakout track "U Can't Touch This!" became my motto and doodled the pop culture catchphrase all over the T-square in pencil with some in ink. If you look closely, I even drew Hammer's likeness in cartoon style!

I had planned at the end of the half-semester to erase most of the scribblings, but the more my classmates admired or despised my artwork, the more I drew on the T-square, not knowing at the time I was using it as a catharsis for my daily anger, frustration, isolation, and terror at being bullied and not having enough friends.

Even Mr. Pool took a look at my sketchings on the T-square and made what sounded like approval hums.

Mr. Pool is now long gone. That 'perfect grades' friend? Whose face and kindness I now vaguely remember but have long forgotten her name. We lose track as human beings.

Other art supplies have been used up, disposed of, thrown out when they dried, cracked, became old, or simply outlived their usefulness have been numerous over the years, but the T-square remains...

When I have my own professional studio, I mean to hang it up in a place of honor beside my desk. To remind me, no matter how far I come in life, of the dork who wore over-sized glasses, had a scrawny body, and who scribbled out her infatuation for M.C. Hammer on a drafting tool.

P.S. I still wear glasses, albeit, more fashionable and better-fitted to my face. I'm heavier now. I'm still a dork. :)

Best-selling YA Novel Written by a Teen

My English teacher assigned "The Outsiders" to my junior high school class.

Between 1989-1991, I attended John F. Kennedy Junior High (now the updated Middle School on its marquee) also known as 'Jail For Kids' to local students. This was no fanciful insult. We had fights every day, school police for the larger brawls, a systemic bullying problem that the administration ignored, and we seemed to possess more 'oddball' and 'unstable' teachers than what our peers from other schools knew. 

I was small, bookish, Asthmatic, skinny, wore large glasses, was bullied daily, and definitely disliked by many schoolmates (& a few teachers) because I didn't speak as others did, behave as others did, had different hobbies/interests, or dressed differently from my peer group.

My family library had an old edition hardcover of the book so I didn't have to buy what I thought at the time was the 'awful paperback' my classmates had to purchase.

1967 Vikings 1st Ed. 

The other kids constantly ribbed me because they thought my 1960s edition 'looked weird', but, the more I read the story, and watched the film in class, the more I learned about alienation. 

The struggles of real teens, class issues, youth delinquency, violence, the need to belong. I felt all that from S. E. Hinton's novel and more potently because of my 'weird' 1967 first-edition hardcover.

Yet, it was in those moments while reading, watching the film in-class and holding that book in my hands. The newer paperback edition my classmates preferred seemed too pretty, far too glossy, like an upcoming movie poster. Not as gritty and dispelling as my edition. I felt more alone but steadfast in my convictions. The 1967 cover felt more akin to the story's heart.

The film adaptation was as harrowing and gave credence as well as respect to the brilliant novel. My oldest niece preferred J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, but I preferred and felt that S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders spoke more to me as a pre-teen of the late 80s. 

"Stay golden [everybody]! Stay golden!"***

***The Outsiders readers/film watchers will get the reference!

RIP Lois Duncan

     Last week Wednesday, June 15, 2016 an important literary figure died. Her name was Lois Duncan, and she was important in my life. Writers are often asked who are the people that influenced them, and no self-respecting writer can remember all those inspiring titles or even the authors that penned them. Unfortunately, it is often when such an influential writer dies that the living, whether they also became writers or went into other professions, that we suddenly remember what such a personage did for us.

     Let me give a scenario, despite others' ideas about me, I was a poor student while in grade school. Often sickly, I would miss enough days that would put me behind certain subjects. Therefore, from 6th grade to 10th grade (with at least two summers I did well enough), I was in summer school. In 1986, I had to attend summer school (sequentially) for the first time. Because it was a private school tied in with a religious denomination, this it did not offer a summer school program, and therefore, I had to attend a middle school near the elementary school where my mom taught.

     This particular middle school was in a rough neighborhood and had some rough children. I understood the work because it was not sixth-grade but actually 4-5th level. I also did not dress as my classmates did. This wasn't my neighborhood. I didn't speak like them. My parents made sure I always had $2. My classmates hated me for this. I was bullied every day. Eventually, our class went on the prerequisite trip to the school library. I was in heaven. At this time, maybe others have noticed this, but, a lot of YA (Young Adult) novel front covers often had photographs with models posing a scene from the story, or, realistic paintings. Mostly, though, I noticed they used real people.

     Paperbacks were often on spinning racks then and the school libraries were no exception. One particular cover struck me with its blonde teen girl, sitting in an armchair with her whole body curled in it. Her unnerving stare at the reader and a ghostly image of a little girl in blue floating behind her.

From Jezebel.com 

     This looks really cool! I thought and immediately rushed to the check-out desk. I received snide remarks and under-the-breath "nerd" comments, but I didn't care.
I began to read the novel "A Gift of Magic" and was sucked in by Duncan's use of flashback, memory, and especially how her protagonist, a teenage girl with psychic abilities navigated her life. Often interested in the supernatural growing up, psychic phenomenon has often fascinated me. I credit "A Gift of Magic" for my first time reading about psychic powers. And though I have since digested other stories dealing with this subject, and perhaps, have dealt with it better, Duncan's "A Gift of Magic" was sincere, non-condescending, and a good read during a difficult moment in my childhood that I can't recommend it enough.

Inspiration in strange places

A B-movie fantasy watched in 1980s.
A first and second title from an author that becomes one's favorite.
An early obsession with Greek myth.
An early obsession with Sword and Sorcery ephemera.
A fantasy novel read in junior high.
Another epic fantasy series that blew the mind in high school.
These are just what is remembered that served for inspiration to the series worked on now.

I don't understand some people...

I don't remember if it was a writers' conference, a workshop, the Miami Book Fair, some random convention or event I usually attend when I'm bored and/or have some extra cash.
Anyhoo, a gentleman was impressed by the fact I was published and had my own website. He asked what inspired my stories.

I told him I grew up on Greek myth and so, at the time, Tabber the Red (my site), had Greek Mythology* on the Welcome Page. He told me that was surprising, since I'm not Greek.

Huh? What? How did you arrive at that conclusion?
No, I'm far from Greek (I'm 1st Gen Caribbean-American), but what I don't understand is that, as far as I could tell, neither was he.

Yet, I got the impression that had I matched his skin color, this man would never have said such a ridiculous summation to me.
What did being non-Greek have to do with being a lover of storytelling that has lasted through the ages?
~~~
I don't like pigeonholes: in high school art, as a girl, I wasn't suppose to draw superheroes.

Instead, I should be creating the fashion art the majority of girls were drawing (one fashion artist even got ticked off when she saw the outfits I created for my characters, and demanded to know how I could draw such outfits - so, she was jealous at how..creative the outfits on cartoon characters were?).

In junior high, I should be drawing still-life instead of cartoons.

In college art courses, an instructor/professor had the nerve to tell me I was too repressed and restrictive, especially when, after completing his assignments, I turned to sketching my own work during free time.

When I decided to take writing seriously, when it no longer became a passing interest, no longer a hobby, but something I wanted to shape my life, there were folks who told me to stop writing about animals, stop living in science fiction world, stop these childish dreams, and focus on reality, and read Urban fiction (you know, because I AM Black).

And let me also mention the English teacher, who, in my first-year of high school, accused me of plagiarism (don't worry, will explain in another post), and a science teacher from my junior high days, a truly dreadful woman, who later showed up at the college I later attended!

Here I was, working at the college bookstore as a cashier, and she, horror of horrors, was the next in line!

Dreadful Teacher: Oh, it's you, Ms. Welsh. You're here. (Because, she could never call us by our FIRST names, as she was mean enough not to make it personal)

Me: Hello, Ms. (Name deliberately omitted). How are you?

Dreadful Teacher: What're you doing here?

Me: I'm majoring in art.

Dreadful Teacher: Oh. THAT again? I thought you gave that up.

I don't know why I wanted to bite her instead of the normal thought of punching her, I guess that was just the so-called 'Furry' in me, but I grinned wide enough as if I was bearing my teeth in a snarl and wished her a nice day.
~~~
As human beings, we all have prejudices; we all make snap judgements. We're all flawed.Yes, if we know a person's ethnicity, we can hope to better understand him/her, if we know someone's name, it betters our chances of connecting with him/her.

I get it. What I don't understand is, when a person can just outright BLURT OUT his/her snap judgements at you on the summation of skin color? Or gender? And then on THAT flimsy basis, decide what you must like, what must be your hobbies, what must be your life? And when you completely change that illusion or assumption, YOU, not the person who makes the snap judgement, are the brunt of that person's ire or confusion?

I don't want to understand. I just want to draw what I like. I want to write what I like. So far, some people like it, some love it, and some hate it no matter what. We are entitled to our interests. We are entitled to our opinions.
But please, for those who think you can decide everything about a person just by looking at them, maybe you're in the wrong business.
You should probably do fortune-telling. Yet, even palmists study a person carefully before making a prediction.


*For those who visit 'Tabber the Red', I have since changed 'Greek' Mythology to 'World' Mythology because the Greek stories led me to reading other cultures' myths and folklore.

How my character became a case of mistaken identity

I was probably in 11th or 10th grade, when a schoolmate from junior high approached me during lunch period to ask me 'How's Sonny?'
My best friend (still is), got mad at me afterwards and demanded to know why I never told her about this ex-boyfriend named Sonny.

I laughed as it took me a while to calm her down. I explained that Sonny was a comic character I invented while stuck in summer school math class (I would be imprisoned in Summer School almost every year from 5th grade to 11th, with maybe a year or two of respite that I did well enough to move on to the next grade).

Later, thoroughly mollified, my best friend expressed her disbelief at how could an invented character seem so real to a person that they would remember years after?

I reminded her about this anecdote years later and she laughed at how jealous she had felt towards this classmate knowing something about me that she didn't (my best friend and I did not attend the same junior high school).

****
Birth of A Character

Bored out of my skull, and stuck in a class whose subject proved my greatest enemy for most of my academic life (Math), drawing a comic book was my only release.

I was puny, a loner, and nerdy. I wore glasses, had braces near the end of junior high into high school, where the wretched railway system was blessedly removed (Thank Heavens!), and I was bullied for one less thing, which was a blessing in and of itself.

Drawing was always an escape, like reading, and so I concocted a group of high school friends (Kids always want their heroes older) and they were: bears, cats and dogs.

I used notebook paper, drew the panels, inked, colored and put in the word balloons.
The story took most of Math period and through endless viewing of the school movie "Summer School" (how appropriate! Cool movie, by the way).

Soon, classmates were actually waiting for me to finish it.
I made a copy in the school library, kept the original, and watched like wildfire as the copy changed hands. I received praise and criticism alike : "I like his hairstyle!" "I didn't like the ending!" There were cries for a sequel.
I didn't have the marketing sense then: Had I sold each page for a dollar, my classmates would have paid it, and I would've made a tidy little sum to spend at the end of summer.

This episode on the power of my words escaped me many times after.
I would finally GET IT when I ended up in one of the few honors classes I'd take in high school.