Got a Great STARTING OVER Story to Tell?

Got a Great STARTING OVER Story to Tell?

Laurene Williams, writer, director, and independent filmmaker, is looking for articles to post on the "Starting Over" section of our the website, http://www.pcd4.com, coming this fall.

Perhaps you have a compelling tale to contribute or you know other writers who may wish to contribute. The site will promote a new indie comedy/drama, "Phil Cobb's Dinner for Four." The goal of is to build a community of readers who can empathize with Phil Cobb's on-again/off-again life. Writers who have an inspirational or entertaining take on some of the pain, heartache, and heartburn they've been through as a result of a break-up, divorce, pink slip, new career, alcohol addiction, cross country move or relocation, may submit. The film is about cherishing the relationships in our lives and living beyond our losses.

You can view the trailer for "Phil Cobb's Dinner for Four" on YouTube or on Facebook.

Writers should include bio and byline (or pseudonym). Bios can include links to your website or any pertinent webpages. You can mention upcoming works or previous works, note any upcoming events such as a book signing or speaking engagement. You may submit a photograph for us to spotlight. We encourage you to promote yourself to make this worth your while.

Since our website is not a literary site and because film typically engages such a wide ranging audience, we're hoping writers can reach and cultivate an entirely new group of fans.

New and student writers can use the opportunity to explore their voice.

SUBMISSIONS: Web publication. Creative non-fiction, fiction, first or third person accounts. Submit query or complete ms as an MSWord file with bio by email. Byline or pseudonym. Up to 1,000 words. Format single or double-spaced. Bio, up to 50 words, can include links to your website or relevant webpages; include any notices.

EMAIL: submit@pcd4.com

USE: Submissions will be posted on http://www.pcd4.com in the "Starting Over" section for one to two week intervals.

DEADLINE: Rolling submissions. Next deadline, August 23rd.

Culture w/ YA Author Diana Rodriguez Wallach

The Writer

Diana Rodriguez Wallach’s debut novel, Amor and Summer Secrets, is the first in a young adult series published by Kensington Publishing in September 2008. The sequels to the series, Amigas and School Scandals and Adios to All the Drama, were released in November 2008 and January 2009, respectively.

Born to a Puerto Rican father and a Polish mother, Diana has experienced the cultures her characters inhabit, and many of the multi-cultural themes expressed in her novels are based on her personal background.

Diana holds a journalism degree from Boston University, and has worked as a reporter and as an advocate for inner city public schools. Her first novel, Amor and Summer Secrets, sold to Kensington Publishing on Fat Tuesday 2007 while she was at Mardi Gras wearing beads and a feathered mask.

She currently lives in Philadelphia with her husband Jordan and her cat Lupi, who was rescued from a shelter in Harlem. Diana enjoys traveling, watching bad TV, reading great novels, practicing yoga and cheering on the Philadelphia Eagles.

You can learn more about Diana by visiting her MySpace page, Twitter page, official blog, and official website.

The Book

Mariana Ruiz thought she left her summer fling in Puerto Rico, that is until she finds Alex sitting across from her at the breakfast table. Living two doors down from her visiting old flame isn’t easy, especially given the unresolved sparks still lingering for her locker buddy Bobby—and they don’t exactly go unnoticed.

Her best friends are little help as Madison deals with her IM-only “boyfriend” and Emily sinks into secret mode after her parents’ recent breakup. The only relationship that seems to be working is her estranged aunt Teresa who’s tying the knot on New Years with Mariana and her cousin Lilly as bridesmaids. But the last wedding detail left unplanned is who will Mariana kiss at midnight?

Strained friendships, stolen kisses, and secret loves create plenty of surprises to unfold before the New Year’s bells start ringing…


Watch the trailer for Adios to All the Drama below!



Click the cover above to order your copy of Adios to All the Drama today!

On Culture & Writing

How important is it for you to integrate your cultural experiences into your writing?
For this young adult series, it was very important. I set out with the intent to write a multicultural novel, specifically one from the perspective of a girl who didn’t quite identify with either of her parents’ cultures.

This is not only similar to how I personally felt growing up, but I think it’s also similar to how many American teens feel. It doesn’t matter whether you’re half Polish and half Puerto Rican, or half Thai and half Jamaican, I think a lot of people (and a lot of teens) can relate being torn between two very different ethnic groups while at the same time living in a very American suburban world.


In viewing media - TV, movies, books, radio, etc., how do you see your culture being conveyed?
I’m going to assume you probably mean how do I see my Puerto Rican culture being conveyed, and not how I see the Polish culture conveyed (pierogies, anyone?) or Philadelphians in general (our murder rate’s not so great). But as for Puerto Ricans, I think there is obviously still a stereotype that all “real Latinos” speak Spanish as a first language and have dark hair and tan skin. Obviously this is not the case. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that…as Seinfeld would say.)

But as for the media’s representation beyond that, I don’t want to make sweeping generalizations. Yes, there are still plenty of shows portraying Latinos as drug dealers or maids, but there are also plenty that don’t (Ugly Betty, Cane, George Lopez Show). And I think the trend is moving away from the stereotypes, at least I hope.


What do you look to convey about your culture through your writing?
For much of my life, I had a hard time connecting to my Puerto Rican roots because I don’t fit the conventional stereotypes. I have red hair and freckles, and I didn’t learn Spanish in my home. But as I grew older, I chose to seek out those connections. I studied Spanish in school, took a semester abroad in Madrid, and visited my family in Utuado.

All of these cultural experiences led to the creation of my character, Mariana. In Amor and Summer Secrets, I send Mariana on a journey that took me a lot longer to take. So hopefully, I’d like other multicultural teens to read this novel and realize it’s never too late to connect to your roots—even if it’s something that wasn’t taught to you in the home.


Do you think writers are (or can be) spokespersons for their culture?
It depends. The Amor and Summer Secrets series definitely serves as a window to my personal culture and how I was raised. So in that regard, I do feel like I’m a spokesperson for American teens caught between two ethnic groups.

I’ve also received an amazingly warm welcome from the Latino community. Much of the email I receive is from other Latinos who have read and related to my books. And this couldn’t thrill me more, especially since the first book in the Amor and Summer Secrets series takes place in Puerto Rico—I wanted to make sure I represented the culture fairly.

However, this is not to say that every book I write will feature a Latina character or multicultural themes. The project I’m working on now is about spies. So with that book, one could say I’m representing the espionage culture (or criminal culture?).

But regardless of the ethnic backgrounds of my characters, I’ll still always be Latina no matter what I write, so I guess it depends on the individual’s perception of “spokesperson.”


Any closing comments you'd like to make regarding culture and writing?
Personally, I think books are leading the way in terms of breaking cultural stereotypes. I can’t think of one Hispanic author who’s written a novel that paints their culture as a cheesy stereotype. And since so many films and TV shows are adapted from novels these days, I think the trend will continue to bleed into other media outlets.

This generation of teens is truly a blend of countless varied cultures and to win over their diverse demographic, I foresee all forms of media showing a more accurate representation of what the American culture is like today. As I often say, many of us put our pierogies and plaintains on the same plate.

Speaking Culture w/ Activist, Author, Filmmaker Elisha Miranda

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Being REAL about Culture & Writing ~ Author King Dhakir

The Writer

King Dhakir (pronounced Dha-kear) blazes “edutainment” in literature and music that sparks the mind of those who come across his work. Whether through songs or books, he strives to not only educate, but also provide the pleasure of learning through comedy, drama, history, and other forms of writing. The Chicago native pushes emotions from his work which seeps through the feelings of listeners and readers as he takes you to a journey that touches the five senses and various stages of consciousness.

As a music artist, the no nonsense MC sparks the inevitable gift of a true lyricist. Chi-Skilz, short for "Chicago Skills, is his performing name, and has performed across the Tri-State area. He’d developed a love for music by experiencing basement parties in the early 90's, and listening to his sister's collection of vinyl records on turntables.

Releasing a music video in the summer of 2006, and two albums in 2005 and 2006 (Sun of a Field Negro EP and Charismatic Superfly, respectively), he would later work on his debut novel I Hate My Job in late-November of 2007.

I Hate My Job is now available @ http://www.kingdhakir.com; the King prepares to serve another dish of that “feel good” to take the readers for the ride of their lives.

King is all over the cybersphere; you can check him out at MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and YouTube!

The Book

Surviving while earning scraps and living under the roofs of others, Justice King is a college graduate who struggles with finding his calling in life. Unruly customers, demanding managers and sophomoric co-workers push his patience to the edge as he earns a steady pay-check that only lasts until the next. He faces the challenge of steering away from the temptation of fast money and thinks about the future once rent and property increases evict long-time residents from their homes. As smiles and laughter come in the form of side hustles, skirt chasing, and passing jokes with a close friend, the temporary high outside the workplace is what keeps his mind from exploding. The story of I Hate My Job is the vision of people who inspire to live the life of their choice with the sacrifice of getting out their dreams and creating their own vision. It’s the story of laughs, cries, pain, and joy, and the battle of lifting the spirits of the inner self.

Click the cover above to order your copy of I Hate My Job today!

On Culture & Writing

How important is it for you to integrate your cultural experiences into your writing?
It’s very important to showcase my own cultural experiences as well as others so people wouldn’t think so damn ignorantly all the time.

What’s funny is that by me being a born and raised Chicagoan, the characters of I HATE MY JOB originally used Chicago lingo until one of my homeboys, who is a native New Yorker, went over the manuscript and pointed out how New Yorkers didn’t use words like “mayne” instead of man, “pop” instead of soda, “naw” instead of nah, and so forth.

The story is based in NYC, and I had to go back and change some of the dialogue, and remember how New Yorkers talked to capture the authenticity of the story.

A few examples of cultural differences are expressed in I HATE MY JOB. It’s funny how folks love to talk slick about you in their native language when they assume you only know how to speak English.

Felicia’s (one of the main characters) mother, Ms. Moreno, doesn’t like Justice (the protagonist of the book). Ms. Moreno knows English pretty well, but only speaks Spanish whenever Justice is around, knowing full well he doesn’t know her country’s language fluently.

“Hey, Ms. Moreno. How are you?” I waved, but she never turned toward me. Ms. Moreno’s bronze complexion reddened as she blasted Felicia. Her mom’s knew how to speak English, but only spoke Spanish whenever I came around.

While the language barrier is one part of cultural differences, there also comes popular culture.

Jo Jo is a supervisor in the department store where Justice works, and they get into a small debate over the Jacksons and Osmonds. Both families have had carried on a rivalry back in the day, and I used their situation as a metaphor of a slight cultural bias between Blacks and Caucasians.

“What’s good?” I greeted Jo Jo. He was surprised that I uttered a sound to him.

"Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothin’. I’m diggin’ your Wu-Tang shirt.”

Jo Jo raised his eyebrows at my unusual friendliness. “Oh, thank you.”

“Aight. I thought you only listened to the Osmonds or somethin’.”

He laughed and gave me eye contact. “Yeah, I like the Osmonds. And I like The Jacksons as well.”

“The Jacksons? What you know about The Jacksons?”

“I know a lot about The Jacksons. But they aren’t better than the Osmonds.”

“What?” My shriek alarmed folks in the shoe department. “Tito’s afro got more talent than the Osmonds.”

“Whatever, dude.” He smirked.

“Whatever, nothin’. Hell, even the Partridge Family got more talent than the Osmonds.” I grabbed a few shoeboxes from Jo Jo’s stack of new products and stamped stickers on them. “The Osmonds are better than The Jacksons my ass.” I laughed to myself, and got a kick out of the small talk.

Another important part of that small scene is Jo Jo wearing a Wu-Tang Clan shirt. Without giving away the background story between Justice and Jo Jo, I used Hip-Hop as a symbol that different cultures can come together. Music is universal, and as bad the media love to portray rap as evil, a person cannot deny that you’ll see different ethnicities at a rap concert having fun as if the color of their skin didn’t matter.

I also made a point to have Justice’s potential love interest, Nandi, portrayed as a dark-skinned woman with locs, also known as “dread-locs.”

What bothers me is when most of the main female characters of a lot of Black authors’ books have “Asian” eyes, long “Indian” hair, and are light-skinned. I don’t know if it’s subconsciously a form of self-hate, but Blackness comes in all forms of shapes, sizes and complexions when it comes to looking “exotic,” whatever that means. I wanted to balance out our image in literature by saying that dark is not only exotic, but its juices of beauty also flows deep.

Not only Nandi represents a strong woman of dark-brown melanin, her name comes from the Zulu, the largest ethnic group in South Africa. My glossary further elaborates on many cultural references I displayed in the book; figures such as Nat Turner, Emmitt Til, the Black Panthers, Haile Selassie, etc. and also the vernacular used by characters in the book.

Examples of culture are flooded throughout the whole book. I just gave you a taste. You’ll have to buy the book to see for yourself (laughs).



In viewing media - TV, movies, books, radio, etc., how do you see your culture being conveyed?
The question is broad, so I’ma break it down to books since that medium is the primary focus.

Street-Urban fiction is the genre that’s catching the most flack because it’s the most visible, at least when it comes to Blacks and Latinos. Street fiction is the dominant genre in the African-American book section in mainstream stores as if the Black experience is nothing but living in the ‘hood and underworld stories. This is not a direct shot at the authors of that genre, it’s just an observation.

Not for nothing, but if I was a foreigner who traveled to America, I’d think that most Blacks, if not all, were a community of over-sexed, violent, ignorant, and materialistic group of people based on most of the book covers and storylines flooding street vendors and the African-American book section.

I can care less what people write and their motives. I say, “Do you.” However, there’s a difference between exploitation and exploration, especially when I see the same storylines with little to no creativity involved. And what kills me is when Black authors say, “Well, white people write the same stories, too.” What they fail to realize is that white authors are heavily marketed across the board in their respective genres. So if a Stephen King gets burn, best believe Danielle Steele, Jackie Collins, and John Grisham will eat, too.

I’ve lived amongst white folk in the suburbs, and I know that most of them did not live vicariously through characters on TV, music and books as opposed to many young brothers and sisters when I used to live in the projects. So once again, there lies a difference, especially when you have parents who aren’t responsible with their duties to raise their children, and when the youth is searching for a role model that represents strength in their eyes.

So the problem is a lack of balance. I think authors who write other genres need to step up their grind and create their own industry just like how street fiction did in the early 2000’s. Therein comes another problem because once a section of the Black experience becomes popular, it automatically cancels out other explorations of our community in the mainstream.

It seems as if the WHOLE Black community cannot be marketed at the same time. It’s either one or the other, and just like how street-urban fiction knocked the chick-lit-sista-girl books of the 90’s out the box, I wouldn’t be surprised if another genre does the same to the former in the future.



What do you look to convey about your culture through your writing?
An understanding of other lifestyles without any biases involved. I may disagree with certain aspects of your lifestyle or way of life; however, that doesn’t mean I’ll belittle you as a person and disregard your dogma. I will say this, though. I won’t touch on every culture or sub-culture, but I will touch on cultures that run parallel with my own, which is striving for righteousness.



Do you think writers are (or can be) spokespersons for their culture?
I think writers can be, depending on their format, but overall, no.

As far as me, I represent myself. And as long as I represent myself well as a man of respect, everything will fall in place.

If a writer claims to represent a certain demographic as the so-called vanguard of the community, then that individual should show and prove in his or her writings.

If a writer is just writing for creative expression, then that person shouldn’t be held responsible, UNLESS it’s reckless and detrimental to the wellness of the reader. Controversy sparks debate, but there’s nothing great about sparking debate when it’s done tastelessly.

To quote Andy Worhol, “Art is what you can get away with.” And some writers are just plain reckless when they try to get away with controversy just for the hell of it.



If you are a writer who writes outside your culture, talk to us about that experience. What have you learned about yourself during the process?
I haven’t had the chance to write outside my culture as of yet. I will in the future because ever since I was young I’ve always been around different cultures. Northside Chicago is the most diverse area in the city, and I grew up in a melting point of cultures. Not only that, I’ve also lived in the West Chicago Suburbs for a few years. So writing outside of what I know is nothing to me.

I’m cooking up some marvelous ingredients for the next book as we speak.



Any closing comments you'd like to make regarding culture and writing?
Just be original and find your niche. It’s better to stand out than finding yourself washed away by walking with the crowd. I ask myself everyday, “what can I do that’ll separate myself from the others?” And once you read my books like I HATE MY JOB, you’ll find out I’m in a league of my own. PEACE!!!

Culture and Writing: Author Angela Henry

The Writer

Angela Henry is the author of the Kendra Clayton mystery series. Her books and short stories have been awarded honorable mentions in the Gertrude Johnson Williams Writing Contest, and New York Book Festival Awards, as well as a nomination for an Open Book Award in the mystery category by the African-American Literary Awards Show. She lives in Ohio. For more about her and her work, visit http://www.angelahenry.com.

The Book

Part-time GED instructor Kendra Clayton's spring break is proving to be anything but relaxing. First her best friend, Lynette, suffers a major panic attack days before her wedding and vanishes. Then her sister, Allegra, who craves attention the way Kendra craves chocolate brownies, arrives in town determined to land an interview with screen legend Vivianne DeArmond for the TV show Hollywood Vibe.

But Allegra's interview plans hit a glitch when she discovers the diva's lifeless body in her dressing room, stabbed in the back with a letter opener. The police peg Allegra as the prime suspect, but Kendra knows her sister is no murderer, even if she is guilty of acting a little too friendly around Kendra's man lately.

As Kendra starts to investigate and whittle down the list of Vivianne's enemies, she uncovers some surprising Hollywood secrets. But she'll need to act fast.

Because every step toward the truth puts her in danger of becoming a victim of a ruthless killer's encore performance...


Click the cover above to order your copy of Diva's Last Curtain Call today!

On Culture & Writing

How important is it for you to integrate your cultural experiences into your writing?
It’s very important for me to integrate my cultural experiences into my writing. I feel it gives my writing honesty and realism.


In viewing media - TV, movies, books, radio, etc., how do you see your culture being conveyed?
I usually see African-Americans being portrayed in extremes. For example, you either see poor black people or wealthy black people. The black middle class is very underrepresented.


What do you look to convey about your culture through your writing?
I hope my writing shows African-American life beyond the stereotypes.


Do you think writers are (or can be) spokespersons for their culture?
I think writers, whether we want to or not, are often seen as spokespersons for our culture, especially if our writing reflects out cultural experiences. There seems to be this idea that when a person of another culture expresses their opinion, or acts a certain way, they aren’t just expressing their opinions and actions, but the thoughts and actions of their entire race.


If you are a writer who writes outside your culture, talk to us about that experience. What have your learned about yourself during the process?
My books thus far have all been about other African-Americans.

Excerpt

From Angela Henry's latest novel, Diva's Last Curtain Call


The film retrospective ended and the lights came back on. People were on their feet applauding and chanting "Vivi! Vivi! Vivi!" I looked toward the front of the auditorium expecting to see Vivianne smiling and waving like a beauty queen. But she was nowhere to be seen. Then a loud piercing fire alarm sounded and cut through the cheering and clapping like a knife. I didn't see or smell any smoke. Was this a joke? Everyone was looking confused and I heard a chorus of groans and cursing as we were instructed to leave the auditorium quickly by an annoyed-looking member of the film festival committee. As I was guiding Mama through the jostling crowd, I happened to turn and look down the long hallway that led to the basement dressing rooms used by performers. I saw Allegra run up the basement steps looking dazed and terrified. I called out to her, but in the loud commotion she didn't hear me, and I watched as she turned and rushed out a nearby exit. Once outside, I looked around for her and spotted her rental car tearing out of the parking lot.

I did not have a good feeling about this. Since Allegra had come from the direction of the dressing rooms, then she must have been trying to see Vivianne again. And Harriet Randall must have called the police again. At least that was the only excuse I could come up with for my sister looking so scared. I was relieved that Mama hadn't seen her, but I noticed she was still scanning the crowd looking for her.

"I wonder how much longer we're going to have to wait to get back in?" asked Mama, after we'd been waiting in the parking lot for fifteen minutes.

Most of the other attendees were also still waiting but many people had left in huff. I really wanted to leave myself to find out what was up with Allegra but Mama, being a movie buff and proud of Vivianne DeArmond's connection to Willow, wouldn't hear of it. The fire department had arrived five minutes earlier and we were waiting for the all clear, when a nervous-looking male film festival committee member addressed the restless crowd.

"Um, excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," began the man in a gruff voice, looking as though he might throw up. What in the world was going on?

"Due to an unfortunate circumstance, the award ceremony has been cancelled. We're going to have to ask that you all leave the premises at once," the man said, wiping sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief.

After a minute of stunned silence, everyone started talking at once. The committee member had a crowd of angry people surrounding him that he was unsuccessfully trying to placate.

"I came all the way from Pittsburgh for this," exclaimed one angry woman, pointing a chubby finger at the man's chest.

"I took off from work to be here today," said a handsome older black man wearing a T-shirt that read: Viva Vivi! But the committee member remained mum as to why the ceremony had been cancelled.

Some people, not needing to be told twice, jumped in their cars and took off. I noticed one of them was the nerdy-looking man who'd tried to hug Vivianne during the autograph signing. He looked around nervously before hopping in a beat-up white VW van and taking off. I'd heard about many instances of Vivianne's diva behavior, including holding up production on a movie set for hours after getting a paper cut while going over her script, and wondered if she was up to her old tricks again. I prayed that's all it was.

"Oh, come on, Kendra. Take me home. I don't have time for this mess. I've got stuff I could be doing." I silently followed Mama to my car, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that something was terribly wrong and wondering what my sister had to do with it.

This feeling intensified as Mama and I were pulling out of the auditorium's parking lot and a couple of police cars and an ambulance arrived.

"I wonder what happened?" asked Mama, looking back. I didn't reply. My mouth was suddenly very dry.

When I pulled up into Mama's driveway, Allegra's rented black Toyota was parked with the front bumper scraping the closed garage door. Mama hopped out and inspected the damage to her garage door. Besides the scrape in the paint, the aluminum door was dented, and looked to have been knocked off track. I could tell she was highly pissed.

"I bet that silly girl wasn't even paying attention! Always looking at herself in the mirror. And she will be paying to get my garage door fixed! You can bank on that." I followed Mama through the side gate into the backyard where we could hear someone crying hysterically. It was Allegra. She was sitting on the porch step sobbing. When she spotted Mama, she flew off the porch straight into her arms.

"Allie? Baby what's wrong?" Mama said, patting Allegra's back and giving me a bewildered look. We both knew this couldn't be about a broken garage door.

Allegra usually tries to sweet-talk her way out of any wrongdoing she's guilty of. She tried to talk, but we couldn't understand a word she was saying through her hiccupping sobs.

Mama tossed me her house keys. "Go get her some water." I went to do as I was told and took a big gulp of cold water myself before going back outside. I was almost too afraid to know what was wrong.

After taking a few sips of the water, Allegra finally calmed down enough to talk.

"It was so horrible, Mama," she said shaking her head at the memory. "Vivianne DeArmond. She's. . .she's--" She started to sob again. Mama had had enough and grabbed her by the shoulders giving her a good shake.

Allegra twisted free of her grasp and blurted out, "She's dead, okay! Somebody killed her!"

Mama gasped and stared at me.

"Come on. We need to go inside," I said, ushering my still-crying sister and my shocked grandmother into the house.

© Angela Henry

Writing in Translation: Author Wendy Nelson Tokunaga

The Writer

Wendy Nelson Tokunaga is the author of the novels, MIDORI BY MOONLIGHT (St. Martin's, Available Now) and the forthcoming LOVE IN TRANSLATION (St. Martin's, November 2009). Japan and Japanese culture have been major influences on her life and this is reflected in much of her writing. Her novel, NO KIDDING, won the Literary/Mainstream Fiction category in Writer’s Digest’s Best Self-Published Book Awards in 2002. She is also the author of two children's non-fiction books, and has had short stories published in various literary journals. Wendy signed her two-book deal with St. Martin’s just as she was beginning the MFA in Writing program at the University of San Francisco in 2006. Along with her MFA, she also holds a BA in Psychology from San Francisco State University.

You can learn more about Wendy through her website, blog, Chirashi: A Japan Culture Blog, Twitter, MySpace, Facebook, and RedRoom.

The Books

Available Now!

Midori Saito, a young woman, fresh from Japan and too independent for Japanese society, refuses to heed her mother’s advice that marrying a foreigner will bring her nothing but trouble. Turns out Mom was right and Midori is now suddenly on her own in San Francisco. Will she be able to find her American Dream and the perfect dessert?


Click the cover above to order your copy of Midori by Moonlight today!



Coming November 2009!

After receiving a puzzling phone call and a box full of mysteries, 33-year-old fledgling singer Celeste Duncan is off to Japan to search for a long, lost relative who could hold the key to the identity of the father she never knew. Once there she stumbles head first into a weird, wonderful world where nothing is quite as it seems; a land of gaijin worshippers, karaoke boxes, and sushi fortune tellers. But it is when she learns a Japanese song called “The Wishing Star” that everything changes. She not only has to battle with the unbearably perky queen of Japanese reality TV, but also must navigate the rocky road to finding real love, the true meaning of family, and the discovery of her own voice.


Click the cover above to pre-order your copy of Love in Translation today!

On Culture & Writing

How important is it for you to integrate your cultural experiences into your writing?
As you can probably tell from my photograph, I am not Japanese. I’m Caucasian, was born in San Francisco, and my Japanese last name comes from my husband. Both my novels are about Japan and Japanese culture. When I took my first creative writing class many years ago, the teacher required us to complete three short stories in a semester. And all three that sprang out of me were about some aspect of Japanese culture. I didn’t plan it that way, but that’s what happened, and it made me realize how important this culture has been in my life.


In viewing media - TV, movies, books, radio, etc., how do you see Japanese culture being conveyed?
Although things have improved, I still see a lot of stereotypes in the media, mainly of subservient, geisha-like women or samurai types. Many novels written in English that deal with Japan are historical fiction so they are not dealing with a very up-to-date image. In contrast are Japanese animation and manga (comics), which can run the gamut from sci-fi/fantasy to porn to everyday life in Japan, and which are growing increasingly popular with young Americans.

What do you look to convey about Japanese culture through your writing?
I hope to shed light on modern life in Japan as well as show those Japanese who struggle with the straitjacket society that Japan can be, especially when it comes to gender roles. As an American who has lived in Japan, there are many things I love about the place, but I have never felt the need or desire to escape from American culture into Japanese. But there is a saying in Japan that the nail that sticks out always gets hammered down. Some Japanese people cannot tolerate this kind of conformity requirement and, in turn, escape to the West. This is my husband’s experience and what I write about in Midori by Moonlight, though I’ve certainly fictionalized it, and also turned the protagonist into a woman.

I have always been fascinated by people who feel the need to trade in their native culture for a new one. I’m also interested in culture shock and feeling like a stranger in a strange land when living in another culture. I explore this theme in Love in Translation, which is about an American woman who finds herself unexpectedly living in Tokyo with a Japanese family.


Do you think writers are (or can be) spokespersons for their culture?
I think sometimes they become spokespersons unwittingly or because they are presented that way in the media. But I think you’re asking for trouble if you believe that you can speak for all people of a particular culture.


If you are a writer who writes outside your culture, talk to us about that experience. What have you learned about yourself during the process?
Japan and Japanese culture have been such a big part of my life that I don’t even notice it anymore. A lot of it is ingrained by now, but I will never be Japanese nor is that my goal. I like to think that my husband and I take the best parts of both of our cultures the way we live our lives, with a healthy combination of American “me-centric” individualism and the Japanese way of “ki ga tsuku” -- making sure to anticipate another’s needs over our own.

Temperature's Rising with Author Dapharoah69

The Writer

What do you get when you have a young ambitious Nassau, Bahamian man from Goulds, Florida (Miami) who became his own publisher, hype man, advertising guru, model, photographer, editor, copy editor, CEO and was one of CLIK Magazine's Top 25 Sexiest, Most Eligible bachelors in October of 2007? You get Dapharoah69, The King of Erotica." He co-authored and co-edited an anthology called Voices From Within, released on World AIDS Day in 2000. The book was selected for Body Positive Magazine's Book of the Month Club in 2001. He was selected as an extra in the Bruce Willis and Billy Bob Thornton Hollywood blockbuster Bandits. In January of 2007, he unveiled his first book, The King of Erotica: The Throne, a collection of unapologetic sexual short stories with a message. In Feb of 2008, he released The King of Erotica Book 2.

His books were the focal points for more than 45 Book Clubs across the country. On Valentine's Day 2009 he released the VIP version of The King of Erotica 3. Two days later it debut in the Barnes and Noble Bestselling Top 600 books. Six hours later all three of The King of Erotica Novels soared into the Barnes and Noble.com Bestselling Top 100 books at the same time, with Book 3 peaking at #71. He shared the list with Steve Harvey, Obama and John Grisham. On February 20, 2009, he was the ONLY self-published author with three titles in the Barnes and Noble Top 100.

His writing gives a deeper understanding of why some people have the type of sex the way they do. The book also touches on taboo topics seldom discussed in the black community. He writes from the gay, straight, female, and male points of view with devastating accuracy.

Dapharoah69 is a man who doesn't hold anything back. His new book, Some Men Wear Panties, was released in Mid-March accompanied by a multi-city Pink Panties Tour. His take-no-prisoners attitude has reflected in the response from his die-hard fans.

You can learn more about Dapharoah69 by checking him out at MySpace, Facebook, and the Pink Panties Tour.

The Books

Well I have four books coming out this year. The first was The King of Erotica 3's VIP version, a book for the fans. Brand new short stories. The second will be Some Men Wear Panties. It will be released on Bestselling Author J.L. King's Imprint. King's the famous author of the book On the Down Low that was selected on the Oprah Winfrey Show. The third book is The OFFICIAL King of Erotica 3: The SWORD and will be the LAST the King of Erotica book I will ever write. And the fourth is my first FULL NOVEL called Call Her Queen Hatshepsut and will be the most controversial book to date. It deals with a deranged black woman who brainwashes her son and raises him as a girl to get back at the father, who married and fathered a child with her identical twin sister.







Men have a phobia for women's panties when it comes to wearing them. They feel their manhood will be compromised. In public and in public conversation they denounce ever wearing them. But when the sun goes down the freak comes out. Inhibitions are unleashed and conservatism takes a back seat to wild sex, booze and denial. They live in the shadows and the darkness, with secret fetishes for panties. They act out their deepest fantasies using them. But when the sun rise they hide them in drawers, in brief cases or wear them under their suits...with secret smiles on their faces that they got away with it.

But did they.

Click the cover above to order your copy of Some Men Wear Panties today!


A Lil about Call Her Queen Hatshepsut:

Chess is a competitive game between two players. Each piece has its own style of moving. But what happens when a deranged woman tricks two lovers into playing the game of their lives? Hatshepsut is a confused woman. She treats people the way she wants to be treated using an eight-by-eight grid of hope and empathy. The only things missing from her life is love and the sixteen pieces it's comprised of. It's missing because she was born a man. Avarice James, Hatshepsut's mother, is an embattled plastic surgeon content on getting what she wants. Deeply rooted by the 64 squares of wickedness, two people she loved the most has castled her before she moved a pawn...the king, Kayak Burke, her son's father and her biggest rival, the rook, Rosa James, her identical twin sister. Rosa has always turned Avarice's existence into a horrid checkmate. She dressed like her, spoke her dialogue, and tarnished Avarice's reputation to achieve the unconscionable. Desperate, Rosa moves a pawn, trapping Kayak in a lustful game of sex that leads her and Avarice into unwanted pregnancies. When Avarice diagonally moves the queen across white squares, taking a bishop and Rosa castles across black squares, taking a knight, Avarice does something so explosive that it inevitably turns Rosa, Kayak, and the death of his son into the pawns they truly are. Avarice masters the game with skill and patience...She brainwashes her son, disguises him as a girl and names him Hatshepsut. Any memory of Rosa and Kayak has been eradicated...until the time is right! This account extends all racial barriers. If you have ever loved, been betrayed and lost a child this harrowing story will open your heart and cause you to search your soul and question your faith. Call her Queen Hatshepsut: check mate!

On Culture & Writing

How important is it for you to integrate your cultural experiences into your writing?
It's extremely important. The world is a melting pot of cultures comprised of people being multi-racial or bi-racial. This means that a person becomes more diverse in their taste for music, food and entertainment. This also allows them to be more tolerant and eclectic when dealing with friends and other family members who may have another blood line. With that being said I research a lot of people, places and things before I write.


In viewing media - TV, movies, books, radio, etc., how do you see your culture being conveyed?
TV: Reality Shows have destroyed us as black people. Shows like I Love New York makes us look crass and degrading. A black woman with fake tits and horse hair runs around cursing up a storm, slapping other women, wearing whorish get-ups and sits back and takes pride in herself and wants compassion.

Bottom line, a white women spitting in New York's face on Flavor of Love made her an instant star.

Movies: Jada Pinkett. Will Smith. Denzel. Angela Basset. Morgan Freeman. Halle Berry. Laurence Fishbourne. Whoopi. Samuel L. Jackson. Loretta Devine. Queen Latifah. The aforementioned blacks made me proud to be an African-American with their stellar acting.

Books: Zane. Sistah Souljah. Omar Tyree. E. Lynn Harris. I love reading their works because it's diverse and some of their characters are bi-racial and of other cultures. This adds spice to us as a people.

Music: Well, I'm stuck on Janet Jackson. I love the OLD Janet better, when her albums had themes. This year Rhythm Nation been out 20 years. And I still bump that album when I write my books.


What do you look to convey about your culture through your writing?
I convey flaws. I convey realism, sexism and at times racism...even racism against ourselves. I convey backstabbers, taboo subjects us as blacks are too afraid to touch or talk about...I convey Holier-than-thou men and women and people struggling to make ends meet. Not all my characters are based in the ghetto. They are diverse, suffered abuse of inflict themselves in self-hate. I convey the ups and downs and the insolence. The highs and lows of love. Class.

Crassness at times. Pure ghetto. I convey EVERY aspect. I know a lot of people and I see a lot of people and I put that in my writing to show that we love, we fail, we are freaks, we run to the clubs, we then fall on our knees in church on Sunday and we do it all again. I convey realness, frankness and bluntness. I show our everyday issues. Women with men cheating on them with other women and other men. People with HIV purposely infecting each other because they are bitter. I use my books to stimulate then educate.


Do you think writers are (or can be) spokespersons for their culture?
Yes. Experience is the best teacher. Your own ups and downs, personal hell and perseverance serves as testimonies that may help others who are on the fence or need guidance. That's what experience really is all about. Giving God the glory for making it through and you getting your blessings in the end when people are inspired by your courage and strength. I recently contracted HIV. At first I held my head down and hid it from family and friends. But then I woke up. I'm a bestselling author and it's my duty to try to save as many lives as I can. So I publicly (on Myspace and Facebook) told everyone. And since then people from as far as South Africa to the U.S. are inspired to have safer sex or to go to get tested themselves.


If you are a writer who writes outside your culture, talk to us about that experience. What have your learned about yourself during the process?
I deal with whites, blacks, Spanish folks and Haitians, Dominicans, etc. I love them all for their individuality and for embracing who they are and representing where they come from. I'm a Nassau, Bahamian man who was born in Salinas, California, and raised in Goulds, Florida (MIAMI). I have come in contact with different foods, music and beliefs. And it reflects in my writing. Researching these cultures opened up my tolerance level and allowed me to mentally travel outside of my comfort zone. And since then my taste in food and music has diversified. I listen to rock, heavy metal, R&B and Salsa because of it. And it reflects in some of my writing.

I will include an excerpt from my bestselling book The King of Erotica 2: THE CROWN. The story is called "OOPS."

If you're not grown, read no further.


I worked all the time. I had a wife and a home to support. Nothing else in this world meant more to me then breaking my back for a woman who was my Queen.

My wallet, bank account and house were hers. I put my all into my marriage.

Now I had nothing.

Marriage was challenging, considering I was a white man married to a black woman. I went through all the “Oh, no you didn’t marry a black woman!” stares at work and in public. But that didn’t deter me from loving her and showing her public affection. Black men sneered at me in disgust and every time I turned my back they pounced on her as if she was a water buffalo and they needed nourishment. She remained loyal. She was a startling beauty: big ample breasts, perky nipples, Apple Bottom derriere, and chiseled Janet Jackson abs. She was a work out buff. She had short, croppy hair, loved poetry, loved eating the best foods and danced to the best music.

When I met her at the Muvico Movie Theater in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, just off of Sheridan West (traveling North on I-75), a couple months ago, she looked very vulnerable attending the Mission Impossible 3 premiere by herself. I could tell she loved Tom Cruise. The stallion of black men trying to get her attention was amazing. The way certain black men grabbed her hand and she seemed to cringe. She told one of them, a tall basketball player type, “Look, don’t touch me. I don’t know you and I’m not your goddamn Mama!” He retreated without hesitation. I was laughing to myself, finding it all amusing. She lusted after a white man on a poster, so out of touch with reality because he was in Hollywood—still being ridiculed for the stunt he pulled on the Oprah Winfrey show—and she was in Florida. She knew he existed, but hadn’t one iota that she existed.

Home girl looked good in tight snake-print pants, long leather boots with spiked heels with the cowboy golden spinners behind the backs. Her chandelier earrings sparkled with abandon. The long-sleeved gold blouse with a huge oval button holding her breasts in place for dear life was something I had never seen on a woman. Pretty classy, if you asked me. She definitely had junk in her trunk. I told myself: Maybe tonight is my lucky night. I was thirty-five, single, very handsome. My drinking buddies said I looked like a young Brad Pitt. I took that as a compliment. I actually won a Brad Pitt look alike contest three months ago up in Aspen when I went skiing with some old college buddies.

Clad in nice blue Dockers pants, a pink IZOD shirt, and pink Banana Republic shoes, I made my way over to her.

I made small talk. Why not? The only thing she could possibly do was a) dismiss me—like most black women seemed to do, despite hearing, “Damn, you’re cute, but I don’t do snowballs…”—or b) give me a little tongue tag.

Here goes. “Movie seems like it’ll be better than the first two installments.”

She smiled at me, eyes sparkling. Hotdamn. She was a beauty. Definitely caused a ruckus in my briefs. My veins seemed to tighten when she smiled. She extended her hand.

“I’m Bianca. And your name is?”

I was salivating something terrible. “I’m Ted Oxford.”

She grinned. “Like Ted Bundy from Married with Children,” she joked, patting my shoulder. “Just kidding.”

“Nah, I am not married and I don’t have children.”

She didn’t believe me. “Good looking man such as yourself? Not Married? What about kids you don’t know about?”

“Sister, I’m 35 years old. I can count on one hand how many women I slept with in my life time.”

She was definitely interested. “Wow. White men own the world and the blondes with it and you can count on one hand how many you slept with?”

Now I was grinning. “Yes. Don’t forget HIV runs rampant like the winter Olympics.”

“Amen, Dustin Hoffman. No. No. You look like Brad Pitt.”

“Phew. Dustin Hoffman over Brad Pitt? You had me about to search for Oceans Fourteen to get the hell away from you,” I joked, smiling.

She touched my hand. “I’m a direct woman.”

I gripped it. “Like wise.”

She rubbed her thumb over my hand. “I take it your favorite color is pink.”

I felt the chemistry building. “Yea. Unusual for a man, I know, but I don’t live by the rules.”

Her eyes drank me like Scotch. “I like that. Your zodiac sign is?”

My heart raced. “Pisces.”

“So your birthday passed,” she said, forgetting we were in a theatre.

“Yes. March 15th.”

“I’m a Scorpio,” she informed me.

I was enjoying her already. “Nice. Powerful and manipulative. I better stand guard.”

We laughed easily. “Down, Buster. Favorite food?”

“Shrimp scampi.”

She nodded her head. “Same here. No hotdogs and pork and beans for this bitch.”

I was impressed. “Articulate, are we?”

She hugged me. “Very. Favorite singer?”

I felt good in her arms. “Well, Garth Brooks and a little bit of Janet Jackson, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill.”

She pushed away from me playfully. “Garth is straight. Faith is cool. Janet is ok. You’re a man so you like Janet because of…”

“Her tits. I can’t lie. I’m straight forward.”

“At least you’re honest. My favorite artists are Nelly and The Dixie Chicks.”

“Favorite song by the Chicks?”

“Wide Open Spaces. And I commend them for speaking out on cheating ass George Bush. They spoke for legions of black people in this country.”

“Believe me I regret voting for a lying, oil driven man myself.”

She snapped her fingers. I was confused. I figured it was some college thing. “Amen! I like you. You’re not half bad.”

“You’re a hot cookie yourself.”

“And your breath smells good. I can tell you don’t do tobacco.”

“Hell no. I do Tic Tacs and Jolly Ranchers. I can’t stand women who smoke.”

“I hear ya!”

Here it goes. I went in for the kill. I was about to get shot down. I breathed in deeply, closing my eyes. “Are you here with anybody, sexy woman such as

yourself?”

This is the part when I cringed. Go ahead. Give it to me. No. Because you’re white. Your ass is flat. Black men have dicks. I do dicks. Not cocks. You smell nice but I heard crackers smell like dogs when they get wet.

“I’m flying solo, like Amelia Earhart.”

“Care to join me for a movie. My treat.”

“Sure. I would love to. Thought you’d never ask.”

“Great.” I extended my arm and she put her hand through, not at all embarrassed to be out with a sexy white man with blue eyes.

“Lead the way,” she said, her nipples hardening. I couldn’t help but look. She didn’t strike me as a tough-talking, gum-snapping, head popping black chick that got rough and tough. She seemed really down to earth. I didn’t smell a hint of cigarette smoke in her clothing, didn’t see a hint of nicotine on her pearly white teeth. No caps and no fillings. Definitely two pluses.

We might just get along great.


Any closing comments you'd like to make regarding culture and writing?
Writing isn't about impressing people. You can't entertain everyone and you damn sure can't please everyone. So EXPRESS yourself and let that be the FIRST AND LAST IMPRESSION you have on the public. I don't care who likes my writing or not. As long as you GET SOMETHING FROM "IT" then my job is done. I can say AMEN. So be it. GOD gets the glory. And I get the blessing of writing my next book. Be you when you write.

Excerpt

"The Dressing Room"
from Some Men Wear Panties

If you're not grown, read no further.

I was late getting to work today. I knew I shouldn't have gone out to the Club last night. I was 36-years-old, and tried to cling to my youth like leeches to skin trying to get some blood.

But before I talk about work, if I did talk about work, I always changed my mind. I had thoughts of this morning. I looked at the niggah right now. Naked.

Uncensored. Exposed. In my bed. He is the first dude I ever brought home. Usually Hoes (females) made my home a Hotel-Motel-Holiday Inn giving them whatever they wanted 'cause I had it. The sun shined through the lacey curtains. The shapes all over his chest and the right side of his face – so angelic.

Around what? Three or four a.m? I was tossing and turning with someone. I felt his heat. His aura. His lust. Were vapors. Against my skin. I needed him.

Wanted him. Longed for his trust. His passion. His seeds flowering my garden.

Shaking thinking about it, I remembered yesterday, I went to T.Q. Bax, 'cause a brothah's Platinum Card was nearly maxed out, and I bought a very cool-looking cream-colored cashmere sweater, since it was a little chilly right now in Miami. I had a closet filled with attire. You know a brothah could never have too much money, cash, liquor, bud or ass. I was dressed in some jeans that fit snuggly, not too tight, just enough to show the shape of the Booty and the Dick. My slides showed off pedicured toes. My white T-shirt I could have done without and the robe I had on, which was eight sizes too small, looked more like a robe/coat.

I remember a few months ago I saw a dude staring at me when I was driving. Why I thought of him at that particular moment beats the hell outta me. I tried to wave him down, to see if I knew him, but traffic was a bitch and I kept maneuvering around Cubans who couldn't drive to save Fidel Castro's life. It was a very muggy, humid day, I had fallen out with my boss over a meeting I had forgotten to schedule and I was set to send a manuscript off to publishers hoping I could get some sort of recognition but to no avail.

I never caught up with ole boy but the thought has eaten at me for some time. Why was the dude staring at me? Did he like me or what? Because I didn't do the fag shit.

As a matter of fact thinking about my robe/coat, I was looking over the sweater by the entrance of the pulsating-with-life store. Briefly I looked up and noticed the female section across the way. I had an eerie feeling that something wasn’t right inside me. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I went over to the female clothes and a big booty chick walked by, yapping on the phone. Yap yap yap, Girl and yap yap yap, No bitch yap yap yap.

I shook my head, looking at the booty for a minute, falling in love with the way it bounced in those Guess jeans.

I looked to my right and saw them – expensive satin panties. My mouth falling open, my dick was hard. There weren’t many people and I was suddenly horny. I walked down one of the aisles, the racks chest level. I noticed the cameras everywhere. I closed my eyes, taking a pair of panties and smelling them. Wow. I unzipped my pants and crawled inside the rack of women’s leather trench coats that hung to the floor…

Now this was crazy. I started stroking my dick with the panties, inhaling the leathery scent. A few women walked by chatting and I kept stroking, my nuts bouncing between my legs. One of the jackets was whisked from the rack.

“This will look good on me girl, with my rhinestone pumps.” She had blue weave and purple lips. Piercings were along her right ear and she wore tight black leather.

Another jacket left the rack and I was stuck, looking up at the women. They hadn’t noticed me, dick out and panties in my hand. Damn it, I could hardly breathe. I didn’t move a muscle, the beginnings of my orgasm subsiding back to the base of my nuts, telling the squirrels that their lunch break was over.

Another big girl saw me.

Her eyes wide, she was pointing excitedly.

“Oh my…”

I kicked her so hard in the shin she doubled into another rack, falling over. A few women rushed over to her and I got from behind the rack, grabbed a huge floral hat and pulled it low over my face. I fixed my pants. I was scared.

That’s what my dumb ass gets for stroking my stick in a store. I grabbed some sweat pants from the rack, rushed up the aisle and grabbed a man’s shirt and jacket. I saw a baseball cap.

I went into the dressing room and changed clothing. I saw a plastic bag and I put my clothes in there, tossing the floral hat.

I left the dressing room, hat pulled low over my eyes.

“I swear! A man was jacking his dick with panties in the rack!”

“Yea, sure,” said her friend, laughing at her.