Fire on the stove

Good night everyone. That's good night as in I hope that you are having a good night, not good night like I'm going to bed, yet. Got in about a half an hour ago and there is so much I want to write about. I won't yet. But it's there.

Brewing:
*My son and how much I love him and how proud of him I am and the emotions I have with him growing up.

I want to write a story called The Real Story of Stepmothers. I had a great conversation with Tse and V Kali tonight in front of The World Stage about the book THE REAL STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE BEARS. If you haven't read it, please please do. Love love love it! It's told from the wolf's perspective. He starts "Ok, this has gone on long enough and it's time for me to set the record straight." Well, I mentioned Nikki Giovianni's talk about how stepmothers have such a bad rap and how she said that that wicked stepmother was not us. We fed all the children in the house. I dunno, I had a long drive and have been thinking of all kinds of stories and that one floated to the top. It touches me because while I didn't grow up with a step mother, my son has one whom he loves and she loves him and because of who she is to my son, she has all of my respect. Also, growing up there were folks who from time to time needed a place to stay and stayed with us and I saw how loving my mother was with other folks' children. Again, I dunno, a story brewing.

*I need to work on further drafts of the poem I wrote a couple of days ago about the mother scrubbing her son's blood out of the concrete while others walked by. It's very surfacy right now. But I have ideas for it. Good ones.

*Gonna write a story or poem or prose, something about Love (Love, because I am keeping his name out of my blog. Not really about him but about how I have grown to love and respect myself more and so love on a much higher level has shown up in my life. A love that I imagined but had given up on until it showed up.) I'm challenging myself to write it from a not such an intellectual perspective but to allow myself the freedom to be mushy. I get mushy but not really about my own love life. Mushy? Yeah, like personal things about where I am now that really make me glow. See, glow is mushy for me. Except the challenge is to use words heavier than glow and mushy and love.

*A letter to In-Q

*There are other ideas. Ones I won't talk about yet. Maybe you think I tell you everything. I don't, you know.