How To Get Your Book Reviewed

It’s not true that all book reviewers hate self-published books. I speak for myself and will give any author a chance for alternative opinion. Authors, you can get your book reviewed, but I will caution you to be astute and choose well. You should research the market and be on the lookout for reviewers that truly understand the craft of writing, and those that can be most fair in their assessment. Of course, there are other things that you should look for, including credibility and their reputation. There’s a rumor circulating that self-published authors have a hard time getting their books reviewed. This may be true to some lesser degree, but I will go on record to say that the majority of reviewers to not share that sentiment, especially in the African-American literary Diaspora where self-publishing is a healthy alternative. Other persuasions may feel this way in light of the fact that they are mainstream, and a different set of rules apply.

In our world self-publishing is so inexpensive and so accessible, that publishing this way is affordable and best when the majors are restrictive in whom they let in their doors. Regardless of the deep-seated sentiments of the mainstream relative to reviewers dismissing self-published authors, they are accepted and can get reviews from the major reviewers catering to them. And it has definitely been worth the effort of late, especially in certain genre’s namely the Urban Fiction class. The industry is slow to change, and will allow status quo to usually dictate modus operandi as long as readers are buying what they want to read. Bookstores and libraries still rely heavily on the reviews in the major book review journals, online, and what is given to book clubs. If you get a good review in Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, BookList, RAWSISTAS, or The Romer Review, you will probably get high visibility, and the publicity factor will eventually set in for readers to find what they are looking for – and the book review is key!

What must an author do to get reviewed? You get your book reviewed by using savvy ploys to solicit your work. I always look for visual things in choosing the books I review. I like for authors to present me with a good press kit and a plan! Making your book available to review journals, and soliciting to have it inclusive to viable review outlets can mean the difference in your readers knowing what is available, who you are, and why you write as you do. In my opinion, there really is no such thing as a bad review. And many bookstores and libraries just automatically order any book that is reviewed by the majors. In many cases, depending on the subject matter and niche, you’ll sell a great deal more than expected with a good favorable review. And if you follow up that review with formidable publicity campaign that should include a high-quality direct mailing initiative to bookstores and/or libraries, quoting the review. So it’s definitely worth pursuing a quality reviewer and be part of these review journals.

There are caveats, however that you should always consider. Your chances of getting a review, at face value, can be rather dismal when all the factors are in place. The key is understanding the industry and what you are up against. When you take in consideration how many books are being published, you will be cognizant of how the numbers can be for and against you. Not everyone can be in position to have his or her books reviewed by Publishers Weekly. My research indicate that Library Journal, and others, reviews closer to 15% -20%. Yet, other factors are considered when decisions to pick your book for review. If you have a quality book—with good information, good writing, a nice looking interior design, and a well-designed cover—you can get your book reviewed. Besides the quality of the book, what’s important in getting your book reviewed is the timing. Most authors dismiss certain protocol for review policy & procedure. I know that a few review journals will only consider reviewing books that have not already been published; they feel that it’s a certain advantage to have books that are not yet available, books that are not yet in the marketplace. This way, publishers know that they must be sure to get their advance reading copies, or galleys to reviewers well in advance of the official publication date when the finished book will be available. I personally love to receive my galleys at least three to six months earlier.

I find that most self-publishers especially, don’t have stronger marketing plan upon submitting their books. The higher your chances of being reviewed are to have a plan of action to market it adequately. Let’s face it, because the review journals know that if you present a powerhouse marketing plan and seem to be prepared, you boost your chances of selling the book exponentially—and they want to make sure they review books that are going to sell well. So make your package stand out, have press kits well garnered with the appropriate information. Give your book the best graphic design possible, make sure the typesetter has done his/her job, and that you’ve chosen a credible editor.

Describe the highlights of your marketing and advertising plan in your cover letter, or on the bound galley itself. It’s imperative to get those galleys to the reviewers three to six months before publication. Getting reviews can be challenging and daunting at times because of the nature of the industry, and the fact that everyone thinks that they can render a good review. But despite certain flaws in the system, you as an author must have a business sense, and a flair for discernible options to help your cause. You must pay attention to the rules, and make sure the reviewer understand your writing style. They must also themselves know how to write. Choosing the right reviewer often will spell the difference between success and failure. Do your homework; learn as much as you can by watching trends. Do this and the bottom line will pay dividends for the good effort you put in for it to be a benefit to you.

The Romer Review, Write On! Literary Services © copyright 2001-2007

Welcome Back!

Barrington, Your dream crystallized in your mind for quite some time. You first broached the subject to your family, and they never discouraged you. With this support and confidence you took your idea to those that had deep pockets that would give you the financial backbone to carry it forth. Despite a few stumbling blocks and minor obstacles along the way, you persevered. You never allowed doubt and people who said you couldn't reach your dream deter you from looking ahead.

And in the process you let everyone who wanted to hear that it would only be a matter of time. Opa Locka airport never would be the same as you and your throng of well wishers came out en masse for the genesis of your attempt to be the first and youngest of your race to fly around the world. We were with you every step of the way as we monitored you at each stop...even concerned when you ran out of money and had to wire home for funds; or when you weathered storms trying to get to each point; and even when you had delays, which lengthened the trip, some.

As the days rolled on, we felt more butterflies as anxiety inched up the ante for your return. Young people the world over were giving the high five sign and grinning from ear to ear knowing that history was being made, and that a person that looked liked them were just as proud. You landed finally, and the multitude of people there to great you understood as you circled the airfield twice signaling your presence. We knew that this was your signature, and we saw legibly that it indeed was you! This unique achievement will be there for other triumphs to give our youths a chance to know that they too, can dream. You did it, and we are proud!!

Thank you, ever so much - Alvin C. Romer
To read a related essay, please click onto this link: http://alvincromerverbatim.blogspot.com/

Will This be One the Major AA Stories of 2007?

I would imagine that the small executive airport in Opa-Locka (a small community North of Miami) will be jammed with people wanting to be part of history when Barrington Irving touches down after circling the globe solo - the first African American to do so! I will be there, and so will the boys I mentor. What better way than to serve notice to the youngster what it took, and how things can be done if you have and keep the faith. Perseverance notwithstanding, here's a young adult that endeavored to not be a statistic, one who had dreams and set goals for achieved success. He imagined and was inspired. I will want my kids to let this be a lesson to them. Notice the swagger and air of confidence he shows in this picture.

This is, and will be a positive role model to emulate. My greatest goal is to teach them to think on their feet, strive to be the best, and acquire enough self-esteem to be respected and get the job done. The journey is live, and the quest continues...

Editing With A Purpose

The editing bug has bitten and its significance has left a permanent mark on my psyche and muse. I contemplated long and hard whether I wanted to extend my time, patience, and expertise to this phase of literary priority. I have been approached quite a few times in the past to do so but I always found some handy excuse to nix the idea. Well, here's a prime example of Providence being the force behind illumination and destiny. To date, I've edited three manuscripts that ultimately will be three of a multitude of published work by people of color in the industry.

I want to edit with a purpose and be stylistically true to the craft, and establish credibility. How does that make me feel? I've come to realize that God has given and expanded a talent I have to share with others. I feel confident that I can shoulder the nuances that tend to color this realm of the territory without compromising good intent. Though I'm grateful and give Him all the glory, I humble myself in this regard to be in position to have others have discernment to make the right choice in me.

The joy I get from seeing my work being manifested to another level is proof of the confidence I have in myself to not allow arrogance to be the progenitor of me doing it on my own. My web presence and The Romer Review is the seed that started it all, and through it I will continue my quest for a successful journey up literature's meandering rivers.

Where I Need to Be

 

Where I Need to Be

A child with potential and appeal at some point in their ambiance will stumble a little and perhaps falter in attempts to impress. They are prone to be apprehensive at times when the realization hits that they must go on. Recently, one of my mentees needed that extra encouraging word to continue as planned. It's the least I could do being in position to ease the butterflies floundering in her stomach, and anxiety rushing to add unwanted feelings of doubt. There's no greater joy in giving children their chance to shine, and to prepare them for the task of carrying on expectations for their generation as our leaders of tomorrow.

It's all about championing the cause of transitioning young boys to men, and young girls to the ladies that we adults cater to. As responsible men and women we should be on missions to see to it that we set the stage for good order. Our children need us in ways where effective leadership is measured by acts and deeds that would be right for them to follow. How often do we stop to ask ourselves -- "what do we have within ourselves for somebody else to benefit from?" Individually, it may be "How can I be a worthy role model for children to see me much more than an icon?" No easy task to tackle, or questions to be answered without closer inspection of self-worth as an advocacy for kids. To be worthy of talent that God has given us are to be thankful of gifts that are not ours to keep. It is this awareness that would force us to go much deeper within to adhere to giving something back.

Our children are embracing norms that do not do them good. Besides, if our communities continue to be disenfranchised and families within them are torn apart, is it any wonder that children of this generation are lost, and without discipline? Daily, the former and the latter gives credence to the ills that have defined problematic issues unique to, but not limited to something of this order that may be familiar to you. The family and community are always synonymous with each other, addressing a multitude of circumstances and misfortunes within our collective lives on raising children the right way, and for them to be able to look up to us for noted value.

I look at the lack of affordable housing, school systems that are undeserving, healthcare gone awry, rampant unemployment, decadent crime, and drugs so deep-seated in communities that it robs the citizenry of self-respect and estimable choices. I'm concerned and want to make a difference...so much so, that when I see a child needing me to give advice I do so without compromise. When I know that they could use consultation and consoling, I do so because they depend on my knowledge and expertise to latch onto a learning curve. I do so supremely because I want to know and understand the role of modeling for my community so children will know who I am. Be where you need to be -- embrace a child and be responsible!

Dressed for Success

Dressed for Success
Originally uploaded by Jackal4u.

This future music virtuoso and erudite scholar on Easter 2005 shares a moment to give me instruction and the importance of dressing for success. Yes, I remember the morning quite well...D'Jimon AsanteRomer, he of the wide infectuous smile and beguiling ways can use powers of persuasion to favor his most endearing antics. What is it about four year-old tykes that seem to give kinetic energy and hypertensity a new level of interaction?

Never one to shy from the camera, the Photogenic One manuevers me over to an ideal spot, sports that 'killer' smile and renders me helpless to a candid camera persona complete with the virtual flashback to this memory. If ever there was cause to celebrate time and place, just ask the young Mr. Romer for his tips for camera mugging, or how to dress so that people can pay homage to that 'just one look is all it took' syndrome to be subjective to his modus operandi. I, like most other people will probably shake my head and know that I'd just been hoodwinked by a little genuis dressed for the part!

Afrocentric Pride

Afrocentric Pride
Originally uploaded by Jackal4u.

I was reminded recently how important it is to allow familial affinity to bring a sense of harmony in line with giving something back to the younger set. D'Jimon Romer, the handsome gent you see me holding never met anything or anyone that didn't suggest intrinsic value. Naturally inquisitive, Black History month a year ago found him in my company attending a lecture and Kwanzaa celebration. 'Giving something back' attributes to me making sure that this child knows the importance of having knowledge of ancestral contribution, culture awareness, and afrocentric pride.

Here's hoping that every father and son, uncle, nephew, brother, and grandfather realize that libation is poured to honor those before us who gave their idelogical whim and lives to make it better for us...the least we can do is to make all attempts to make sure that those after us have the same opportunity.

Shedding Obscurity As a Writer

Shedding Obscurity As a Writer

Am I good enough to be a writer with style, substance, and enough talent to be among the published authors with books already on bookshelves? Yes, I ask myself this constantly, and have given it much thought. Your lifelong dream is to write a book, have it published and to see your name among other authors and titles on those same shelves. How daunting is this task if you’ve persevered beyond the nuances and obstacles along the way? You carry your pen and pad savoring poignant and pensive moments by writing it down so that you won’t lose thoughts and mindsets for a future article, or essay for your journal. You may even be reluctant to share at times, not wanting people to see that perhaps you’re not ready to be unveiled. You eschew workshops and other writing classes because you’ve been there and done that.

You lobby in your mind more time to perfect the craft, and be crafty in how you can still be considered worthy. You’re driven by wit, words, and wisdom from your creative mind to be productive and provocative. You have some modicum of success as an Independent Book Reviewer, you have written columns online, and consider yourself an Essayist with at last coun,t 51 essays written within a year and a half; you have joined a number of online book and reading groups to stay vibrant and in touch with the literary Diaspora, and you blog. Blogging is fun, I have three of them and I love It! The website you’ve produced gives you a certain sense of success, but only within the margins of acceptability, but who wants only marginal success?

Obscurity. That word makes me cringe, and I admit it unnerves me in a way that I began to feel like success will elude me. When I sit down to put words to paper, be it via computer or what, I feel the butterflies in my stomach from anticipated fervor knowing that something is going to happen. My creativity is like that, so full of nervous energy until the ink flows indelibly without any inhibitions. This current essay purports to give insight to the persistence of the unknown writer. Ask me am I committed and you wouldn’t find anyone more determined to belong. I know Jean-Paul Satre and his defining principles of existentialism and commitment – the necessity of defining oneself by choosing, continually choosing, always an uncompleted act but simultaneously completing, needing to feel accomplished! I was a young man as far as I can remember being someone who wanted to be accepted as a writer – no, I was already sure that I was a writer, even though I had not started my freelance writing career, and hadn’t yet seen anything published with my name attached to it.

Remembering those days before the monies started coming in were dark and wistful, but I always found the courage to stay the course. To understand the elements that went into Satre’s work, is to be existential and the determining agent responsible for my own choices, and this is what drove me, and continues to give me that burst of psychological energy needed to keep focused. I feel no negativity being connected to his idealism because to some extent, all writers will have experienced what I’ve felt in wanting to be accepted. Talent notwithstanding, vestiges of existentialism is present in the form of terms that are synonymous with productivity, often the harbinger of doubt. We tend to call it anxiety, writer’s block, ennui, angst, or my favorite – melancholy blues. But is this the best way to define moments when nothing of note comes across your pad, the times when you fail to connect the dots?

It gets back to how committed you are and want to be. I’m aware of what needs to be done to give me mental stability and to keep my head above water to reach that higher level. I think about the stages and initiatives to let the powers that be to know whom you I am, and why I write as I do. It means not bowing down to those that may not understand or even have the type of intellect I do to allow them to see me as being pedantic. And yes, I have had a few of them who feel that I must come down to their level to be accepted and understood. I shrug and admonish them to get a bigger dictionary, or turn the other cheek when they see me coming. The persistence of the unknown writer will always be to harness obscurity, and get his/her work out there to be seen. I’m challenged all the time when I write, because I want to know that each and every bit of work I produce can be the parts of a greater whole to obtain that seemingly obscure notoriety. When there’s no check in the mail I feel the sharp edge of terror gripping me, and reality is much more than the imagery I tend to substitute it for.

I lament the fact that no agent has called me and asked for my manuscripts; no editor has offered me a chance to be redlined and marginalized with trial and error; and certainly no options to be given a pink slip of rejection, even. I suppose that there’s a consolatory rung on the ladder toward acceptance for a writer of my caliber, and it’s the hope that perseverance would continue to prevail against all odds, and that continuity is the core of it. What is the lesson for others to learn having to deal with obscurity? For those of us still languishing in obscurity we have to remind ourselves that we STILL have to keep plying our trade...and that we are not yet part of that viable network until and when we produce something that will be prominent to someone in the right time and the right place. Ralph Ellison in his superb Invisible Man classic in the portrayal of the ‘Battle Royal’, gives an excellent analogy of Black men blindfolded and put into a boxing ring in which they strike out blindly until only two are left standing depicting winners, but actually winning nothing in the process! We are sure that there have been writers who have been told in many ways that their writing is of no significance, who face this serious and continuing crisis every day. I get people e-mailing asking what does it take to be a freelance writer, or what is needed to write with clarity, etc.

There problems are no worse than mine, being obscured waiting for that chance to be seen, recognized and accepted. I tell them to pick up the gauntlet and run…for our proverbial pen will yield the necessary ink one day to smear obscurity with determined moxie. We will honor what it took to get us where we are today, because insatiable desire has always rendered us thirsty enough to not drink only a half-filled glass as long as there’s room at the top with it running over with our inexhaustible desire to make it!

The Wonders of God's Work

Lest we forget why things are as they are, take time to inventory your surroundings and witness the awe of nature blending with the elements. Have you just took time out from life and allowed yourself to be totally mesmerized with things we tend to take for granted? The first quadrant of this year found me traveling and enjoying the lay of the land. Four recent trips I took this year (2006) brought me up front and personal witnessing what God has made for us to enjoy along the way to salvation and for redeeming value. We writers are always looking for those idyllic spots of tranquility where serious and serene mesh define time and place. In February, April and again in May, it was the historic group of sea islands off the coast of Florida northward just above the Carolinas, Hilton Head (South Carolina) and St. Simon's (Georgia) that literally took turns taking my breath away with pregnant pauses and poignant precepts.

Then during the latter part of June, I tackled the majestic heights of the Great Smokey Mountains of Tennessee (Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge). As far as the coastal island were concerned, it was nothing to do my daily Bible study with the sun peeking out on the horizon...on the beach no less, I imagined Paul starting his day gathering the needed ammunition to shoot straight and true armed with the Word with this same setting!
Of course, I happen to know the historic value of this area, where the Gullah tradition lives on today. Oh yes, I know my history: The name, "Gullah", itself probably derives from "Angola" (and possibly from the large number of slaves who arrived from that part of Africa in the early 1800s). "Geechee" -- another name for the language and culture of black Sea Islanders -- comes from a tribal name in Liberia. Traditions, language and myth stayed longer with the coastal Carolina Gullahs, who were allowed greater latitude of self-sufficiency and were relatively isolated on the Sea Islands.

Most Beaufort slaves in the first decades of the 1800s may have been first-generation African arrivals. So it was not merely the remoteness of the Sea Islands that preserved the African culture and language influences among Gullah speakers. An exorbitant number of slaves came to South Carolina from Africa between 1804 through 1807, and approximately 14,000 of these according to Grolier's Encyclopedic Index originated from Angola, Congo, or "Congo and Angola". The newly arrived slaves breathed new life into African traditions already established on the islands. A new infusion of pidgin influences would have had a profound impact on the existing Creole language. With this bit of information firmly imbedded in my consciousness, my pride knew no limits as I walked the sacred ground where my ancestors labored and lamented against all odds for survival...And here I am some 400 years later blessed enough with the opportunity to be in the write place!A few miles to the South, there's Cumberland, Sapelo, Jekyll, and St. Simon's Islands all of which are exclusive in their own individual right, but it's the collective beauty of the whole area that allows God's penchant for bucolic beauty to shine forth.

The International Youth Empowerment Retreat, under the auspices of the Seventh Day International Ministries (Church of God) invited me as a special guest to mentor and talk to a group of youth for spiritual and literary growth. The Sea enclave, originally settled by John and Charles Wesley, held this retreat on St. Simon’s Island within the Epworth founders of the Methodist movement in 1735. I got a chance to fellowship and give a keynote-like speech on the importance of self-esteem and finding purpose to life. Four days of worship, workshops, and lectures gave youths in attendance both challenge and choices. In June another wonder of God's work unveiled itself. The Great Smokey Mountains in the vicinity of Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, Tennessee was next. Koinonia Worship Center (www.kwcfl.org) , a non-denominational church with their charismatic Pastor, Eric H. Jones, conducted its annual marriage retreat for matrimonial couples and singles alike. Five days were spent here where a series of workshops were inherent along with a dynamic banquet that featured Evangelist and Author, Kenneth Scott who delivered a spirited sermon on familial order and the importance of prayer, devotion, and meditation. There's something about that rarified air that allows eagles to soar and elevation to define a sense of separateness seemingly from the pangs of iniquity.

We stayed in state-of-the art log cabins where privacy begat hot tubs, Jacuzzis, wrap-around porches complete with rocking chairs that I used daily to read one of many books I brought on the journey. Peaks and valleys were abundant, where winding mountain streams and riveting rivers gave rise to 'running free' carving rustic routes to champion good flow. Ah, the wonders of God's work never ceased to amaze me. He gave us awakening sunrises to meditate and start days off on the right foot; He made sure that sunsets wasn't meant to be the end of anything; Gave us reasons to expect the highs and lows of majestic mountains housing valleys and dales where rivers run free, and where precipitous mists of moisture rain supreme! A good time was had by me as I was able to give insight to distinguished gentlemen and young sophisticated ladies...I participated in the various workshops, lectured to the Kids of the Kingdom, and watched with awe as I gave homage to all the wonders that have made God's work majestic and miraculous!

The Ink Flowing From My Pen

The ink flowing from the psychological pen in my mind is legible and visible. There’s not a day that goes by that I fail to ‘write it down’. Writing it down is just the natural inclination in me to savor every thought worthy enough to savor from mind to paper. Thus, the pad that I keep within reach, especially mentally, more often than not invariably won’t be a vain attempt at procrastinated penmanship. As an author, am I always supposed to have a ready writings created on the fly positioned to proliferate from the tip of my pen? Shouldn’t my fingers automatically find the home row keys across the keyboard any time I sit in front of the computer? I resoundingly say YES! to both observed inclinations.

There are, and have been times when the words didn’t materialized instantaneously, or I found myself juxtaposed between imagery and realism just to admit reluctantly that writer’s block can happen to the best of us. I’m okay with that. Some days are more productive than others, and there will be times of ennui and blasé routine. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a freelancer and don’t have problems finding writing projects. My research analytical duties and penchant for grant writing gives me ample opportunities to forage for ideas, and be in position to accept assignments. I do my best work when my back is against the wall, or when one of my editors calls with an assignment that’s due yesterday! But I like the lifestyle of ink flowing from my pen when adrenalin is heightened and anticipation is rushing to meld with great expectations. I move with moderate and deliberate speed, creating my own Karma where cruise control is the only option for that type of contentment.

My ‘To Be Read’ pile is getting higher and higher at the expense of the review copies and ARC’s that garner priority. I don’t allow time to dictate or commandeer when and where I write. But I do adhere to that ever-present still small voice that loves to whisper vociferously enough into my ear for clarity, control, and charisma. God is like that. I can’t write anything but what He feels necessary for s me anyway. Like most writers I get excited when I know I’m onto something. There’s a tendency to overwrite and you find yourself with so many rewrites that stifles creative flow…but not the ink! I know that what works for me is finding adequate spacing and not become exasperated when anxiety renders me with too many directives and not enough of anything to carry on.

Are rules meant to be broken? It is said that the craft of writing has so many rules…rules that have defined some, and some that have defeated others. Is the finished essay, poem, or narrative any less discernable if each concerted effort doesn’t end with what my readers expect out of me? It just may be the fodder needed to light that proverbial fire under me for continuity to be more than status quo. The writing life is quirky like this and I wouldn’t trade any of it. I rely on God’s favored hand to guide me and keep the inks flowing – literally!

Essay Literary Impropriety and Superlative Flaw in Search of the Best

In search of the best of anything, and superlative lists never ceases to amaze me. More often than not what is being compared are not equal to the parity they seek. My awe often is mired in supposition, and a natural feeling that comparative analysis will never be balanced if the entities you’re comparing are not equal to each other in ways that would make those comparisons stand up for viability. Being ‘equal to each other’ is being allowed to be judged by the masses without segregation and other institutions of biased opinion holding sway to popular opinion for inclusion. I feel it’s worse in sports and literature. The former is rife with athletes from different eras being offered to stand and toe the line with sports heroes of today. There are a plethora of reasons why it is folly to give credence to allow the vast improvements of today to think that yesteryear’s athlete was better with inferior equipment and conditions.

The latter, while easy to read into something that is not readily assumed can be dauntingly misleading, has allowed lucrative financial boons to sway the opinions of today’s writers equal status with their peers from another era. I will always ask -- what are they comparing and from what standard? It is the unbalanced nature of what is considered ‘literary’ that always tend to give comparative analysis less than what is intended.

As a freelance writer and essayist who happen to be Black, I’m not pleased at how our work is not considered acceptable to what is considered good journalism in some literary circles. Incidentally, I balked at a survey conducted recently that asked to identify "the single best work of American fiction published in the last 25 years." The survey in my opinion was predictable and not quite surprising. Why? The poll wasn’t extended to enough of us, and when I allude to ‘us’ I’m referring to many people of color in my literary Diaspora that are just as influential as specific white folk are to their constituencies. African American writers have emerged and want to be recognized! We are strong and vociferous and are just as prolific as you would find in mainstream sections of the industry. We have produced work that, if given the same equal proportion that others get, would definitely balance the scales of competition and allow opportunity to be accepted in all annals of acceptance.

A.O. Scott in his recent article of the same subject alluded that “a study of this kind where you rank the ‘best’ is akin to something of a composite self-portrait as interesting perhaps for its blind spots and distortions as for its details”. I agree wholeheartedly, and applaud his contention that equally interesting in some cases the reasoning behind the choices as for the choices themselves. My whole premise in this has a lot to do with the fact that in the last 25 years the Black community has given the literary world quite a few gems worthy of consideration. Alice Walker and Toni Morrison, notwithstanding and certainly no disrespect to the two of them, are literary, and you expect for them to garner the pundits and accolades accordingly. Mainstream publishing circles will readily cite them and a few others that are ‘name’ authors by reputation in most cases.

The fact that they have earned the right to be placed in categories of superlative verve is not lost on me, but they certainly are not the only ones worthy of consideration. But you can’t tell me that what others have read based on their individual sensibilities couldn’t give credence, or shouldn’t be considered important and respected enough to make a list like that? The problem is that not enough ‘other’ people read our books, plain and simple; and if they don’t read us how can they purport to produce a list of ‘the best’ and exclude comprehensively other works considered to be just as noteworthy? I’m sure I won’t stand alone in this opinionated view, for I only want to be pragmatic, if not logical in this assessment.

It’s so hard to deem one’s work as the best - or even to establish a short, if not incomplete list of near-bests. I surmise it would be to risk the implication that no one need bother with the rest, and thus belittle the cause of reading or comparing anything without a wider network to adequately choose from. When man resorts to abstract means to deduce what is tangible and what is relevant in reading habits in producing the best of anything, it’s fraught with danger, lest you offend those that feel they legitimately belong in the first place. Literary merit is much more than eliciting opinions where not all books are read to really make the competition fair and equitable. Reasoned judgment with good persuasive points of contention should be the norm, and not some quirky answers given to support a system that plays to chaos and skewed opinions.

Mass public opinion has ways of going against the grain where divided loyalties are par for the course in swaying votes to sensibilities closer to racial affinity. America’s penchant to rank anything and everything causes more harm than anything where the competition is not given opportunities for fair play. I worry too, about not having judges if you will, who are familiar with their own kind as opposed to having someone judge product foreign to their sensibilities. Oh yes, this happens a lot. Just look at American Idol, and you can see how and why vestiges of fabricated competition can give superlative competition a sort of triviality.

In my mind I would love to point to one of my favorite authors, Walter Mosley and fondly place several of his books on that list, for I feel that no other writer, Black or white exemplify diversity in writing acumen. But then again, the idea illustrated here may be the fodder for others to give reason to discount and de-emphasize the need to be the best, if balanced scales are not allowed to legitimize logic for all intended purposes for the sake of fairness!

Finding Your Own Literary Space

During my formative years leading up to maturity, and even in recent times, I can remember being alone with only the words to console me in times of depression. Desire was within me yearning for escapism to give me confidence and clarity for ways for my writing to surface and grace my writing pad. But it wasn't always so easy to allow silence and peace of mind to work hand in hand for creativity's sake. I was the eldest of seven children and finding time, let alone space was fleeting as well as daunting. The insatiable need to write was strong and reverberating. My need for my own space in my own little world was defined early with frustration ever at the ready to thwart any attempts at reconciled satisfaction. I've heard many authors speak of the same angst and other maladies aiding and abetting this problem. I've also spoken to those that have said that they've had to resort to writing at odd times within any given 24 hour period, and/or finding any type of location to generate serenity.

I've come to the conclusion that illuminating the way for the written word and authors’ commitment to literature has spawned the need for safe havens for the committed writer to continue the proliferation of titles in today's African American literal marketplace. Despite the many books that are flooding cyberspace and any other space to hold them, we writers are being deluged with deadlines, harangued with editing issues, numerous rewrites, and other maladjustments attributing to poor time management options. I'm constantly reminded of my freelance writing initiatives for finding peaceful settings amid chaos. This expose was written to give emerging and established writers to look into the wherewithal of writer retreats, or inner sanctums for retreat -- all for the purpose of finding legitimate spacing for sustained creativity. I, like many others would relish the idea of writing uninhibited and with comfort.

If you are an author and can identify with what has been ascribed above, I'd like to hear from you. Give your comments on why you feel that retreating to space designed specifically for your writing environs are important. What works best for you?

Germinating Seeds for Proper Growth

I was recently asked what motivates me in my creativity pertaining to writing. I've been asked this type of question before, and before answering, I had to stop and ponder for a moment, as I wanted my questioner to really get the gist of my answer. Not wanting to appear caustic or frivolous, I proceeded to tell her that writing comes naturally and I truly don't need to be motivated to do it. In all fairness though, I feel that there’s no reason why I cannot conjure any type of mental narrative that cannot be transposed to just writing them down. Explaining the writing life to someone who is not a writer can be daunting as you run the risk of not being understood. This itch to just tell it the way I see it came often and early. Just as it is today, I write for the moment. My yesterdays always found me with a pad and pen attached to my thoughts, that at a moments notice I found myself copiously writing with reckless abandon. That idiosyncrasy is still a part of my literal methodology.

Ah, the seeds that are within me. Even within their embryonic stage they are positioning to be heard, clamoring to be recognized and claimed for artistic value. I thought about how ideas and ideals are treated when I allow them to languish across the scope of my thought patterns. I water them, change the soil at times to assure the proper spacing for pragmatic view, and give them adequate amount of continuity for later airing. Rarely do I dismiss anything that may have potential to be expanded for an essay. I love the pleasure of coming up with titles that elicit extra-curricular thought. I try to make them catchy and have hooks that tend to play on words. I'm big on alliteration where words just roll of the tongue for intrinsic value to all that those titles should embody. I came up with the title for one of my online columns – “Views from The Catbird Sea. (http://www.aakulturezone.com/lifestyle/catbird/index.html) with this concept in mind. Most of what I write about comes purely from an individually opinionated outlook that harkens back to going deep for yet another view from what's seen on the surface. I feel too, that whenever you can endeavor to allow people to see differing slants it allows supposition to be more than just a moot point.

I will purport with relish that seeds within you can germinate at any time. With me, I want the writer's life to resonate with a voice long on imagery and just short of a dare! I invite you to read more of the seeds that reside within me by visiting the Author's Den where all of my essays are archived. There, you see how I Germinate Seeds for Proper Growth: http://www.authorsden.com/alvincromer

Fusing Realism and Imagery Illustrating Fiction vs. Fact

I marvel at how writers can bridge fact and fiction to weave fabrics of fortitude in writing for clarity, and not compromise a good story. It's the threads that are are woven for a good stitch in keeping it together and flowing. But I wonder do we really understand how realism and imagery can be effectively used for both to be inclusive and warranted.

I never thought I’d elicit passionate pleas to have yea and nay edify such vociferous effect when asking a simple question. “There is a thin line between fiction based stories and factual information. It’s all about dramatic effect and how one spreads it among the pages of a great book. Literally speaking, any great writer can take a small substance of a story then aim for the stars to create a masterpiece. Realism and imagery is closer than you think.” The aforementioned was given when I asked the question, “How close is fiction to fact?” I suspect that I would generally get a myriad of answers to illustrate different points of contention -- and I was right. Personally, I liken the two to be dependent on how mindsets are positioned to illustrate whatever is relevant psychologically to accept what’s real or imagined.

I have been writing for years and have always marveled at how I arrive at subjective titles worthy of my penmanship. Who can deny sharp with at the expense of a fluid pen? Not I, and certainly not others who profess to be connoisseurs of linguistic fortitude. With this in mind, I consider myself a laborer of the mind…one who theorizes about the world and writes essays to share those thoughts. More particularly, I had become this way because fact and fiction is synonymous with how I’m able to project myself intrinsically within my literary muse. In the past, and even now, nothing intrigues me more than to write from an opinionated view, and with a conviction! I admire my ancestors – those of sharp wit and mind who have endeavored to give me flavor to savor and substance to build on. As a Black intellect, I want to be a laborer of the mind…to write among, and about my people sharing the odes and stories of how we survived, and how we continue to create laughter in the eye of storms.

I have been writing for years and have always marveled at how I arrive at subjective titles worthy of my penmanship. Who can deny sharp with at the expense of a fluid pen? Not I, and certainly not others who profess to be connoisseurs of linguistic fortitude. With this in mind, I consider myself a laborer of the mind…one who theorizes about the world and writes essays to share those thoughts. More particularly, I had become this way because fact and fiction is synonymous with how I’m able to project myself intrinsically within my literary muse. In the past, and even now, nothing intrigues me more than to write from an opinionated view, and with a conviction! I admire my ancestors – those of sharp wit and mind who have endeavored to give me flavor to savor and substance to build on. As a Black intellect, I want to be a laborer of the mind…to write among, and about my people sharing the odes and stories of how we survived, and how we continue to create laughter in the eye of storms. I want my words to incite joy, evoke tears, and initiate change. This is but one of the reasons why rhyme and reason will always allow me to know the difference when fact and fiction is part of the total picture. It's all about blending the two for dramatic effect!

Living Within My Muse

When I'm alone and quite lonely, I write....I open my mind and pour out my feelings on paper. Deep inside, instrusively and with long arms I reach, feeling for something to grab ahold of to link and legitimize the psychological effect of philosophies culled from experience. Write now, I feel as though I only want to communicate via my pen....with it indeed being mightier than any sword! I fight my battles with words, and use metaphor to be as descriptive as I want to be. My vernacular is the freedom of speech that allow my intelligent quotient to define who I am, where I want to be, and with whom I want to coaleasce with.

Living within my muse, means finding semblances of eloquence to retain flairs of dramatic interlude to keep my sanity, and temper my bipolar equilibrium. It also gives me all the faith, freedom, and fortitude to create my own space and write essays that are profound and prolific....to be able to move and be removed when it's time to reinvent myself. Living within that same muse is observing from afar and gathering steam for the stretch run, hoping to cross the finish line with a book! Ask me my name and I might tell you to call me what you want, as long as you see me for what I am.

My Encounter with Author, Octavia E. Butler

After twenty two years Miami’s version of a book fair, with all of its international flavoring drawing from South America, the Caribbean, Mexico and parts of Europe you’d get a delectable mix and quite a different spin than others. This year, the modus operandi didn’t change but a few alterations were at the fore. I wondered and worried whether charging an entrance fee would curtail the most diehard fan to think otherwise, or if our topsy-turvy year of weathering several hurricanes had finally took its toll. From my observation, attendance definitely was down and it seemed on the surface at least that perhaps there people would be reluctant to buy a book in lieu of protecting further against the ravishes of yet another hurricane looming somewhere off of Cape Verde heading our way. You see, our hurricane season isn’t officially over until the first of December! This notwithstanding, Hurricane Wilma shut our offices down for a week, but the facilities made it though the storm without any major damage. The fair went on and we were able to enjoy another all-star cast in the African-American persuasion from the likes of Terri McMillan, ReShonda Tate-Billingsley, Martha Southgate, John Hope Franklin, Zane, Octavia Butler, et al. Readings, panel discussions, book signings, and the after parties were all the rage as all of the authors made themselves available. Octavia Butler journeyed all the way from the Pacific Northwest to give us a try, and what time we had in her presence. I was the room host and moderated her session, as well as introduced her. I give my account of that experience below:

The Butler did it!

The science of fiction can truly be misleading…and I saw her long before I would approach this statuesque woman formidable in her stead, and quite imposing to boot. Pure fact has ways of hitting you square in the face with reality. Bushy Afro hairdo and all, her seemingly conservative dress and simplistic demeanor wouldn’t begin to defy the eloquence and wit she would later exude. More on that later. As I neared my subject, I wondered how would I present myself, and what would I say. All I knew was that I was assigned the task of being a liaison between author, book fair and the audience during her stay at this formidable literary event. Here I was quite a few hours early (by design) endeavoring to escort her to the hospitality suite that was the designated area where authors had the chance to mingle, rest, and gather their thoughts before being ferried to their respectful literary sessions. As a longtime volunteer with this being my eleventh year doing so, I still find time to be awed by the electricity of so many people – all for the love of books!

The Miami Book Fair International is a prestigious event, and considered to be the granddaddy of them all, requiring volunteers as well as staffers to adhere to protocol and represent. All of us are required to avail ourselves wholeheartedly to the betterment and success of each yearly offering. This is our 22nd year, and my bailiwick and penchant for volunteering will never diminish. When I found out that I was given Octavia E. Butler, I took it with a grain of salt and turned my thoughts to other pending matters. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ I told myself…until it dawned on me the task I had before me, to soothe the crowd, filibuster as needed, and keep the throng at bay with chatter becoming a Room Host who was expected to ‘moderate’ and coddle. “Surely I can handle this”, I implored as the time neared for me to turn my attention back to the matter at hand as I slowly made my way to her. My knees began to wobble, my heart pounded with nervous energy and the adrenalin flowed profusely in the form of sweat from my brow, but I trudged on. Didn’t I do quite well in performing the same tasks for the likes of Toni Morrison two years ago, and meeting Walter Mosley for the very first time in 2001? I’m admonishing myself and trying to be convincing to my own lukewarm ego. After all, I truly would be in the company of an icon, a literary diva and a force within her genre that command respect…all I’d have to do was stay composed, I mused to myself.

“Excuse me, may you be Octavia Butler?” I stammered realizing that she was almost as tall as I was! She gave a pregnant pause all of 3 minutes before answering, “I have been for the last 58 years, and who wants to know?“ Without missing a beat because by now my heart was way down in the feet, I managed to introduce myself….and sensing my discomfort, she laughed heartedly and said, “relax, will ya. I AM Olivia, and I’m just an ordinary writer that happened to have written a few books that someone has believed in over the years.” With that, I escorted her to the place where she would be holding court oblivious to the many gawking fans and curious onlookers, wondering what I could say next to carry the conversation. As I mentioned, I was early. I wanted to meet her beforehand to engage her in conversation to see how would be the best way to introduce her. When I asked, she said that she didn’t care one way or another as long as I didn’t mention that she’d won the McArthur family’s 1995 ‘Genius Award’. Fearing stupidity would render my next and obvious question obsolete; I decided not to ask why. Just to be on the safe side, I found a little ditty online that I felt would be appropriate and light enough for a good intro. What made my find such an enamoring muse is the fact that she quotes in an autobiographical sketch the perfect sound bite for a good segue for me:

“I'm a 58-year-old writer who can remember being a 10-year-old writer and who expects someday to be an 80-year-old writer. I'm also comfortably asocial -- a hermit in the middle of Seattle -- a pessimist if I'm not careful, a feminist, a Black, a former Baptist, an oil-and-water combination of ambition, laziness, insecurity, certainty, and drive.
I've had twelve novels published so far: Patternmaster, Mind of my Mind, Survivor, Kindred, Wild Seed, Clay's Ark, Dawn, Adulthood Rites, Imago, Parable of the Sower, Parable of the Talents, my latest Fledgling, as well as a collection of my shorter work, entitled Bloodchild. I've also had short stories published in anthologies and magazines. One, Speech Sounds, won a Hugo Award as best short story of 1984. Another, Bloodchild, won both the 1985 Hugo and the 1984 Nebula awards as best novelette. Parable of the Talents won the 1999 Nebula for Best Novel.”

The discussion went well…so well that I hated to end it, and was castigated in a jovial way for not being considerate to her fans afterwards! Lively and upbeat, the questions flowed. Sharing the stage with her was Latin writer, Luis Alberto Urrea. Urrea, no slouch himself in the Hispanic literary world was a 2005 Pulitzer Prize finalist for nonfiction and member of the Latino Hall of Fame, but when paired with Octavia Butler he made the best of it and, frankly added comedic relief to a situation that could have gone in a different direction. Long after the discussion, and after every book was signed from the long lines, I surveyed my time and didn’t feel at all like a Fledgling (her latest book), and somehow felt that the Butler not only knew, but also winked!

Friendship Lost...Was it REALLY Meant to be?

All is not well in my camp. This past week I lost a friend. And I can truly say that the fault is not mine. Suffice it to say, when circumstantial innuendo is allowed to hang on the surface and one fail to go deeper for clarity and better understanding, it not only clouds truth, but surely leaves one of us much worse for the wear. Inasmuch in these trying times where tenets are forged to galvanize stability there should always be room for humbleness...to keep those that are deemed worthy of platonic commaderie close at heart and embraceable. I've always felt that there's no excuse for not permeating a meeting of the minds to settle any disparaging differences for the betterment of the relationship in coming to one accord.

In my case, I did nothing but tell the truth and it came back to slap me smack in the face. My so called 'friend' only looked on the surface and made the decision she felt she had to make. You see, this happens only if you've made up your mind despite options to think otherwise. To my chagrin, and at the expense of our friendship, I continually ask myself, "was it meant to be"? Not one to cry over spilled milk, I shed true tears with this one, because this was not ordinary friend. Sharing much, and seemingly to come together despite a few character differences, we spent time talking trying always to find common bonds of ambiance.

You see, Deborah (I'll call her this to protect her 'innocence') and I met online. For a year and a half we took pains to get to know each other despite the mileage between us...and given the set of circumstances where you never throw caution to the wind, we thrived. We even progressed despite being told that it wouldn't last. I've second-guessed myself wondering did I do the right thing in expelling her from my life?Will my conscience and consciousness suffer with her absence so evident of circumstances gone awry? My best defense was, and is to embrace the fact that I don't need to lie at this stage in my life. Or, that there wasn't any ulterior motive for my actions save to make sure that if push come to shove that I'm convincing in my explanations.

Was it really meant to be, to lose like this? I stand my ground and will chalk it up to fate. I've moved on, but I know there is space reserved in my psyche that will allow me to think 'what if', coulda, woulda, or even shoulda. Now that I'm allowed to shuck the burden of guilt, I surely can lament that it shouldn’t have ended this way, that in the face of it all, REAL friends would have found a way for common ground to prevail. I would be remiss at this point if I didn't revisit essays I've written in the past extolling the virtues of true friendship. Going there, I would recall my ditty on what it takes to be a 'Friend for All Seasons' http://www.aakulturezone.com/lifestyle/catbird/content/frallseas.html, or to reminisce on saving face and send my 'Epistle to A Friend' http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewarticle.asp?id=12799 and call it a day.

I trudge on looking for more opportunities to allow Agape love to order my steps in gauging good ties to equal parity, where mutual respect is one of many ingredients to stay the course to define what friends should truly embody. I still give a toast to Deborah, as I wish her well, and will miss her terribly...and if either one of us should allow ego to subside for a minute, just maybe we will hook up again in a Providential way to save face and shame the devil. Keep your head to the sky, Deb...there's an upside to your being that will manifest success for you.

Your erstwhile friend,

The Jackal

A Novel Idea Coming to Fruition -- At Last!

I’ve finally started writing my first novel. Yeah, yeah, the bullet has been bitten and I’m taken the plunge. I’ve been provoked into writing for reasons I can't ignore, and for having the opportunity to let others share my opinionated views and the wherewithal for writing a good story. I do realize though, that the publishing industry is a ruthless business that often do not give best returns on investments if one is not prepared for rejection and rewrites. Am I ready? You betcha! Why now? Because it’s TIME! Robbing Peter to pay Paul has been manifested in stealing time from my other priorities for the sake of literal notoriety, and a chance for me to say the book in me is being produced. Yes, sneaking away from my desk at work the manuscript clutched tightly to finish “this last chapter” only to have it turn into the next chapter, and the one after that, until it’s time to go on to the next rendezvous in life. Everyone is wondering without words whether temperance and perseverance will suffice enough for me to allow this quest to become more reality than imagery.

Oh, but do I have a surprise for those who doubt! When, and should I falter, I will have at my side the trials and tribulations of Ernest Hemmingway, who after countless rejection letters and setbacks stayed the course and wasn’t worse for the wear by producing remarkable work. I still see myself some 20 years ago as a Sophomore in high school reading The Old Man and the Sea, being that man between those pages committed to an idea and never stopping until the task is done and all storms weathered. For all of these reasons and many more, in my quest to take this idea from book to shelf.

I admit to being a greedy reader, and a voracious writer. I believe too, that the least I can do is bridge gaps to help my fellow writers realize their dreams of finally getting up and over the proverbial chasm that separates publishing success and a wannabe novelist with grandeur hopes of a six-figure income. The Romer Review will continue to be the vehicle for that journey to manifest itself relative to it’s mission statement (www.theromerreview.com). I believe in the power of a good story told simply and presented elegantly and with panache, and for that reason, I know that I will continue to allow the craft and the muse of the literati to guide and propel me toward my lofty aspiration to not only just belong, but to command respect! Keep me in your prayers, will ya?

I Remember New Orleans the Way It Used to Be

She was older by far than any of her contemporaries in the region. Multi-hued and culturally diverse, she was hot, spicy and full of panache. You might say that she was a seductress that invited you to all of her wily charms, opened up and gave you all you could bear. Bared it all she did on many occasions, as she alluringly dared you to whet your appetite, when she wanted to be more than what was seen on the surface! They called her the Crescent City, the Big Easy, Sin City-- I called her whenever I needed rejuvenation and vivacity. Ah yes, New Orleans! New Orleans, the way it was known had enduring appeal found in the alchemy of unlikely combinations, where different rules applied, especially under the cover of darkness. I remember that fun place, that erudite City of the South, where beads meant something, imagery everything, and egos nothing. Will she ever be the same? Can she bounce back and give us that which we miss so much? Will we be able to afford her? Questions, queries, and quests are about us as we curse Katrina, and regret Rita.

Yes, I remember Royal Street, that paragon of priceless art, artifacts, and antique wonders! ... And Bourbon street and the rest of the French Quarter was more than mere memory -- it defined presence and perseverance, where Preservation Hall presented much more than joyous jazz and nostalgic sounds that Louis rocked to in his hey day. It was cajuns, creole, and somewhere in between, where the distinct cuisine of favor and flavor was the ultimate sense of belonging that beckoned me. I remember and miss Antoine's, Cafe Du Monde, and the taste of real hot sauce!

Oh, Katrina you wrecker of dreams, drama and desire, why so demonstrative and destructive? You ruined it all, and had help from our inept government and pathetic president, but you MUST bounce back, and with those who were left homeless and incapacitated....and I know you will. I remember you in great detail, New Orleans. The essence of music was your legacy, your cuisine your calling card, and certainly your reputation gave you notoriety. Give it back to me, and in a hurry!