Not my typical Sunday at 9pm…

It’s Sunday and 9pm and while I would typically be laying down for bed, scrolling through the TV guide to find an episode of Law & Order: SVU, I am sitting on the floor typing, what could very well be my first blog post.  I love to write.  I always have.  There was a time where I thought I wanted to be a writer.  Win a Pulitzer Prize. Live on a commune full of other writers, as we retreated to small cabins tucked away in the woods, where guided meditation began each morning and Namaste’s were exchanged before settling down to write.  The dream died as reality set in.  Deadlines, and people expecting you to write within one.  Gone would be the moments where you would write to just see words on a page; your handwriting scrolled across crisp white sheets of paper – (nothing gave me more pleasure, than a perfectly sharpened No. 2 pencil and crisp lined paper, bound to a black and white notebook). Editors chopping your words to bits after you have spent time and effort, stringing along what you felt to be some of the most perfect sentences and paragraphs. Tight structure. Easy flow. Flawless. So after realizing that I’d have to write WHAT other people wanted me to, WHEN other people expected me to, well, I let that dream go. 

Until recently.  During this pandemic, the pleasure of writing has returned.  Partly because, what else has there been to do? Malls are closed, restaurants and bars can only be enjoyed via UberEats, gyms – well, you already know what these months have been like. And secondly, with the other epidemic, that being the fatal and senseless killings of black men and women, by the hands of the police, all that I can feel, not just a woman, but a black woman; not just a mom, but a mother to a black son, have been felt. Taking pen to paper to clear space inside my brain, has been what I’ve leaned on since the world shut down.

So, here I am, forgoing my typical Sunday routine, writing. After the inkling in the back of my head to perhaps turn these thoughts into thoughts shared with other people, I write.

What will this “blog” consist of, you ask? Who knows. Seriously, I have the faintest idea. I wouldn’t know where to start, if I’m honest. Let’s see… my journey into creating space for myself as a working mom of a spirited 6 year-old, who insists on asking GOOGLE®, a million questions a day. Or, how I am dealing with turning 40 and the slight, but present physical changes I feel. Perhaps I should monetize it and make some extra coins off of my words. I’m figuring it out as I go. What I share. How I share it. The real question is … am I really about to expose my sh*t out here like that?!

I guess you’ll have to stick around and see.

In the meantime welcome, to JUST KAY RENEE!