jcadette

[jcadette]

Admit it, this is all of us. Absolutely willing to go through this all over !

[jcadette]

Morning is best,

when gem-like dew drops

adorn nature still at rest

when wind frolics in boughs

wakes waves at seashore,

movements so gentle, 

gracing the world with peace.

  It is then my creative mind wanders

 molds mountains and meanders streams

 through their rich valleys.

 Yes, it’s always the morning,

when streaks of orange paint,

 diminish the deep darkness of night,

 with the coldness of the first light,

 edging into flesh, needling to my bones.

 It is that tingling that moves my heart,

 evoking enchanting visions

 of cobbled pathways, lonely beaches

 magnificent oases, lovers’ tombs

 of places my feet have yet to roam.

 It is the magic of morning,

that freshness, some dream,

that I ghostly traipse through.

But time dawdles not

for me nor for any man,

and as reality intrudes

my consciousness

illusion breaks like dawn,

departing my heart

leaving me empty.

 The light breaks,

my eyes fling open

and I exhale.

[jcadette]

The places I see in my dreams ..... #morningmagic

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May is celebrated as reading month, and for me, it is a cause for excitement. Life & work proved immovable forces which prevented me from doing what I intended but I was overjoyed to have been able to visit the Ave Maria Infant. The girls, were so happy and bubbly and they made it easier for me talk. I had never seen children so eager to read out loud. The only thing that trumped that I think was their eagerness to hug me all the same time. On the flip side, I think there is the issue of literacy or lack there of which we do not speak about more often. We are the kids of the digital age but we are struggling to read. How do we excel if we can't understand. How do we make informed decisions if we misinterpret simple things? I'm concerned that there is so much of a push In technology that we are forgetting furnish our children's minds. Reading shouldn't only be celebrated for one month.

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This last episode revealed many things. Book lovers you would note that it was rumored that the night's king was created after he fell in love with a white walker. We know now (based on the series) that he was the children of the forest who created the white walkers to fight the andals (men). But why is Bran so important? Let's remember that The nights king is a stark, like Bran. The children can kill them and ward places against them. Let's also remember that Stark ancestors were also children of the forest. I believe that the white walkers were waiting for a stark greenseer because his blood gives them power to break the spells. This can mean that he is the key to bringing down the wall. Based on clues in the book, the last defences if that happens are Winterfell & Storms End. Hmmmm

[jcadette]

Notes from my meeting with Sir Dunstan St Omer just a few months before he died. As a child I remember playing around his house, sliding down the hill, doing gymnastics on the metal railing with his granddaughters never really understanding who he was at the time. As a child I just liked the vibe, it was a fun, colorful place & the St Omer's to me were like family. Of course growing up things changed as I got to understand who he was & how he contributed to island's history. I have yet to release that story, I did promise him I would read it to him, I never did, but it will happen, at the right time, I suppose. However, he did tell me this,' Write what you know because you will be the only expert at it, that is the appeal of Derek.' I'm beginning to understand that now.

[jcadette]

The Girl, on the other side of the room who has caught your eye

The Tall one, standing next to your wife.

The man whose neck you’d love to wrap your hands around.

The blood, dripping from that knife.

That secret you’d kill to keep hidden.

That promise you wish you would’ve never broken.

These are the Dark Spaces. . .

1. Nanette

2. The Mental State of Love

3. Where was La Reine Born?

4. Out of Bounds

5. Under the Mango Tree

6. Boutine

7. The Lonely

8. From Hattie

[jcadette]

"You cannot be a writer and have a job. Writing is already a profession." Sir Derek Walcott Last evening at the chair, our featured guest, Travis Weekes, highlighted this statement, I strongly agree with Walcott. In my opinion, the profession of writing is grossly misunderstood & under appreciated. To be a writer means that you are a business owner, that you are an entrepreneur. Why? Writing requires not only passion, creativity, determination & persistence but it also requires strategy, the skill of observation, networking & considerable investment. With the advance of social media, the requirements of an author has changed; you now have the ability to develop a closer relationship with your audience, a necessity in today's world. So, in 2016 you not only have yo be a writer, but a marketer, business owner & publicist. The next time you hear someone proclaim this as their profession, respect it as if it were any other 'ideal career choice.' And if your child is determined to write, support your child. Suppressing creativity is, for the creative, extremely depressing. A solid background in the arts helps develop intuition & better decision making. Writing requires long hours, intense focus & long periods dedicated to research. You see after all, Writing is a Career.

[jcadette]

My Life as a Tree by Jaden Alexander

Jaden Alexander is a Grade 6 Student of the Vide Bouteille Primary School

It was cool and I could feel the strong winds blowing upon my body. I opened my eyes to see where I was, and to my surprise, I wasn’t home but instead, I was in a forest. I was frightened and had no idea how I got there. I decided to call my mom, but, I didn’t have arms. They were replaced by strong and thick branches sticking out on each side of my body. I looked down to my feet and saw only roots digging into the damp soil. I then realized I was no longer a human being, but a blackish, brown, wooden oak tree. I was scared and confused. I looked at my leaves; they were already withering and falling to the ground.

                  I bore no fruits and was very thin. I tried hopelessly to move but I was anchored by my roots. I then began to smell something burning. I looked around but all I could see were luscious green bushes and trees. The smell came closer and closer until finally I spotted the disaster which awaited us all.

         It was a raging forest fire; I could hear the cries of fear of the animals running for safety. I tried to move again but I was stuck. I knew what was going to happen next. I looked on in horror as the fire licked at my roots with a sizzle. It felt like I was being fried in an oven. I burned and fell to the ground. The smoke suffocated me as I met with my demise.

[jcadette]

Maybe the hardest thing for us to understand is that we don’t understand anything at all.

imnina-15 (via wnq-writers)

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Sometimes it takes years to really grasp what has happened to your life.

Wilma Rudolph (via quotemadness)

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"The term self-expression has had a harmful impact on storytellers. Stories are not about the storyteller. If your focus is on yourself, then it is not on what is best for your story."

[jcadette]

Wanted to share this with those who are also writing their first books.

❤

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And I made a goal to learn how to write plays this year and I get a chance.

At the Saint Joseph’s Convent School working with the drama students. It was a great day !!

[jcadette]

From Hattie & The Unfree Irish

They came as slaves, vast human cargo transported on tall British ships bound for the Americas. 

The Unfree Irish

They were shipped by the hundreds of thousands and included men, women, and even the youngest of children. But, they were not the black faces we have heard about. 

The majority of the early slaves into the New World were white. The Irish were first sold into slavery by James II in 1625. Hated because of their faith, Catholicism, they were forced into slavery and as a result, Ireland's population fell from 1, 500, 000 to 600,000. Considered less valuable than Africans, the Irish were sometimes treated much worse.  Whenever they rebelled or even disobeyed an order, they were punished in the harshest ways. If a planter whipped or branded or beat an Irish slave to death, it was never a crime. A death was a monetary setback, but far cheaper than killing an African.  

Slave owners would hang their human property by their hands and set their hands or feet on fire as one form of punishment. They were burned alive and had their heads placed on pikes in the marketplace as a warning to other captives. 

Then the planters began to breed Irish women and girls with African men to produce slaves with a distinct complexion. These new “mulatto” slaves brought a higher price than Irish 'livestock' and, likewise, enabled the settlers to save money rather than purchase new African slaves. 

From Hattie

It was late 2014, I had just resigned from a stressful job & I fell into a deep depression. At that time I had begun to feel like I would never accomplish anything and I would end up like one of those girls who everybody assumed would do exceptionally well when they left school, but here I was dependant and a failure.

At least, that was what I thought, God had other plans for me.

In a string of fortunate events, here I was, sitting at a laptop at 2 am with the idea for From Hattie.

Now, Hattie was actually supposed to be named Adelaide, and Adelaide was white. I remember stumbling across that piece of history which described the ordeals of White Slaves. At that time, I had never heard of such a thing, a white slave, at least, not on this side of the planet and although I love history, I hadn’t heard about it. 

More and more as I began to dig deeper into the truth behind my story, I began to wonder how something like this could’ve slipped me or why this was never mentioned at school. I know that I am black, but my search led me to realize that Ireland was much apart of our history as a region, just as much as England, West Africa, France and other parts of Europe were. 

They too, were apart of the unnecessary darkness that our ancestors had to endure for hundreds of years.

England sought to wipe out the Irish and I think in some small way they succeeded by omitting them from the history books.

I became fascinated by the stories I read, and as I began planning Adelaide’s story, somehow, she transformed into Hattie, and Hattie’s lover became a handsome, white man, an Irishman.

None of the Irish victims ever made it back to their homeland to describe their ordeal. These are the lost slaves; the ones that time and history books conveniently forgot. There were horrible abuses of both African and Irish captives, but just like Africans, Irish slavery is a subject worth remembering, not erasing from our memories, and I sometimes think that From Hattie is my contribution to that cause.

From Hattie, is my first attempt at writing stories at such lengths; it was new to me & whilst my writing has improved much since then, this story has remained very dear to me. 

From Hattie, is a fictional account of the life of an enslaved 17th century black woman accused of practicing witchery. A story of survival under extreme conditions and unexpected love that ignited a rebellion

You can read it for free here: http://online.fliphtml5.com/accs/qunq/

[jcadette]

In a world filled with constant constellation I think you are the only speck of reality Among a million pretenders It always seems like you are the stars- Constellations I could never connect, Far and free, shining beautifully from This heavy weight without a name- I would love to give it a label, but maybe Names only thread us deeper into places We do not belong And you are all these stars of sadness And suffering, but these stars We have seen will never fall In each stars we see are stories, and I could flip Every worn out cover and never find yours Someday I would love to know you Someday I would love to read you Without the high brick walls around you

herebly (via wnq-writers)