Tag Archives: write

ROMANCE NOVEL

Well, here I am, falling in love (again) with my character:

                      Mr. Thomas Higginson.

 

 

It is very easy to fall in love with him, at least for me… Just wish I had the power, the magic wand that could make him a real man beside me right now.

 

I wrote exactly the man I want.  How could I not? 

 

Obvious where my mind is right now…

Beginning another Monday without this man… Hope that he finds me; hope he’s looking for me.  I’m not going anywhere until he gets here.

Mr. Thomas Higginson, I am waiting for you:

 

 

WANNABE PUBLISHED!

WANNABE HOOCHIE MAMA REVISED BOOK JACKET!

REVISED WANNABE JACKET!

 

VERY HAPPY TO REPORT THAT I HAVE RECEIVED MY COPIES OF MY 11TH BOOK: “WANNABE HOOCHIE MAMA GALLERY OF REALITIES’ RED DRESS CODE“! — beautful book, copy of the book jacket above.

 

The ten copies that arrived in this box:

 

 

 

 

 

As beautiful as the book is, doesn’t mean that it is flawless.

In the table of Contents, “aneurysm” (correct, as it appears in the poem, “Aneurysm of the Firmament”, pp. 231- 235,

 

and on the Amazon website where you can purchase “Wannabe” says:

 

“This career-spanning volume by Thylias Moss, one of America’s most revered literary innovators, conveys the dazzling spectrum of her hypnotic poetic output, written over the past thirty-five years and including selections from each previous book as well as previously unpublished new poems.

A poet whose innovations have influenced generations of writers, Thylias Moss is a sort of taxonomist-preacher, whose profound meditation on American culture underlies and propels the dazzling lyrical and impassioned passages she writes in outraged response. This new volume gathers together substantial selections from her previous books and follows them with more than fifty pages of daring new work. Whether in early poems or more recent output, Moss make no promises of smooth sailing: even when they begin with beloved cultural icons (Robert Frost, Dr. Who, the Statue of Liberty), her poems spiral outward, insisting on new perspectives, truths, and realities―particularly of African American experience. For more than three decades, Moss has been a fearless re-inventor of poetry’s possibilities. Her New & Selected is a momentous publication by “a visionary storyteller, a major figure in contemporary American poetry” (Charles Simic).”

However, “each” previous book is not represented.  Absent is “Small Congregations“, a previous collection of New and Selected Poetry.  So, could say “some” previous books are represented, could say “many” previous books of poetry are represented”,  could even say “most” previous collections of poetry are represented, but one is indeed missing! (oops)

06-small-congregations

 

 

 

Now for a picture of me holding “Wannabe“, I had already tasted the pages! and walked seven miles through my neighborhood with it!

book-walk-08

 

Photo taken by Doug Grayson as I walked seven miles through my neighborhood, so happy was I to receve the book, smelling it, licking the pages, 247 pages including “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia”, my signature poem, that I will be reading at Columbia University on 30 November at 7:00 pm EST:

 

 

 

Here are the details:

 

Author photo .png

 

 

Poetry Reading: Thylias Moss

Series organized by Timothy Donnelly, Writing

Wednesday, November 30, 2016, 7 pm

Dodge Hall, Room 501

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thylias Moss’s most recent collection, Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code: New and Selected Poems, will be published this fall by Persea. Her eight previous books of poetry include Last Chance for the Tarzan Holler, a National Book Critics Circle Award finalist, and Slave Moth, named Best Poetry Book of 2004 by Black Issues Book Review. Moss is the recipient of a MacArthur “Genius” grant and a fellowship from the Guggenheim Foundation, among other honors. She is is Professor Emerita in the departments of English and Art & Design at the University of Michigan and lives in Ypsilanti, Michigan.

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

This event is presented as part of the Fall 2016 season of Public Programs. To learn more about upcoming events, download a PDF of the complete calendar, view our online calendar and sign up for our mailing list.

Author photo .png

 

 

There will be grapes as there were when I read “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia”, last poem in this book, at the Pulitzer Fine Arts Center in St. Louis, MO, 15 April 2015  (photos  by Carly Ann Faye):

 

elipsis-254.jpggrapes-from-the-pulitzer.jpgelipsis-250 (grape dissenmination).jpgelipsis-263 (grapes).jpgelipsis-266.jpg

 

My collections of Poetry, dating back to 1983:

 

 

My other books:

 

 

Please stay tuned for my information as I have it, including announcements of readings…

 

Columbia University is only the first of many.

 

And now, the video poem that is source of the title of this just released collection:

 

 

 

Other video poems related to print poems in “Wannabe“:

 

“The Glory Prelude”

“The Glory Prelude” was also published as a print poem in “The Offing” but was a video poam first; its original and natrural form seems to me; I always saw this poem, rich visuals, my mother, my own voice singing, you will hear that also.  

 

“Hypnosis at the Bird Factory”

 

On youtube as  “Green Light and Gamma Rays”

thr title of th pem in which the excerpt appears is: “Green light and Gamma Ways”

 

“Green Light and Gamma Ways” as well as this next video segment, “9:08” were part of “The United States of Poetry“, great 5-part film, shown on PBS, and I was lucky eough to be part of that.  

 

 

 

Not part of The United Staes of Poetry, and from earlier collections, the following video poems related to print pieces in “Wannabe”:

Tornado Pi

 

You may hear me read the following three poems from “Wannabe” as they were recorded for “Poets & Writers”:

 

Melissa Faliveno, senior editor at  Poets & Writers, has loaded my readings of poem  from “Wannabe “ here:

https://www.pw.org/content/wannabe_hoochie_mama_gallery_of_realities_red_dress_code

  1. Blue Coming (in response to Bob Holman‘s “What You Can’t Understand is Poetry Is Connected to the Body Again“)
  2. The Glory Prelude
  3. Me and Bubble Went to Memphis

I hope that you enjoy hearing them.

 

Here is some footage of me reading “Higginson Matters in agnificent Culture of Myopia“, what has become my signature poem,  largely becase of my own extreme myopia, nearsightdness diagnosed when I was in ninth grade trigonometry class,  last poem, and fittingyly so, in the Wannabe Collection.

 A total and through reconfiquration of Myopia as conceived in a previous collection, when my relationship with myopic seeing was very much dfifferent.  Not just the ophthamological deficits  and departures from norms (that everything departs from just being norm-al) that casued me to have to wear glasses, I still wear them, but the benefits of the distortions themselves, the beauties in that, beauties too often concealed by 20/20 vision which, in my opinion, practically no one has.  

 

Here, then,  is footage captured of  sharing, a reading of this poem, that I plan to read at Columbia  University on 30 November at 7:00 pm, EST (without the unnatural emphasis placed on “Moss” as two days before this reading, my ex’s niece explained to me how retaining the name , “Moss” their name, indicated that I had not moved on at all, [I have been divorced since 2013, “moss” my name since 1973] I am 62 years old, and the featured image is how I look right now,  without any enhancment.  My own hair. No weave, no relaxer, no extensions; waist-elength, butt-kissing hair, 98 pounds without ever having to diet. Just how it goes):

 

 

Well that’s it, please buy the book, available on Amazon, probably other locations also, and please enjoy it! 

 

Link to my Amazon author page, so that you may see all of my available books.

 

and here are photos of the covers of all of my published books:

(this will change, of course, as I have more and more books):

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where Things Are Today

love-of-life-walk-39

 

After “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” is published at last, this week,  available on Amazon right now! my 11th book!

Don”t forget to check out my Amazon Author Page!

 

"Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery f Reliries" Red Dress Code

Cover of “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery Of Realities’ Red Dress Code

 

Video poem of the same name, source of the title of the book:

 

I will be officially without a poetry publisher, and will need one in the future.  

 

In the meantime, please enjoy Thylias Moss reading three poems from “Wannabe” in the Poets and Writer’s podcast at this URL:

Melissa Faliveno has loaded my readings of poems from “Wannabe” here:

https://www.pw.org/content/wannabe_hoochie_mama_gallery_of_realities_red_dress_code

  1. Blue Coming
  2. The Glory Prelude
  3. Me and Bubble Went to Memphis

I hope you like them…  I do and consider them very special for various reasons.  

 

At the following URL, you may expereince “Blue Coming” as orginally published in “Colorado Reivew” in response to Bob Holman‘s “What You Can’t Understand Is Poetry Is Connected to the Body Again”:

https://muse.jhu.edu/article/586291

“Me and Bubble Went to Memphis” may also be both heard and read here at the poetry Foundation:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/54118

origainally published in The Oregon Literary review Vol 2, no. 2 in 2007:

Thylias Moss, “Me and Bubble went to Memphis” from The Oregon Literary Review, Vol 2, No 2. Copyright © 2007 by Thylias Moss.  Reprinted by permission of Thylias Moss.

Source: 2007

You can experience aother “Higginson” poem from this new collection, in this YouTube video of me reading, “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia

 

and here on Vimeo:

If you want to know why there is such an emphasis on “Moss” I canexplain that.  The reading interacted with external events affecting me on the day I read, and my poetry reveals the TRUTH, and so it did, so it does.  

Here you may experience a print version of  “The Glory Prelude” also in “Wannabe”

 

https://theoffingmag.com/poetry/glory-prelude/

and here is a video poem of the same name:

 

Also a video version of another print poem in “Wannabe” “Hypnosis at the Bird Factory”:

 

 

Since “Wannabe” is a collection of New and Selected poetry, here are  some video poems are in “Wannabe” in print versions:

 

Tornado Pi -video poem:

 

Print poem  in “Wannabe” “Tornados“: from “Rainbow Remnants on Rock Bottom Ghetto Sky”

Rainbow Remnents in Rock Bottom Ghetto Sky

Winner of the National Poetry series Open Competition

 

And from the same book, “Rainbow Remnants in Rock Bottom Ghetto Sky“, two video pieces from The United States of Poetry“an excellent film I am very proud to be part of:

 

9:08 excerpt from the poem “The Linoleum Rhumba” in Wannabe“:

also “Green Light and Gamma Ways”

in “The United States of Poetry” as “Green Light and Gamma Rays” but the actual poem form which this is an excerpt is “Green Light and Gamma Ways”, in “Wannabe” correctly:

This five-part video series was shown on PBS,

perhaps you saw  “The United States of Poetry” there, 

This print poem, “Interpretation of a Poem by Frost” (a poem with an interesting story that I will be happy to tell), is also in “Wannabe” and also appeared in “Rainbow Remnants in Rock Bottom Ghetto Sky”

may be experienced on the Poetry foundation website here:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/47597

This poem was also “Poem of the Day” on 15 March 2015, 

and may be exeperienced here in that context:

http://livefriendie.blogspot.com/2015/03/poem-of-day-interpretation-of-poem-by.html

Ant Farm” one of my favriite poems from “Last Chance for the Tarzan Holler” (a nominee for The National Book Critics Circle Award, by the way) origiannly published in Keyon Review, vol. 20, no.1Last Chance for the Tarzan Holler

may be read here:

http://www.jstor.org/stable/4337641?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

I include this video of me reading poems, from a previous New and selected collection, “Small Congregations”  from Daniel Halpern and Ecco Press,

Small Congregations

Small Congregations“, new and selected poetry by Thylias Moss, a collection, noted by Harold Bloom, mentioed in his book “The Western Canon

you can find this book listed under great books at this URL:

http://sonic.net/~rteeter/grtbloom.html

no doubt not respresented in “Wannabe” because of previous litigation, but I am only speculating about that, but I am reading versions of my poems, some of which are in “Wannabe” te video is, from my time in San Diego,  at the invite of Quincy Troupe and Margaret Porter Troupe, so here it is:

 

My first scheduled reading from “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” is scheduled for 30 November, 2016 at 7:00 pm, at Columbia University, organized by Timothy Donnelly.  Hope to see many of you there.  I will be reading “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia”, no peaches this time, but, as I understand it, there will be grapes for this interactive reading, as there were at The Pulitzer Fine Arts Center; here are a few pics, some of them by Cary Ann Faye, from when my video piece, “The Glory Prelude” was on display at the Pulitzer Fine Arts Center in St. Louis, MO, from 15 April 2016 until 2 Juky 2016:

and now some video stills of “The Glory Prelude” by me:

 

Read more about this upcoming event here:

http://arts.columbia.edu/events/fall-2016/moss

Trying to also arrange a public reading while I am in Manhattan at the Bowery Poetry Club,   a place I’ve long wanted to read.  

Will post more as events become more definite.

 And as soon as I recieve my copies of “Wannabe” I will post many photos of the book!  and photos of me wth it.  A radio podcast in Ypsilanti, MI, ahould be happening in October, and I will be discussing my new book: “Wannabe

More updates coming and more photos as soon as I have them.  

Look for me on Facebook!

Twitter also.

My Father

Today would be my Father, 93rd birthday.

100% Daddy’s girl right here.

 

I remember my father who never met my son, as he died in 1980, and my son wasn’t born until 1991, but I recall an exceptional man, who was never hit as a child, and taught me so much; including, I feel, groundwork of limited fork, the way he treated me, and refused to express love through any bullying techniques such as found in so many Christian patriarchal religions; my father never made differences in toys according to gender… I was also encouraged to speak, to both have and share my opinions.   He died 36 years ago, the year before I graduated from Oberlin College, something he would have loved to experience, me graduating from an institution not afraid to enroll women, African-Americans, and Native Americans, and that’s really why I wanted my degree to be from Oberlin, a college that would have accepted me regardless.

He never knew the me I became, but he did know me as a writer, something I started to do when I was seven… He was right there when so much happened….

He asked my mother not to hit me, and she wanted to, according to biblical rules, that if the rod is spared, then the child is spoiled… My father wouldn’t allow me to believe anything like that! He told me that no decent, no authentic father would even conceive of a place called hell, and even if he somehow conceived it, he would never send anyone there… This made more sense to me than biblical rules with such adherence to patriarchal stances, written by men, and subjugating women –I wish my father had lived to hear me say such things, to watch me practice such things, to see me champion these things he always felt were just!

If such punishment is a shared experience that unifies blacks, then I guess that I am not black at all since spankings and beatings were not part of my life.  I understand intellectually, what spankings are; my mother’s sister who lived with us for many years, would often send her son, my cousin Lawrence:Lawrence Turner

 

out to get his own switch.  I observed this, but never took part; I was never sent to select my own instrument of brutality.

I drove my father to the hospital on the day he died…. He chain-smoked Pall Malls (there used to be commercaisl, such as):

and eventually, he was quite ill the last couple of years of his life, and I’d driven him to the hospital quite a few times to have fluid removed from his lungs, but he always managed to come home alive… except, of course, the last time…. I’ve felt guilty about that for many, many years… but am so thankful that he created my name for me, “Thylias” –he told me when I was seven that there had never been a presence like mine in the world, so I needed a name that also hadn’t been part of the world –just what a daughter, what any child, what any person should be told! –I would go to church with my mother, and be told that I was going to hell; but as soon as I got home from church, my father, born in the south would take me for very long walks, sometimes for several miles, and allow me to linger and interact with whatever I wanted to, and I returned home from these walks with a new golden book of knowledge and built an alternative bible, these books were also ‘truth“: Energy and Power, Automobiles, Geology, Meteorology, Mathematics, etc… For toys, I had dolls, and I loved them, but I also had space ships, boats, trucks, and my home was filled with music… (Sometimes, my father sang)

 

Thylias with dolls

 

 

 

My father didn’t have my name picked out for me; he had to meet me first, and then decided, after he met me, what my name should be, a name tailored to the person he saw. Was it the way I reminded him of something? Could he already see some of himself in me? Did he realize then what was always true, that I was more like him than like my mother?

In one of her increasingly rare lucid moments, my mother told me that I am high class and she is low class, and for that reason she and I are unable to communicate. We are too different. My hair came from my father and his people. I am told that my mother, so ashamed of her color, called “the little black one” and ostracized by her family, wanted to lighten up the family, and that my father was considered a catch with his pale skin and mostly straight dark hair; I got the hair, but not the color.

 

Among other things, on those walks I so frequently take, walking to love and to a man I hope will be in my life for many, many years (this man I love [maybe too much, but maybe not nearly enough –he is that special, and somehow proving just how special he really is, as each moment passes]), but this man is also a drinker, and I sometimes imagine how the two of them, about the same color, could sit at my mother’s dining room table and drink together –sure wish that they could someday meet, but as I walk now, I am also reviving what I did with my father from the time I could walk, those walks with him…. He and I would walk to the bakery and purchase freshly baked loaves of “Wonder” bread. How I loved that name for the promise of “Wonders”, the promises of miracles. We once walked to a bridge and stood there and watched a refinery fire, and the smell of that fire blocked the heavenly aromas of “Wonder” bread baking; I would imagine that Jesus had loaves of “Wonder” bread to go with the fish he served in the feeding of the five thousand.

 

My father would have loved me at Oberlin! –this tiny woman, under five feet tall, multiracial, grauating first in the class and Phi Beta Kappa; still oly 98 pounds, with completely natural waist-length buttkissing hair, and as naturally shapely as all-get-out, I cannot show you, but —I do not lie— if you ever see this 62-year-old woman in a bikini (no need for liposuction  or for any surgical reshaping, certainly not of my face, or anywhere else; no breast impants, I don’t need them; no weave, no wig, no extensions –not only booty, beautifully shaped, but also enough brains to graduate first in the class –there are not that many total packages like me; and I have the legacy that makes all of me inevitable:

 

 

nothing is going to dilute or diminsh my joy this mornin’!

some of the wonders of Oberlin College:

And now some photos of this wonderful man, a father I knew until I was 26, a man my son never knew, being born so many years after my father’s death, a man who also did not hit in order to express love… A man unafraid to marry outside his race in the south! –how did this family manage that? –I am so pleased to have as my heritage such bravery, such decisions to insist on a form of justice, and compassion for all! –to insist on love –my real heritage: I will always insist on love. No matter what.

Love first; all else is secondary.

My paternal grandfather, a man I never know, was not black at all, Native American, Caucasian, and Indian. Apparently, many of them perished from Huntington’s Disease, a most nasty and always fatal, requiring inheritance of only one gene (no successful gene modification of that, as there was in the film Jurassic World), but I’ve been quite lucky, and missed that fatal inheritance from this wonderful man, my father part Native American, African American, Indian, and Caucasian in the south when races, as humans classify them, were not supposed to mix yet always, (let’s be reasonable), did. Real love could hardly care about color, or I would not even exist.

Here’s to my father who did not care about such petty things as color of skin.

And here’s to more rising of mixed race people!

Something Claudia Rankine explores in her “Whiteness, INC” that was part of the Ellipsis show at the Pulitzer Arts Foundation in St. Louis, MO, as in:

  (Please look, please love, and please think)

I’ve got love on my mind!

 

 

 

and “Unforgettable” –always:

 

 

 

 

ARC RECEIVED!

ALL OR NOTHING -

ME HOLDING the error-prone, not made for authors, but for reviewers, ARC (or bound galley)!

 

Now, some other phots oft he ARC itseld, remeber, this is not the actual book, some kind of plcaeholdr, thatI was so happy to get, ecstatic really, made my “All or Nothing” walk so much better!  –all those salsa footsteps, I felt that I was dancing!

 

This is what I listened to as I walked, as I danced along, oh my Salsa ways:

 

and this:

 

Nothing can take my joy away!  

Nunca!

TRUTH! –ABOVE ALL

SORRY, but I begin this Sunday aware of the meaning embedded in OPTION CLAUSE #20 

 

OPTION:

“20. In consideration of the covenants of this Agreement, the Proprietor agrees to give the Publisher the first opportunity to obtain book-publishing rights in his next book-length work.  The Proprietor shall submit the manuscript of such work to the Publisher before showing it to any other publisher, and the Publisher shall thereafter have thirty [30] days to notify the Proprietor if it wishes to publish such work, and if so, to propose terms and conditions (provided that the Publisher shall not be required so to notify the Proprietor until the expiration of ninety (90) days from the date of the first publication of the Work).  If within thirty (30) days after the Publisher’s having proposed such terms and conditions, the Publisher and the Proprietor fail to reach agreement with respect thereto, or if the Publisher does not wish to publish such work, then the Proprietor shall be free to arrange for publication elsewhere provided, however, that the Proprietor shall not enter into an agreement for publication of such work with any third party on terms and conditions equal to or less favorable than those terms and conditions offered by the Publisher.”

Song of the realization about the lies from my so-called”friend” wearing two hats as my publisher, and as my agent, my agent lied to me, did not mention Option #20

clearly on behalf of the publisher, not the writer, 

Mark Morrison’s “Return of the Mack” –for the line “You Lied to me”

 

In the photo, I am illuminated by honesty; see how it glows! Maybe I shouldn’t say any of this, maybe I should pretend to be ignorant a little longer, but when a dead rat is found, action is required no matter when it is found.  And I have found one. Two hats, my publisher and my agent; those hats can not be worn well simultaneously.  

I feel like a fool for beliving anything.

Then again, you know what is said about “Smiling Faces” (1971, UNDISPUTED Truth):

I know! The TRUTH!

want to drive me to litigation?

This is a way to do it! 

AND I’VE BEEN DOWN THIS ROAD BEFORE!

A suggestion: throw out the existing contract and send me a new one, without Option clause #20 and get me a bound galley immediately, “Remember, I’m your FRIEND”! –HARDLY; I DONT THINK SO.  “True friends” do not treat each other this way!

They just don’t. Too much conscience.

And a need to live with themselves.  

TRUTH will get you in the end.  

TRUTH ALWAYS PREVAILS.

I feel sorry for those who prey upon the little poet, those who have that need.

I do not, and I am glad; I can live with myself without regret.  

No bound galley?  Really? I recommend putting a bound galley in the maiil immediately; prepared for publishers and not for me?

Send me yours then.  

Send me yours.  

You must have one or can get your hands on one.  I deserve at least that.  

Write that into the NEW contract also, for YOUR book evidently, not mine.

I will not sign it until someone without  a hat reviews it!

Hat brims can cloud vision, and pull wool over eyes. The mask has come off.

You know my address.

My poetry is my truth! –I do not play with truth. 

I am exposing a “black” truth behind your white lie; I am rememering what was said about rejection of a blurb; it is the reason that disturbs me more than the actual rejection.  I have the email with that content in it, and I will never forget what was said.

Also your reasons for preferring that I not post the PDF of the Wannabe”jacket, and this is a quote, this is the truth:

“We would rather that you not post the pdf.  They are made specifically for reviewers.  We don’t want them to be pirated, sold, reproduced, poems taken, etc. etc.  All of these things affect your income (and ours), and contribute to incorrect versions floating through history….  Please don’t do it.

Truth is Sacred! 

Friend as defined in Wikipedia: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friendship&gt;

Friendship is a relationship of mutual affection between two or more people.[1] Friendship is a stronger form of interpersonal bond than an association. Friendship has been studied in academic fields such as sociology, social psychology, anthropology, and philosophy. Various academic theories of friendship have been proposed, including social exchange theory, equity theory, relational dialectics, and attachment styles. A World Happiness Database study found that people with close friendships are happier.[2]

Although there are many forms of friendship, some of which may vary from place to place, certain characteristics are present in many types of bond. Such characteristics include affection, sympathy, empathy, honesty, altruism, mutual understanding, and compassion, enjoyment of each other’s company, trust, and the ability to be oneself, express one’s feelings, and make mistakes without fear of judgment from the friend.

While there is no practical limit on what types of people can form a friendship, friends tend to share common backgrounds, occupations, or interests and have similar demographics.

–in case a refresher course is needed.  Seems to me it is. Note, please that “honesty” is part of the definition, as is “altruism“, “understanding“, “compassion“; thank goodness I know these qualities, essential qualities to life, elsewhere, a barren, empty existence without them…

 

thylias_wall-street-journal

 

thylias_wall-street-journal

Distress and Agony

Just when it seemed that everything is going as well as it can, I become aware of something that has been true for a very long time, but this time, perhaps more ruinous to my career as a writer, as a poet,  I mean…

Not my intenton to jeopardize my forthcoming book, about which I remain excited, but I do want it known that Thylias Moss is available for another publisher for my books of poetry; out of my 11 books, 9 of them are collections of poetry, counting Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code“, soon to be published in September 2016, by Persea, a publisher I’ve belonged to since winning the National Poetry Series in 1991, with “Rainbow Remnants in Rock Bottom Ghetto Sky“, a book that Persea published, and since then, all of my collections, in book form, of poetry, with the exception of “Small Congregations” published by Ecco in 1993.

 

Here are newspaper articles about this event, that came about because I dared to be honest; I told the truth! squabbling publishers-cropped copysquabbling publishersthylias_wall-street-journal

 

thylias_wall-street-journal

 

And here is the problematic bit of my current contract for my forthcoming collection:

Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” September 2016, causing concern; this contract was prepared by my publisher, and  I did sign it without anyone advising me not to (I trusted the publisher who identifued herself as “my friend” (as she did with previous litigation to make sure that I would not go to jail; I recall that phone conversation distinctly; well, I am no longer that gullible child, and for another thing, I am resentful of “advice”  I was given but do not need, about “being careful in my relationships as long as they are not hurtful to me”, well my relationship with my publisher IS  hurtful to me, as my publisher wrote the contract, and I am dead set against maintaing that contract since that very relationship is the only “hurtful to me” relationship I have, I’m going to take the publisher’s own advice

 

OPTION:

20. In consideration of the covenants of this Agreement, the Proprietor agrees to give the Publisher the first opportunity to obtain book-publishing rights in his next book-length work.  The Proprietor shall submit the manuscript of such work to the Publisher before showing it to any other publisher, and the Publisher shall thereafter have thirty [30] days to notify the Proprietor if it wishes to publish such work, and if so, to propose terms and conditions (provided that the Publisher shall not be required so to notify the Proprietor until the expiration of ninety (90) days from the date of the first publication of the Work).  If within thirty (30) days after the Publisher’s having proposed such terms and conditions, the Publisher and the Proprietor fail to reach agreement with respect thereto, or if the Publisher does not wish to publish such work, then the Proprietor shall be free to arrange for publication elsewhere provided, however, that the Proprietor shall not enter into an agreement for publication of such work with any third party on terms and conditions equal to or less favorable than those terms and conditions offered by the Publisher.”

Some of that history of litigation here again:

squabbling publishers.jpg

thylias_wall-street-journal copy

I am seeking a publisher for my volumes of poetry after “Wannabe

 

Another poet friend asked me why hadn’t Norton  (of course, Persea is an affliliate publisher of Norton, as indicated)or Knopf gobbled me up, after so many books and so many awards, and all I could think of was the contract itself, when this dreadful passage was pointed out to me…   

 

Perhaps this will be addressed when my romance novel does indeed sell.  I know it will; I admit that I am impatient, but that book means even more to me now, and I cannot talk about it… Not yet.

 

 I hope that today will be the day…

 

One never knows..

 

But today IS the day that I announce that I am available for another publisher for my poetry.  Ideally the same publisher who oversees publication of my romance novel, but no clause like the option clause prepared by the publisher acting as BOTH my publisher and my agent. If this announced availability causes more litigation, so be it.  I have been down this road before… A road covered by the New York Daily News and the Wall Street Journal in 1994… 

 

I wouldn’t mind going to jail for poetry, something so dear to me.  Poetry tells a truth! Poetry is a truth!   My poems do not tell lies!  They never will!

 

I insist on such purtiy, even though that seems to be becomng so rare and precious, doomed by the injustices in which humanity festers, injustices such as Option clause #20, a clause I did not write and one I wish I had read better but the writer, my publisher, was also claiming to be my friend: 

a familiar or helpful thing, 

a person who is not an enemy or who is on the same side

“Remember,” I was told, “I am your friend.”

 

But another publisher is essential.  I am not new to poetry at all!

I will not crumple under litigation should any happen.  I didn’t before when I was served a subpoena in my office where I was a professor until I retired, at the University of Michigan…

and I already have a couple of lawyers investigating that clause, seeking an honest and legal way to break it; my friend indeed.

but we all know this, “Smiling Faces Sometimes”

as it says on <http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=friends#favorite-4924077&gt;:

 

 

friend

A friend is someone you love and who loves you, someone you respect and who respects you, someone whom you trust and who trusts you. A friend is honest and makes you want to be honest, too. A friend is loyal.

A friend is someone who is happy to spend time with you doing absolutely nothing at all; someone who doesn’t mind driving you on stupid errands, who will get up at midnight just because you want to go on an adventure, and who doesn’t have to talk to communicate with you.

A friend is someone who not only doesn’t care if you’re ugly or boring, but doesn’t even think about it; someone who forgives you no matter what you do, and someone who tries to help you even when they don’t know how. A friend is someone who tells you if you’re being stupid, but who doesn’t make you feel stupid.

A friend is someone who would sacrifice their life and happiness for you. A friend is someone who will come with you when you have to do boring things like watch bad recitals, go to stuffy parties, or wait in boring lobbies. You don’t even think about who’s talking or who’s listening in a conversation with a friend.

A friend is someone for whom you’re willing to change your opinions. A friend is someone you look forward to seeing and who looks forward to seeing you: someone you like so much, it doesn’t matter if you share interests or traits. A friend is someone you like so much, you start to like the things they like.

A friend is a partner, not a leader or a follower.

The word “friend” comes from Old English “frēond”, which is actually the present participle of “frēogan”, which means “to love” and “to honor”.

I quite agree!  This post is for all of my true friends, and you definitely know who you are, and so do I, always.  There is nothing more sacred than a friend who can be trusted; a freind who will not cheat you, a friend who will not deceive you, and as far as I am concerned, there is no clause #20 in my contract.  

Still Waiting for word about my romance novel & Believing in LOVE!

On this summer afternoon, I still wait to hear about the status of my romance novel.  Yes I guess I am impatient, still working on selling my house, and having the terrific life that a very good friend of mine, a Mystery Man  (with whom I am in love –ouch) told me I am going to have.

Whatever this post is, it is also a post to a Mystery Man

It is also  a post to you, whoever you are; I will never tell.

I have no idea where I am going to live.  Just that I will be moving –and I am looking forward to beginning this new life, with or without you, but preferably with you. Definitely my preference,  but I can’t say that it will ever  be yours. Wish I could say that.  Because I love you.

Because I want you to love me too.  I even told you that I know I am your “Side Chick” (at best –and I’m okay with that?  What is wrong with me? –willing to be the side chick just so I can have you?  Why don’t I want more for myself? –yeah; I already know you are the best possible lover, and I probably should not have told you that, but I did because it’s true, and I realize that I am too public for you, Mystery Man, but I don’t want the light of what I feel hidden under a bushel.  I light it just for you, light of my world.  Do not let the fire that warms you go out, already dimmed a bit by time itself, but I am making up for that. I am blowing on the flame; my hot breath is working that fire, fanning those embers, restoring the hot potential, living up to my blazing name… 

 

I also said some other things that the pressure of all this forced me into saying, trying to get my house prepared for sale, worrying about my sick mother…and taking it out on you.. I’ve been accusatory, saying things I know simply aren’t true… about when I was in the perfect world of your arms… I wish I didn’t have to apologize but I do.  Mystery Man, I didn’t mean it, what  I said about boats, especially.  I was, am under the duress of all of this; and I’m too afraid to tell you. I am not sure you would even listen to me, and this is my unadorned apology. I am sorry Mystery Man –I just ask you to please understand. My mind is going in circles, round and round your sweet clockwork face –you know I look at your face and love it, can trace every crease in both my mind and heart…

 

and this version:

 

 

but mostly it’s “If You Stay in my Corner” (The Dells):

 

 

I know I have a volume of poetry coming out every soon now, I can wait to see the galleys, my 11th book! “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Relities’ Red Dress Code” –and I am so excited about that! –words cannot begin to describe the joy I feel just thinking about that book, cracking the spine, smelling it, even licking some of my favorite pages, photographing myself holding it, traveling and reading from the book! –I cannot wait for such moments;

Here is the cover, and it is available for pre-order right now on Amazon dot com :

 

 

wannabe_front copy

and the author photo (taken by graphic artist Ansted Moss):

 

Red Dress Code-02

Now of course, I’m looking forward to Wannabe, but I do admit to being even more excited about just the possibilty of this romance novel, because I get to partcipate in such ideal love and passion through my characters, eveything I may want, the characters experience; how could I write it and deny the protagonist the experience I would want for myself?—if I could have it– maybe someday, because this writer believes in love..

 

I will always believe in what love can accomplish with that Mystery Man (you), or with any man; I am not the kind of woman who will be happy without a flesh and blood man –who  knows who  I am, a woman who wants a man who will be hers, and I will be his.

 

I sure hope it’s you. I know I don’t have to tell you again, but  I sure like saying it, get caught up in the refrain of it.

But even more disturbing right now, is the increasingly deteriorating condition  of my mother. She is losing her grasp of reality… Her diabetes is out of control; she’s been falling and not telling her doctor.  She’s not taking her medicine and using profanity the likes of which I’ve never heard her use.  Glaucoma, Thyroid trouble, Heart disease, Out-of-Control Hypertension 

Her situation is so exasperating, she is not taking her medicine, and this sick diabetic woman is now about the same weight I am, this has never been the case! –always since I can remember, 40 pounds heavier than me.  I understand that her backyard lawn has not been cut in a couple of months; my father died on 13 July 1980, and when I called to remind her that it was the 36th anniversary of my father’s death, she didn’t know what the day meant, nor did she know me –I had to explain who I was… 

 

(She is 86 years old, and I am 62 years old)

Thylias Rebecca Brasier Moss and Florida

 

A little later,  some pictures of my mother and my mixed race father, and my non-black paternal grandfather, with Caucasian, and Native American Heritage and Ancestry from India

(includes some artwork by my mother; she was born in Alabama, a tiny town not on most maps, and was very senstitive about her color; when she was more lucid she told me that she was always called the “Little Black One” –this casued her to use “Nadinola” all over her face, arms, legs, neck, to lighten her skin –this was very important to her! She hated being dark skinned, had high yellow dreams, I was not high yellow at all, but  did have the prize hair,  all my life, but even more so now –she encouraged me never to go into the sun; she is so embarrassed by her hair that she always wears a wig, and even did so for my wedding (you can  see that Nadinola glow [somewhat radioactive, it seems to me] in her face. My father was already sick; what was he really thinking?):

 

My parents at my wedding.jpg

Bride Thylias, with my father and just with the bouquet, 25 August 1973:

I had a tremendous amount of hair then, the teenager that I was.  

 

I made all the dresses for the bridesmaids and flower girl  in my wedding (sewing based on what I learned in a single semester of home economics in seventh grade):Wedding Party, women i the dresses I made.jpg

and if my mother  could understand it, she would be shocked that I walk in the sun, anyway, and yes, even flaunt my “good hair” –I’m glad I have it; I will not lie, and this 62-year-old woman with multiple sclerosis, who almost died on 29 July 2011 when a cranial aneurysm ruptured, and my head was partially shaved, but the hair has grown back profusely! –in a straighter and natural texture; I’ve even gone walking in the rain! (trusting that my hair would retain its length, and not revert (to what it never was):

–I have quite a thing for my hair, I admit that, and I also admit, in my mind, at least, that I walked to that elusive Mytery Man –but I fool no one, and certainly not you; I fear I will always love you, and you are certainly most deserving of love (there is no better lover; nothing compares with being in your arms –I admit that I just want you to love me back; that is all I want… I can’t even sustain any anger toward you… I’ve tried and it doesn’t last.  What is it about you? –I fear I’ll never be able to let you go! 

Mystery  Man, just love me back; that’s all; just love me back! –now I’m begging you… I liked much better when you were chasing me; you know how to persue better than most men..  What more do you want from me? –please don’t say nothing unless that is the truth

 

–I learned this from this Mystery Man, from you, that I am in fact beautiful, you always told me that, and no one else ever did, not even my ex-spouse, I was so lonely and hungry for compliments, just wanted to know that the man I was with liked how I looked, a shapely and sexy little package, and was happy to be seen with me; my ex-spouse said he didn’t tell me because “my head would swell”; Mystery Man , you didn’t care how big my head was; when I told you, Mystery Man, that you were the only man who called me beautiful,  you could not believe it, so I told you, which was true, that outside of catcalls, whistles and other unsolicited reactions,  it was only your opinions that matter to me, and this is more true now than ever (with what I’m experiencing with my mother and those well-meaning souls around her, I need “The Comfort of a Man,” the Comfort of you, Mystery Man. 

and I learned to believe you.  My ex never told me that I was beautiful, but now, I KNOW I AM –so even if nothing else happens between us, I learned valuable things from you, endless pasion; I was loved by you as every  woman, as every prerson should be loved, the heights of pleasure, heights of desire, there is no denying this, and if nothing else, I learned how to express this love to you… You were patient with me, realizing what I didn’t know and realizing what I was able to feel with you… and I have nothing but thanks for you for that, sort of similar to

this thank you  to my ex 

But I was older than the writer of that thank you to my ex ; I experienced my first real adult love afffair with you.   In most ways, I have to admit that you Mystery Man are my first love as the adult woman I am now, and there is no wonder that I want physical love, all forms of love with you again… Should come as no surprise at all. You are the Right Kind of Lover!  as in:

 

It is that good being with you whoever you are, a man of my dreams fully fulfilled   A man I will never forget and, truth be told, do not want to forget.  Ever. I just want you to want me so much that you won’t mind admitting it, that I won’t have to be a side chick or a friend with benefits.  I want the comfort of a man, the comfort of you Mystery Man  –there is nothing else like it, no one else like you….

 

Side chick 

 

 

and ideally not just secret lovers, though I cannot lie to myself I would take that; you are such an exquisite lover, well, Atantic Starr can say it better:

 

No secret to that wonderful, dammit! Mystery Man that as Luther says, I came here for you to love –for you Mystery Man, all for you! 

 

Luther Vandross, “For You to Love”:

 

 

 

So “My First Love“, and “Comfort of  a Man” for you, everything for you… –“I Will Always Love You

 

and I will Always Love you

 

Mystery Man, I just pray that you will Love Me back; that’s all, Mystery Man –and I am not as high maintenance as I must seem to you.  

 

 

Lord help me, I so love you, Mystery Man,  and Lord help me, sometimes I wish I didn’t, but I keep wishing and hoping, as in this Dionne Warwick rendition –I am yours,  but are you  mine?  –are you kidding? I know you like long hair, and I didn’t buy mine; if hair were all it takes, you would be mine… but if even the long hair fails, this 100% natural butt-kissing hair, you can play with my hair all day, all night and it will not come off, I do not have to worry about “weave sex” as discussed in the film good hair what can I do?  And if my hair won’t do it, nor any of my other natural looks that I so want you to desire… My tiny waist, my shapely hips, those peachy breasts that ripen whenever you are near, if these things don’t entice you, what will? –and why do I care so much? it isn’t as if you’re the only man in the world! –but you are the only man I want in my world.  

 

Trailer from Chris Rock’s “Good Hair“:

 

 

 

 I do want to be in your heart! (so embedded that without me, you’d have no heart)–no lie there!

 

 

So there you have it, waiting for “Wannabe“(that’s definite), hoping like crazy for my romance novel in which the female character is loved back, and then some, my dying dementia-ridden diabetic mother with hypertension that would have already killed the more ordinary; she has already given up on life, and is just waiting to go home to Jesus, while her house that my father bought in 1963, and where she still lives rapidly deteriorates… Oh I remember being in the south, and my father able to go into stores that my mother could not enter; I remember hiding in the car, being so frightened, because in that tiny Tennessee town, there were some who did not feel that the races should mix…

I cannot explain exactly how my paternal grandfather could even exist… Caucasian, Native American, and Indian (as in “India”) and my own problems with not only finding the right man –which I’ve done– but having you willing/able to love me back… Unless you have married… I do not know.  

 

If you are that deeply in love with somone other than me, I would like to know so that I can begin to adjust, but let me tell you, there is no man on this earth I would rather kiss, and there is no man on this earth I woud rather touch, and there is no man on this earth I would rather have kiss me, no other man on this earth I would rather have hold me, and no other man on this earth I would rather hold —

 

But I do need a love of my own!  as in:

 

 

If you think I’ve confessed to you Mystery Man how much I love you in this post, I assure you that I’ve confessed this to you even more in texts… I so want you just to notice me… I so want things you said in the past to still be true… This is not the first time I’ve said any of this, and I fear that sometimes I should keep my blabbermouth shut, but if you can love me for what I am, I should be able to say anything to you… I even asked you to tell me if you thought you could ever love me; I asked you to tell me that you’re sure you never want to hold me again, to never touch me again, to just tell me,  because I can’t wait for you forever, but if you know you can’t ever love me, I want to know that…

 

but if it’s possible, as much as I say I wouldn’t, I would take you back–not you you’re gone, still BFFs–, so rather elevate both of us from BFFs to lovers… –which is what I want, but if you don’t?  Too bad for you, but, for now, I love this Mystery Man! –I love you–even if I shouldn’t.

 

I have never loved a man the way that I love that Mystery Man: you:

 

Now some pics of how I look right now, and what this Mystery Man  (you) seem willing to give up.  My hair: no wig, no weaves, no hair pieces, no extensions, 100% natural hair, waist-length and rooted in my scalp; 98 pounds, no plastic surgery anywhere; I have never had to diet.  Everything about me is natural except for some hair dye from time to to my hair.  No bleaching or skin whitening creams.  My own “yellow” teeth (I will be going to the dentist). I was told that I have dense breasts in my most recent mammogram (a week ago), but no abnormalities detected dense breasts –as I’ve had since I was a teenager in triple D cups –really got me noticed, and may have helped that deacon decide to rape me, but they are natural, no implants –never,   As that you Mystery Man, know better than anyone…

 

I love you, Mystery Man.  I honestly love you. You know I do.

 

For the record, this is just too much for me, trying to prepare to sell my house, a son I love dearly who isn’t that cooperative, and then his partner who lives with him in my basement (so far, I haven’t received even a penny from my tenants [who aren’t that tidy]), the romance novel, trying to find my way on my own, without a car, too difficult for me to feel that I can drive safely with my optic neuritis, a consequence of my MS–but I can walk six miles most days, three miles to a  locaton where often I find so many geese, and amazing sunsets:

–and yet I must still shop for food, and I want to do these things for myelf, and see what might happen (don’t I hope) with that Mystery Man (you), and if not you, then someone else.  I hope it can be you   –please “I say A Little Prayer”

 

and this version of saying a little prayer:

 

First task is to sell this house and be free of a house too big for me to take care of by myself, without help from my tenants, as it currently is, one of whom is my own 25-year-old son who has psychological problems, that I don’t believe he inherited from his Bangladeshi sperm donor paternity.  Such donations and family backgrounds are screened.  Sperm donations are kept for six months before being used.  I was lucky in that one visit was all it took for me to conceive… the difference a good sample makes, I was told, by the fertility clinic’s doctor.    

 

I recall that when my ex-spouse found out about this pregancy he did not want me to have; I remember that he said, “Didn’t I consider AIDS”? -and he would probably say that my son’t psychological problems stem from the donor.  I do not know.  I want the best possible outcomes for everyone.  

And yes, you better believe that I want you, Mystery Man…   But, I want you to want me too.

Do I really ask for too much in asking for love? 

So this is my crazy life right now, but it is life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way… 

 

Thank you for reading this.  

Sorry that I rambled on and on… I have so much on my spilling plate… And that Mystery Man 

is not here.

I am never giving up on love, even if that makes me a fool for love, fool, fool , fool for that Mystery Man ; fool, fool for you.

I hope I am able to report something better about you, that one day, you are no longer a mystery man because we enter a better relationship, one that isn’t all me, for now, my impossible dream, but I really pray for more than that…

And here’s Frank Sinatra, saying it better than me, The Impossible Dream becoming possible:

 

This is more than enough for one night; I love you   Mystery Man enough for a thousand and one nights, for a million nights, for every night. –I can’t help what my heart feels, one thing that is for sure, Mystery Man, “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine

 

(Lou Rawls can help me with this one, and I do need help, loving this Mystery Man [you) as I do):

 

Good Night, Mystery Man; don’t let the bedbugs bite

 

Bad News –and Good News!

Significant progress and been made…. 

 

Draft of romance novel complete! And accepted by my editor, Jason Kirk! –there is a wonderful synopsis and everything! –he’s  sending it out to a publisher today!  

Now all I have to do is wait (I don’t mind that –good to have to wait for this, because I am convinced that this romance novel will be a book! 

 

 

 

—– 

and a bit of disturbing news on the horizon, at least I am disturbed, as the second reader, although he likes the book  — wants more concealment of his identity…

And I have just learned the truth: he has private memory of something now gone.

At least now I do not have to wonder.   I still have my best friend.  I am not  love with a “real” man at all,   but get to realize that love with my character… So I am officially alone again.  Officially unattached.  Imagine that.

 

Happy for the book, sorry for the heart.

A youtube playlist of heartbreak for dying love, the love was all mine, but now it’s dying  not the friendship, just the love affair –there isn’t one, and now the next book in the romance series will be so different from anything I imagined, now I get to write about heartbreak ( still working through e furlongs. :

and Ain’t no way Aretha Franklin:

and “Call Me” Aretha Franklin in case he ever gets back to love, and somehow those matters of proximity and distance can somehow be bridged:

 

Romance on my mind!

Little more than the romance novel for me to think about; I’m trying but it’s very difficult; I know that so much else is occurring in the world, even celebration of US independence, but that is not enough to get my mind off a CHANCE for the possibility of that novel.

 

My wonderful editor Jason Kirk, says this:

“As I mentioned via text, I can’t really dig in until Saturday, but by the end of this holiday weekend, I’ll send this back, almost certainly with only the barest of surgical edits, all tracked, for you to accept or reject as you see fit. Shouldn’t take long at all, and then we can start sending it out. As I mentioned, I know one publisher that would welcome a cold submission from me, so we should give them a bit of time to review it first, then if they’re not interested, I can start querying the agents I know, who number several dozen. That’ll be the extent of what I can do in terms of getting it out there, but I welcome the chance to do it.

Thanks, Thylias. And congratulations. This book has come a long, long way!

 

 

Those who know me personally have no idea all that book contains, but it definitely contains it.  That book is giving me no peace, and I hope it’s the same way for the others, the many others –dare I say that?– lucky enough to read this book once it becomes available and it will!  

 

Just thinking about it, I am a total wreck.  For this is the book I want to read also.  I want to be on buses, in taxis, on subways, in boats every mode of transportation, I want to be seen reading this book.

I hope it’s banned in certain places, I assume in church (except for what is read in secret) –just not openly.  Although sex like what’s in my novel surely has a place there.  Let’s just say, and this can’t possibly go too far; but let’s just say that the possibilities for intimacy and romance are achieved; I wrote about my ideal situations, how could I not? When I too dream, and if I can’t give my characters what I would want for myself, then I am much less the writer, much less the human being I thought I was, I hoe I am, and although I was married for a very long time, I haven’t stopped dreaming about love that way I would like for it to be, and if I can’t get it with my –truly –butt-kissing-hair, my tiny waist, my 98 natural pounds at age 62, then maybe it isn’t there for me to get, and I know I sound right there like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, realizing why home is where she should be, and of course, I’m hearing Stephanie Mills sing “Home” 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnKQN7TF4hQ

As since the show at the Pulitzer Fine Arts Foundation in St. Louis should be closed now, you will no longer be able to see my video poam, “The Glory Prelude to a Widow Shrine System” there, but sometime this weekend, I will place it on YouTube and you will be able to see it there. Some video stills from “The Glory Prelude to a Widow Shrine System”, music by experimental filmmaker and graphic artist Ansted Moss, all vocals performed, and all images captured by Thylias Moss:

 

 

Thylias Moss is in love with life, with everything, with herself, Christal Rice Cooper, and with, oh everything, –a man too –he knows who he is.  And I thank him for being someone I can love.  I can never thank him enough, and that’s as public as I can be about my own real heart.

I celebrate my independence from sadness, from feeling myself not “pretty”, from fearing ravages for disease, for I also have MS (multiple sclerosis, and you could never tell) –so Chris Rice Cooper  this is also for you my friend, as I continue to love myself (maybe even too much)

For my new book of new romance novel, I hope to have some pics f myself taken by Tony Smith

 

(o happy July day!)