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Archive for the ‘The Fame Game’ Category

Write About What You Know…And Who

Posted in The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 15, 2012 | 45 Comments »

I’m playing with an idea in my head about a writing project, folks. And it’s been bouncing around for a good while. Months. And months. But the other day, I got to thinking about the title of this post and that woman, Kathryn Stockett, who wrote The Help, came to my mind. I won’t get into the controversy of that book ’cause what I wanna focus on is that she wrote about situations and folks as she knew them. And you know she’s a divorced woman now. I don’t know if it was pending already but I have the book and it said she was married in the little bio. Well, if a divorce was pending, why say you’re married, right?  I know it’s not my business but I’d like to know if her writing that book had anything to do with the divorce. I’m curious, that’s all. I know she pissed off a lotta folk in Mississippi. But let Kathryn tell it, she was writing about what she knew. And about who.

You know, Terry McMillan’s first ex-husband, not the one who came out the gay closet, took her to court for that book, Disappearing Acts. There was a movie on HBO about it. I bought the DVD and it was real decent to me. My way of saying it was good. Well, he didn’t get anything out of it. Just raised a buncha hell without profiting. Anyhow, you never know who’s gonna come out the woods and cut a fool on you when you come into a little cash. Then again, probably the same folk who’d been acting a periodic fool all along.

You ever think who’d go to acting ugly if you wrote about them? In my mind, you, as an artist, have the right to write about these folk without disguising who they are ’cause that’s who they are in your life. They oughta act right, especially if they know you’re aspiring to write professionally. Shit, if they weren’t cuttin’ up, you probably wouldn’t have nothing to write about. But. Do you want to alienate them? That’s the question.

In any case, I don’t think you should go off and do it with spiteful intentions. And what if there is no malice thinking on your part and what you say becomes the elephant in the room that everybody wants to take a whip to? Do you say no matter or write your truth with grace or grit, however your situations, or folks, have presented themselves? What do you think?

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Brushes with Celebrity

Posted in The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 14, 2012 | 38 Comments »

"Visual Sounds" Mixed Media on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

I don’t wanna brag or nothing but I’ve come by a number of celebrities in my life. True, most of them never said a word to me but these little brushes with celebrity are still memorable no less. For brief moments in time, we breathed the same air, shared the same space and while they came out of our brief encounters with nothing, I, folks, came out with this post, or article, as I prefer to say ’cause it makes me feel important.

For my second ever art show, which took place in the Atlanta area, Tyler Perry walked past my little booth. He’s a big guy in size, which made it all the more so ’cause I was bent down doing something and happened to look up, leaving me no chance to tackle him to the floor to buy all the art I had in my booth. He was going at a brisk pace in brown house slippers and mumbled a hello to me though. That was back in 2003, when the price of gas was still reasonable but around the time we, the U.S, told that lie about weapons of mass destruction being over in Iraq when we were really over there to, ahem, well, let’s say the agenda wasn’t that.

"The Divas II" Mixed Media on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

In 2005, I was sponsored by an art dealer for the Art Expo in Atlanta. Never mind that his goal was to build a relationship with me to rip me off and have me eating canned goods the rest of my life, Jane Seymour breezed past my booth. I knew she was an artist and doing all manner of things with her creativity. She was a participant in the same show. I had to keep watching her ’cause, unlike Tyler, she’s a teeny woman. I think she only eats a spoonful of food here and there with a small cup of water. Well, tea, since she’s English and all. I also need to tell you I kept stalking her booth to meet her but was greeted by a rep plopped up in there and I can’t tell you how she looked. Her face wasn’t all that memorable.

Then, there’s John Amos. You know, the dad on Good Times? He’s actually related to my southern clan down here. Even though I’ve met him a few times and a lot of us have similar features and that same kinda nose, I can’t rightly say he’d recognize me if I headbutted him on the street. He stands around 5’6″. I know, you were expecting a bigger guy but nope. He’s a really nice fella and I ain’t saying it ’cause he’s family. I’d really pump him up if he had some of my art in his home out there in California but seeing that’s not the case…Ahem…Shall we move on?

In 2008, I was at an expo in Indiana. Thelma and Michael, the characters names in Good Times, were there. Thelma, well Bern Nadette Stanis is a writer and was selling her book. She was all ‘weaved up’ and bouncing all around the place. She seemed nice but I was too busy to be all into what was going on with her. She’s still kinda pretty though. I just couldn’t get past all that hair. I don’t know why they never called that show Hard Times and It Ain’t Gonna Get No Better.

What celebs have you had brushes with? Do they remember you? Better yet, are y’all texting each other?

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Much Ado About Something

Posted in The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 26, 2012 | 53 Comments »

"Ricky: Aspiring President" Photoshopped Image

Folks, I’m sitting here, matter of fact, you are too, blogging mine and your hearts out and it’s like, nobody hears us but us. You ever thought about that? Not to diminish our own importance but I want you to think about it. Why the hell is Ricky, the sweater vest wearing dude, getting all this applause? And you might say I’m hatin’ and all. I am. True dat, true dat. But in my book, I think all of us make heaps more sense than him and nobody’s getting that but us.

Like, would it help if I wore a plaid skirt or something preppy like that to get the kinda attention he’s getting? I do have a couple. Should I expand my line? I’m so very deeply disturbed over this following he’s got that ain’t following me. Seriously. I mean, what’s it gonna take? I believe some of what he believes. Like, I’d stay home and bake bread with seven kids if I had a husband who brought in a couple of million annually like he does. He damn well better want me at home after birthing all them kids. I would be real content to keep house and greet Hubby at the door with a tight belt around my waist like June Cleaver and follow up behind his ass with a poodle while we went shopping. I’d be more inclined to being charitable  if I wasn’t trying to figure out a way to bring in the kinda dough he’s banking. Shit, that’s the stuff a good woman’s made of.

And you wanna know a well-hidden secret? (Pause and sigh) I thought, (A deep ass sigh this time) I just might vote for him. I know. I know. But something terribly wrong happened. (Palm on my chest as my mouth trembles…Give me a second…)  He started talking and folks, he ain’t shut up since. I won’t go into the whole birth control thing. I ain’t mad at him like most folks, simply ’cause I don’t feel like it. Shit, after watching a hundred debates, my ass is tired and so is my brain. If you’ve been following up behind him or catching snippets from his mind, it would be too exhausting to get uptight every time something slipped from that little mouth of his. To tell you the truth, I’ve worn myself out just by thinking about him. And where did this guy hail from anyhow? The Old Testament?

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Rosie O’Donnell and Me

Posted in The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on February 23, 2012 | 47 Comments »

Lighting Up the Blogosphere with Souldipper

There is little difference in people, but that little difference makes a big difference. That little difference is attitude.The big difference is whether it is positive or negative.

W. Clement Stone

Guess what Rosie O’Donnell and I have in common, folks? Seeing her on Dr. Oz brought this to the forefront of my thoughts (No, I haven’t had Rosie on the brain). First, I have to break down our differences. Going about it this way makes it far more interesting than telling you straight out.

  1. I know that Rosie lives in California. I don’t exist to her.
  2. Rosie’s involved with a female she calls her partner. I’m not interested in that kinda partner.
  3. Rosie adopted her two kids. I had natural childbirth twice.
  4. Rosie talks too much. Well, that’s a little something we may have in common. (High five, Rosie)
  5. Rosie’s got a show on OWN. Nobody’s knocking on my door for nothing of the sort.
  6. Rosie was told she needs to get it together or end up a diabetic. Thankfully, that’s not an issue for me.
  7. Rosie’s had it out with The Donald. All I wanna do is feel his toupee to know how much hair spray’s on it.
  8. At this moment, Rosie’s probably talking about somebody else. She still doesn’t know I exist to even mention my name.
  9. Rosie has a tough I’ll-kick-your-ass-if-I-have-to disposition. That would really take away energy from my writing and painting, so generally, I’m pretty chill.
  10. So, what is it that I have in common with Rosie, folks? Rosie’s a visual artist and well, so am I.

Here are two pieces of her work. I’m sure she gets a pretty good chunk of change for her stuff. If you’re at all familiar with Jean-Michel Basquiat, you may find a common thread between their work. Although his work commands a much heftier price than Rosie’s and my work put together.

And did you know Madonna’s birthday is three days before mine? She’s older than me, of course but she was also friends with Basquiat. Small world, ain’t it? What celebrity do you have something in common with?

Two pieces of art by Rosie O'Donnell

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Story of My Life

Posted in The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 13, 2012 | 54 Comments »

"Afro and Hoops" Watercolor/Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

Everybody’s got a story but is it worth telling? I can’t say mine is or ain’t but I was sitting here thinking,’Well, what if it was?’ And if it was, what would I call it? Maybe I could run a few stories by you to read, I reckon, but a whole book? I don’t think so. But if I did, I came up on a few titles to sum up what this life of mine would be in the form of a book. Nothing fancy schmancy, of course.  Just a little something to sum up my story ’cause you have to grab the reader in one hot second.

Today, I’m sharing my prospective titles IF I ever found myself with nothing else to do and stopped for a period of time to find myself interesting enough to talk about for 3oo or so pages. Maybe you’ll come up with your own ‘what if’ titles for yourself. I think it’s good reflective time. You might be more full of yourself than I am. I don’t know. I’d have to read your story and tell you if it was worth the effort you put into it or should you have devoted your time to something else. Not that I’m an expert or nothing.

Like, say for instance, if all you’ve ever done is gone to school, got knocked up and your mama was ranting in public about stuff she knows nothing about, Bristol, that ain’t a reason for a book. That’s just all the more reason for you to stop being fast in the tail and rush over to the local Home Depot for a carton of duct tape for your mama. Live long enough to have some dirt on you that we can really talk about, where you can share some real life lessons. For the time being, just go on a campaign to some schools and call it, Keep Your Legs Shut Real Tight.

I was in this writing group some umpteen years ago and this woman wrote a memoir. Not only did she write one but she had three of them suckers. I have to give her credit for writing three whole books as I still work on my one. I won’t take nothing away. Thing was, she was sitting there reading some pages and in the book, her character, who was her, was reflecting on some unfortunate events in her life. So, she said something about being abused. I was like, “So, when did that happen?” She said it was the time her daddy slapped her. I was like, “Was that the only time?” She said it was. I said, “That wasn’t abuse. You just got smacked ’cause your daddy wasn’t having no backtalk.”

Now, granted, I ain’t never been slapped. I know it must’ve hurt. And maybe I had it all twisted but I didn’t see it worth putting in the book since there was no series of abuse. I mean, shit, I couldn’t even remember the slap. She overplayed the whole situation, is how I saw it. I felt like slapping her for arguing the point but being that I ain’t into that sorta thing, I shut right on up. After all, I was in her house and eating her food since she was hosting the critique group. I won’t bite the feeding hand. Okay? She had a right nice spread on that table. Y’all would’ve enjoyed yourselves over there.

Anyhow, here are my ‘what if’ working titles for my memoir. While you’re looking, do feel free to share what the title(s) of the story of your life would be. Here are mine:

Ain’t This About Some Shit? – This is when I tell you about odd shit in my life; stuff that was done to me and dumb shit I’ve done to my own self; folk I’ve gotten caught up with and felt like I was a fish in a net. I hate when that happens, don’t you? Oh, don’t act like I’m the only one.

Tales of a Belle from Down Yonder – A coming of age memoir. I would start it off like this: Once upon a tale of a Belle from down yonder. I think that’s the beginning of a bestseller, given some fictional accounts here and there.

(Lordy Mercy) I’m in the Bathroom! – All the shit I have to put up with during my respite time; I take you into the upheavals of my life while I’m trying to use the toilet or take a bath. Why folk wanna talk to you while you’re in the bathroom, I never understood the attraction. Children are real good about this and I’d dedicate this one to mine.

What would be the title for the story of your life, folks?

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And the Award Goes to…Sit Down, It Ain’t You

Posted in The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 29, 2012 | 46 Comments »

I know. I’m not accepting awards no more. However, there will be a number of them coming to a TV set near you real soon and I, being the aspiring reality TV celebrity that I am, am implementing my own show of sorts. Don’t be offended if you’re not a recipient. You’re not as deserving as some of these fine guests I’m about to award. These folk in the audience are awaiting to give their acceptance speeches, however reluctant they may be.

Okay, folks. I, Totsymae, am your host. Denzel is co-hosting alongside me and I’ve got The Rock to pull these folk on stage, whom, I strongly suspect, gonna try to act like they don’t hear me calling their name. Oh yeah, get your ass up and come and get your shit ’cause I’ve put in good time for this New Awards Show. If I have to kick off these heels and sling this weave to the side they [Hollywood Head Hunchos, HHH] made me wear for sponsorship, I ain’t got a problem with it. And you don’t want me to take off my earrings. Okay?

Now. There are only two categories on account that this show was done on the low-low. Like, in my den. Do watch your step as you walk up ’cause my boo is up here with me and we ain’t trying to bend down and help nobody up in these fly rags we’re wearing. Plus, I didn’t take out no extra insurance for this special event that wasn’t approved by the homeowners association. Besides, you have plenty money already. Matter of fact, you should be paying me for even thinking about you (rolling my neck and staring down the two folk in the audience).

The Idiot of this Year Already Award goes to Governor of Arizona, Ms. Jan Brewer. Come on up here, girlfriend, and get your shit, honey. First of all, this award comes with etiquette training, which is at the University of Southern Charm down in South Georgia. I will be your instructor and I have the sole right to use duct tape as I see fit. Secondly, fingernails carry germs. During this teacher-t0-student instructional time, should you get mouthy, know that I am highly qualified to kick ass. Unlike President Obama, I won’t be smiling and walking away from you should you put anything in my face. I will resort to my childhood training and commence to whipping your ass. Do know that I shall be victorious, as these special words play in my head, told to me by my mother, “If you come here crying ’cause you got beat up, I’m whipping yo’ ass.” You don’t wanna try your luck with the finger wagging. Trust me, girlfriend. Don’t even go there.

The Idiot Come Lately with Hefty Garbage Bags Award goes to my man, Newt Gingrich. If you don’t get you and that head up here, you better. You were doing fine when you weren’t running for office. Nobody had to think about you. Nobody had to listen to your arrogance and watch you act like some God the “people” really want to lead them. Nobody would’ve known about you trying to be a Mack Daddy, like your good friend, Herman Cain, who was trying to tap ass with every woman he shook hands with. Nobody would’ve had to look at your suit jackets rising above your ass at even the slightest move. You are a greedy one percenter, Newt. All that money you took from Freddie and Sallie could’ve gone to a college student. But no, you’d rather have them holding mops and dust pans. But oh, I do feel you, Newt, are about to get the boot as you continue to open your mouth and talk. Go ahead and say what’s really on your mind, Former Speaker of the House. President Jimmy Carter’s already implied what you are. You are so deserving of this award and then some. If you don’t get up here and accept it, I’m gonna put on my sneakers AND take out my Vaseline.

(Come on, Denny. Get me out of this wig. This thing’s itching the hell outta my scalp.)

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La, La, La (Sticking My Fingers in My Ears)

Posted in The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 19, 2011 | 56 Comments »

  • I don’t care  if Kim Kardashian’s divorcing and I’m kinda wondering about the mental stability of folk who feel like they were duped. Matter of fact, I’m more than a little confused over folk were that caught up. I kinda feel like I need to give you a nice little rub on your back and then smack the shit outta you.

Betty Davis. Watercolor and Ink on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

  • I don’t care if Demi’s leaving Ashton. She’s rich and will make out just fine.  She’ll buy herself some happiness and maybe stop taking her clothes off on Twitter, trying to prove shit. I understand she’s obsessed with body image but at this point, I really want Demi to put her clothes on and go out with a touch of class about herself. If Hugh Hefner ain’t asked her about posing in Playboy then she ain’t worth looking at and I’m throwing the gavel down on that. Next case.
  • I don’t care if Beyonce’s faking her baby bump or not. If she wanna put clothes under her shirts, what business is it of mine?
  • I don’t care if Kate Middleton, or whatever her last name is now, is pregnant. Long as I ain’t got to make child support payments to maintain that lavish lifestyle, she can skip out on all the peanut butter she wants. And ain’t the cost of peanuts gone up? Maybe she’s economizing, being the frugal princess she is (rolling my eyes, hatin’ and thinking, “Whatever, Kate.”).
  • I don’t care nothing about receiving any of Oprah’s favorite things. What about the shit I like? Why can’t she take up an interest in what gets my mojo on and shop her ass off based on that?
  • I don’t care that Regis retired. I never watched his show anyway and from the looks of it, he didn’t suffer because I was tuned in to something else.
  • I don’t care if it’s Justin Bieber’s baby or not. I don’t ‘spect it is and I feel a little sorry for the child in the midst of the mama’s craziness. If you believe she’s carried his baby then you can also believe he knocked me up too.
  • I don’t care if folk think George Clooney is sexy and I’m glad he didn’t make the cover of People for sexiest man alive, as if there really is such a thing. I know I’ll catch flack but he ain’t sexy to me. Matter of fact, I think he’s a little on the whorish side and I know it ain’t right to judge but any other man who sleeps with women young enough to be his daughter is. What makes everybody look past this on account of how he looks? I say, he should join ole Hugh in that playboy mansion and keep a steady rotation going instead of acting like he’s in a committed relationship that’s anything but. On top of that, I don’t think he’s all that as an actor.
  • I don’t care who’s last standing on Dancing with the Stars. Should I?
  • I don’t care about any movie Jenifer Aniston stars in. She’s not box office material and way overrated. Far as I’m concerned, she should’ve settled down and made babies with Brad after Friends and called it a day. They made a cuter couple than Angelina and Brad and that’s pretty much all I gotta say, folks.

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“Reality” Sucks

Posted in Everyday Shit, The Fame Game, Woman in the Mirror, tagged , , , , , , , on August 26, 2011 | 45 Comments »

"Rockin' the Boat" Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

Folks, for someone who typically don’t engage in the reality show shenanigans, and ultimately get caught up, well, they get pissed off. Who are they, you ask. With great reluctance, I raise my right hand to confess, that would be me. I’ve been trying to keep that reality about myself in the closet but it’s been eating at me and I could use a bit of help.

That one and only reality show I’ve put committed time to is Basketball Wives. See, in making this confession to y’all, I had to confront some startling realities about myself. That is, folks, if I were somewhat popular in internet circles, this piece of writing would promote a show that I hate to love watching. And for my own sake, I readily admit, that if this particular post puts the digital radar on me for loathing the glorification of suppose-be-real TV, I would strike a pose for the paparazzi with those Basketball Wives come rain, sleet or snow. Just tell me where to be and I’m there with Christmas lights on, baby. I ain’t playing.

See folks, reality TV ain’t about fifteen fabulous moments in the spotlight. It’s about getting noticed. Period. And you gotta do crazy shit to keep your name out there. I just gotta deliberate on just far I’m willing to go before I step my ass out there. I was telling Little Totsy I was gonna do a vlog and how I was gonna set it up and all and the child told me, “Mommy, pleeeease,” so I’m plotting an alternate plan. Now, I thought of sending my cover work to Women’s Wear Daily Magazine and Vanity but I don’t think they’d be all that interested since it’s been done before.

That week the big fight ensued on Basketball Wives, you would’ve been utterly embarrassed to see me trying to make sure I hadn’t missed seeing those women folk make a spectacle of themselves. To give you insight on how much I was immersed in the propaganda, I was watching previews from the previous week and thought I had missed the show when this big fight took place. Immediately, I got on the computer and “liked” Basketball Wives on Facebook in order to make a self-righteous comment and see the fight I thought I’d missed.

Shit, turned out I hadn’t missed it after all and I didn’t spoil it by clicking the video to see the fight. I waited patiently, like one would want to watch a movie with a good plot unfold. I wanted to hear dialogue of she-said-she-said stupid shit so I could make an intellectual assessment of sensationalized television that demoralizes African American women from my freaking ivory tower. Yes, I did. See, this shit all started with me passing through the den to get to the kitchen, which was wrong in and of itself ’cause my ass shouldn’t have been eating at no 9 o’ damn clock at night. Those loud heifers started grabbing my attention and next thing you know, I’m tuning into the shit like clockwork.

Folks, I so want to be better (pounding the kitchen table) but I’ve been re-programmed to feeling a sense of enjoyment at watching a reality show that’s everything but reality, on some level anyway. The thing with that is, some of it is real ’cause like us, they’re real folks and the one woman who took quite a licking in that fight is suing the licker.

Hmph, I really fault my mother for this affinity I have to a show like this. I mean, if I’d never been immersed in the world of wrestling way back when, going to see live matches and all, I wouldn’t be addicted to that show. This is one flaw I refuse to take responsibility for. In the meantime, while the show’s had its season finale and no other reality shows have appealed to me, I’ll be able to pull myself from the abyss of reality TV.

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Forget Her, I’ll Marry Hugh Hefner

Posted in The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , on July 30, 2011 | 23 Comments »

I’ve about had it, twiddling my damn thumbs around here. Looking at all the shows that’s made regular folk like me become popular, the solution’s been staring me in the face all along. I don’t know why it had never cross my mind before.

See folks, on a few different occasions, I was trying to find a quick hustle  to pimp ole Totsy’s name in neon lights in the way of a reality show. But I have to tell you, I wouldn’t even look at me on TV. I mean shit, I ain’t all that interesting to me. What the hell am I gonna do on the TV set in your living room? Paint? Play around on my computer blogging? Cut the damn grass? Shop for cheap gas? Who the hell wanna see some shit like that?

Then, I came up with the idea of putting a YouTube video out there. Still haven’t figured out what the hell I’d be doing but shit, seems like folk figure it all out right there on the camera, impromptu style. Some of the dumbest shit be on that website and it ends up hotter than July in this here south I’m living in.

Just a quick second ago, I came up with the idea that once my book is published, I could do a public reading in the nude. What the hell’s wrong with that? Well, I’d have to do some alternative drug to even build up the nerve for that and you know, I just like shit to come out naturally, without mind altering sorta products. Kinda my whole reason for thinking of reading naked in the first place.

But then, it all came to me when I wrote this little article yesterday. Hugh Hefner is single and available, y’all. I mean, it’s never been a dream of mine to marry somebody old enough to be my granddaddy but what the hell is a dream if you don’t set the wheels in motion to make it all come true? You think all those ex-wives were really in love with ole Hugh or were they thinking along the lines of enterprising like me? Even with a prenup, I’m sure those women ain’t wanting for shit. The economy ain’t nearly as rocky for them as it is for regular folk like you and me. And you can say what you want but you have to keep in mind, a good few of them playmates up in that house are college educated. My ass could fit right on in there and I know once I got to batting my lashes, meowing and running my mouth, Hugh wouldn’t be able to resist me.

What I’m thinking is, this last bunny he aimed to keep his heart pumping was missing a few watts in her bulb. I mean, she’s out here talking about she don’t know what’s gonna happen to her next. This bunny ain’t got no career path now what she’s hopped from the altar and into these mean streets of job-hunters but I ain’t mad at her. This only presents me the opportunity to get my ass on a plane to where America’s number one playa is and make myself known to him. Hell, if I get nipped and tucked in a few places and finalize that pedicure appointment I’ve been procrastinating on, who’s to say ole Hef won’t find me a fuzzy ball to strap to my ass and have me photographed with a pacifier in my mouth. Shit, folk can talk about morality until I’m blue in the ass, I’m telling you, that ain’t nothing but folk hatin’ cause of them being too chicken to step out and snatch up their own dream.

(Wagging my finger in your face) Don’t judge or hate on me ’cause I’m hopping a plane to ole Hef’s to get my bunny tail. He’s probably got one with my name written all over it.

(My arrogance now, suddenly fading) I just hope these few pounds I put on don’t make it squeeze the shit out of me.

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Toot Your Own Horn, Baby (& Lay On It Like A Mofo!)

Posted in Body Image, Introducing Totsy, The Fame Game, tagged , , , , , , , on June 22, 2011 | 26 Comments »

In order to make it at anything out here, you’ve got to have yourself a sound marketing plan. I don’t care if you’re selling safety pins, you don’t want your long-term hustle to work you. You’ve got to work IT. I’ve got myself a sister who loves hair weave. I mean, love it and can’t do without it. She loves it so much, she wanted to sell it from her house. A residential area, mind you. Quickly, I go to thinking about all the weave-selling shops I pass on a daily basis, so my question to her was, “Who the hell gonna know to come up in here to buy some hair?” Needless to say, the buy-weave-from-the-crib-business never got off the ground.

I said that to say this, folks. Even as a writer, you can’t do the typical stuff that’s going on out here and I’ll go so far as to say that social networking won’t be the cure-all solution either.  And as you well know, Oprah’s just not there for you like you thought she would be. Like myself, you should’ve had your shit together way back when so you could be sitting back drinking margaritas and sailing the Atlantic or one of them oceans out there. We just missed that million dollar boat but there’s still a chance if you’ve got yourself a solid plan in place. Since I like you okay, I’m gonna be generous enough to reveal the plan I intend to follow so this road’s not so long and bumpy as hell. I highly advise you to follow along with me.

I’ve got my sights set on the stars, folks. Not the kind hidden by all the pollutants in the sky but those folks out in Hollywood. This here plan’s gonna serve as your  user-friendly Image Consultant Layout Plan. Just like actors get acting coaches and image consultants, you and I are no better than they are. Matter of fact, we’re a hell of a lot worse off because all we do is sit behind a computer day in and day out.  Social networking is our primary source of communicating. That is, if you’re writing as you should. Forget about balance. A writer is out of balance when they’re out doing such and such when all they can think about is writing. But should you happen to be out and about, you need to start hobnobbing with some key players in this game to create your own fanfare. And I’m not talking about those folk sitting in their ivory towers who send out rejection letters. If you’ve learned nothing else from reality TV shows, you should’ve latched on to some of those strategies they’re using by now.

Just like those reality folk, you’ve got to do away with all your inhibitions and morals. In addition to that, you need to start showing some skin. You might be saying, ‘Well, what about the time Ole Boy wanted your picture?’ I can offer you a simple answer to that. This is strictly business, baby and you have to know the difference. You may also be saying you’re a behind the scenes kinda person, that you need to lose a few pounds to get your body sculpted up like Beyonce but look at your reflection and ask yourself if you’ve got that kinda time or commitment to wait it out that long. Hell, I know I don’t.

If you’re on the shy side, you might want to take yourself a little  drink, just enough to make you tipsy. Next, you’ll want to slide your shirt down enough to show a little shoulder and work that cleavage like nobody’s business, girl. The men out there…you’ll definitely have to pump a few weights to get your muscles taut. From there, unbutton that thing to the waistline and go to flexing your shit. Sex sells and if everybody else is doing it, then so should we. You don’t have to be a romance writer to work this thing. If you’ve ever stripped naked in front of anybody the way you look now, this should be a piece of cake and a scoop of ice cream.  To give you an idea of how far we need to go with this, I’ve come up with some color comps of myself.  I couldn’t be more than happy to take the lead on this new marketing scheme, which makes all the sense in the world if you’re serious about your career as a writer. I want you to holla at me and let me know what you think ’cause I feel like this yellow brick road I’m on will surely turn to solid gold.

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