Is Confession Good for the Soul?

In this age of blogs, blooks, and what appears to be instant online notoriety, what purpose does a public confession serve? My Granny, may she rest in peace, would say to us, "If you ever get into trouble, do it by yourself, there'll be no one to tell on you." Barring a guilty conscious or hidden cameras, a person could get away with a few things.

If no harm befalls the receiver of said confession, is it wise to reveal? There are bound to be consequences if the information was intentionally withheld: a cheating spouse, a truant child, a lingering medical condition. In each scenario, someone's life may be altered either way.

I discover that a friend is cheating on her spouse, yet remain silent because her intimate life is no concern of mine. I could live without consequence, perhaps until her husband deduces that she's having an extramarital affair and takes upon himself to rectify the situation. How does it end? Will he tail her to the secret rendezvous and wait until they're disrobed, storm in, and beat the guy to a pulp? I'm not my friend's keeper, however, I might feel a tinge of guilt because the situation could've been avoided. My friend's husband is tried and sentenced to prison because of her inability to communicate that they were disconnected, and I sit, head in hands in the back of the courtroom, wondering.

What do I do if I see my youngest brother skipping school during my lunch break from work, as I pull away from the drive-through at the fast food restaurant? Do I pretend not to know him, fearing he'd be more embarrassed by his disapproving oldest brother calling him to task, and do my best to forget? Of course I couldn't forget. But do I call our parents and rat him out, or hope it was first and last time and remain quiet? Fast-forward a few weeks, and he's no longer skipping school, but has started doing things a fifteen year-old should not. He's bowed to peer pressure and started shoplifting to prove he's cool even though he attends class daily. The dreaded phone call. One of the ruffians has implicated him in their string of robberies, and mom calls me, perplexed, tearful: "Where did I go wrong with this child?" Is it my fault that I didn't tell our parents I saw him framed through my windshield in the strip mall parking lot?

I walk in on a relative taking prescription medicine, and think nothing of it until she realizes I'm standing in the kitchen with her and reacts poorly. She swears me to secrecy, stating that it's something simple she can handle, and not to involve any other family members. I'm concerned because of the hereditary illnesses that plague us. Do I take it upon myself to monitor her condition, or trust that she's telling me truth, and leave it to her own devices? In this scenario, my cousin will soon graduate from college, and her energy is split between a fulltime job and evening classes.

CUT TO:

INT. GRADUATION CEREMONY - HOUSTON - NIGHT

African American family populating five rows of folded chairs in large auditorium. In what should be a joyous celebration, none of the assembled appear to be of good cheer. Most wear a somber expression, while others are tearful.

What do you think happened? What would you have done differently?

Kenertiz Media, LLC

Keneritz Media, LLC, is a multidisciplinary publicity/marketing and booking agency based in New York City. We represent mid-career artists, entertainers, musicians and small business owners seeking promotion, marketing and brand building.

We strategically position our clients within their target demographic to transform and sustain their career using established techniques and social media.

Some of our services include writing press releases, creating and distributing press kits, media placements, and cross-promoting with other with vendors for collaborative efforts.

Keneritz Media is a creative solutions provider for singers, writers, actors, musicians, and entrepreneurs who are ready for the next logical step in a rewarding career.

For more information or personal interview, feel free to contact us here:publicity@keneritzmedia.com

Seeking Sci-Fi/Spec Fiction Moderator

I'm seeking a published writer or writing instructor to moderate and participate in a new Morningside Writers Sci-Fi/Spec Fiction Workshop.

There are currently three female writers in the Commercial/Literary Fiction Workshop that would migrate into the new workshop. Ideally looking for three male writers (including moderator), but flexible as long as there is a gender balance.

Each workshop has a maximum of six writers who are workshopped twelve times a year, in addition to writing exercises and career guidance lectures.

If interested, send a cover letter, resume, and writing samples or links to writing samples: info@morningsidewriters.com

Writing Goals 2009?

Greetings NYC Writers -- Stopping by to wish you all a blessed, productive, and prosperous New Year 2009 that includes agents, staged readings, productions, and bylines.

What are your writing goals for 2009? Do they include joining an online or local writing workshop to help push you to the next level in your writing career?

If so, I urge you all to check out Morningside Writers Group, heading into our sixth year, as a strong and reputable writing workshop for writers in the metro NYC area. There are seats available in the Fiction, Memoir/Creative Nonfiction and Screenwriting/Playwriting Workshops. Visit the website for application information and procedure.

Happy New Year!

Christmas in Huelva-Gibraleon

I woke this morning with any number of titles and ideas for blog entries, articles, and story ideas on my mind. As I stirred from bed and headed to the shower, I felt the stillness of the apartment. The cats were asleep, and my roommate wasn't home. 

Today's Christmas, and yet it feels like yet another day to me. It wasn't always like this. Those of us who still lived with Granny, days leading up to Christmas were always exciting for the grandchildren. Christmas Eve found my aunts and mom cooking, baking, and wrapping last-minute gifts.  

There was the obligatory competition among the children on who received the best gifts as we tore the paper from an assortment of boxes and packages. No one wanted to receive useful gifts such as socks, underwear, or sweaters before we fell prey to labels and celebrity endorsements. 

As time has passed, I identify less with what Christmas should be versus how I feel inside. Jewelry, cars, or Caribbean trips with on-again-off-again lovers mean nothing to me if there's no heart and soul at the center of the celebration. 

I'm not speaking from a place of cynicism. I like giving and receiving gifts just like the next person, but when confronted with rude or unknowledgeable retail clerks, unrealistic or demanding gift requests, and a swarm of shoppers, I'd rather return to a place I visited years ago in Southern Spain. 

I met a Spanish exchange student in the ELI (English Language Institute) back in college who years later invited me to visit her, "Come to see me when you're in Spain!" The turn of events that led me to Spain would make an interesting essay on race and prejudice in another post. For now, I'll concentrate on the time I rediscovered the meaning of Christmas on a rain-soaked Christmas Eve in Huelva. 

I traveled by train from Madrid where I'd been staying in a private room in a three-star hotel, to spend time with Rosa and her family for about a week before traveling to Paris by bus. 

The short of the long is that I was an odd celebrity of sorts as the only person of color in town. I think they'd seen Africans before, not sure, but I was a different complexion and build, so they didn't know what to make of me. Automatic cameras were at the ready with my face in the center of the frame. I was treated with an admixture of awe and respect, had a few glasses of homemade vino dulce, and was schooled on how to buy fine Spanish leather accessories. 

I remember walking to the center of the town's church for midnight mass, folks arm in arm, singing yuletide songs in Spanish, under a sea of umbrellas protecting us from the steady rain. We arrived at church thoroughly soaked but in great spirits. I miss that sense of family and community rolled into one. After a day or two, my seeming differences had worn off or blended into the tapestry of this quaint town. 

I miss the simplicity of waking up without expectations on Christmas morning as I did as a child, but I'm sure I can find my way back to that place in my heart if I block out the commercialization (bastardization) of an American Christmas that I was thousands of miles away from in Huelva. 

Morningside Heights Guide - February 2009

Dear Family and Friends,

I hope you all are enjoying your holiday season and are looking forward to a recovered economy and better 2009!

I'm reaching out to you all in Manhattan, specifically those who currently live, have lived, attended university, and or familiar with Morningside Heights/SoHa for useful information, tips, tools, and hidden gems in the area for a new guide that will be released early 2009.

I'm looking for restaurants to review, local businesses to highlight, business owners to interview, and a local hero that has lived under the radar.

What makes Morningside Heights different from Hudson Heights and Harlem, Inwood, or Washington Heights in your opinion?

I'd be forever in your debt. Happy Holidays!

Walk Of The Chameleon

As long as I can remember, I've been able to immerse myself into whatever it was I was doing. This skill was helpful during my time on stage or in front a camera as an actor. A director wants to mold an actor into an ideal character so that nothing of him remains, thereby beguiling audiences.

Disappearing into a character is good for actors, but might not work as well at a job interview, in a marriage, or when accosted in a dark alley or elevator. I've only been guilty of acting or blending in to get a job. The masquerade lasted a few months or years if I played the role of employee well.

I used to have a friend who'd ask, "Tiger, where are you working this week?" I was adept at getting jobs back then, perhaps out to prove something to someone, but it escapes me now. We'd joke about it, but my early employment record seems anything but comedic now. Some people call me a hustler because of the same ability to walk into a situation and get what I want. I take it as a compliment, acknowledgment of my determination and chameleon tools.

Over the years I've had an assortment of friends and acquaintances, rich, poor, codependent, and downright dangerous, that I walked alongside, counseled, and had reciprocal lessons. I sampled and absorbed the best of them, for better or worse, a veritable all-you-can eat buffet.

No one's to blame for my true nature. I'm a survivor. My childhood and young adulthood wouldn't have warranted a mental health professional, been fodder for a TV show or movies.

There are days I when I feel abnormal, when I think it'd be easier to have remained in Texas as a tenured Ph.D. in English Literature at any number of universities. Ah, wonder. Life as a married professor living in the suburbs with my 2.5 kids, and dog named Spot or Rover. Nice work if you can get it, but the more I thought about that life and career track, the less appealing it sounded to me.

I'm at my best when challenged and able to express my different selves. Humans are multi-faceted creatures. Why then should we settle for what's predictable and safe?

I've experienced yet another metamorphosis in recent months. I've launched a part-time Publicity/Marketing business, Keneritz Media, LLC, a multidisciplinary agency. I work with a diverse list of clients in music, media, and business. My training in theatre, directing, writing, editing, and experience in corporate America is the foundation for my creating a successful enterprise. I'm closer to an ideal balance of colors and talents as a Publicist. My current clients require specialized combinations of me depending upon their career goals and temperament. I think I might be onto something. Being a chameleon isn't a bad thing at all.