Nightmare on Your Street : NY Times Op-Ed

Spiritual Warfare in Harlem Update: I was recently interviewed by Lizzy Ratner, NY Times Reporter for story on haunted New York apartments. The original blog entry is here.

The interactive Op-Ed dated October 30th is available online here, scroll through to panel number six. Don't freak out because of the number six as some might attribute it to the mark of the beast. Maxie's pictured left.

I’ll Take Manhattan, Along the Adirondack Line

New York City is an ideal place for people of all ages who want to unwind, play, and meet new friends in an energetic backdrop.

Beginning at the southern tip of Manhattan, the borough offers views of The Statue of Liberty, Brooklyn, and New Jersey from Battery Park City, which buttresses The Hudson River. Fall is a good season to stroll along the multi-leveled plaza, watch sailboats zip by and stately cruise ships glide by to dock in Midtown Manhattan.

While you’re downtown, don’t forget to walk over the cobblestone streets to The South Street Seaport to shop and dine in various retail stores and restaurants. The historical area adjacent to the Seaport has yet more quaint shops and restaurants within minutes of Wall Street and the NYSE.

The next stop on our walking tour of Manhattan brings us to TriBeCa and world-class hotels, novelty shops, and locations for various movies and television shows, not mention the tony residences of local celebrities such as Robert DeNiro and Leontyne Price. Manhattan is best experienced on foot, so be sure to wear comfortable clothes and shoes, and bring bottled water. Manhattan can’t be fully enjoyed in one day, there’s much to see and do in different neighborhoods, museums, and at landmarks.

No trip to Manhattan is complete without a visit to Chinatown, east of TriBeCa, and within a few blocks of the Lower East Side. Crossing Broadway into Chinatown is akin to stepping back into time or traveling to a small village in the Orient. All manner of fowl and fish are visible in restaurant windows and specialty stores as you navigate along the main thoroughfare of shops and kiosks that sell faux designer handbags, athletic wear, and New York memorabilia.

Sights, sounds, scents, and multiple mainland Chinese accents and dialects compete for your attention as you traverse along the zigzag streets heading further east. The Lower East Side and the East Village are eclectic neighborhoods, but don’t offer outsiders anything of interest. The allure of these two areas lies in their offbeat and anti-establishment status, a one-time haven for creative types and musicians who couldn’t afford to live above 42nd Street. It still maintains its avant-garde status as a home to painters, singers, and denizens who live on the edge, and or aspire to. The neighborhood hosts an annual summer Fringe Festival.

As the name states, Little Italy, has authentic Italian pastries, pasta, and marinara sauce, and the annual San Gennaro Festival in early September. Visitors can also tour the original St. Patrick’s Cathedral that’s now a parish house. The tight-knit streets in Little Italy are reminiscent of New York City’s yesteryear as brought to life on screen in Martin Scorsese’s Gangs of New York.

If culture is what you seek, check out the New Museum of Contemporary Art in SoHo, and then head over to one of best attractions in the city, Chelsea Piers, a multi-unit sports and activity complex where visitors can play golf, ice skate, climb indoor rock formations, lift weights, go kayaking in The Hudson River, and host birthday parties. Silver Screen Studios at Chelsea Piers have also been used for feature films, dance rehearsals, special events, music videos and commercials.

Midtown Manhattan is home of The Empire State Building, Madison Square Garden, and Macy’s Department Store. Visitors and native New Yorkers head to the Observatory on the 86th floor for a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline. You’ll never be at loss for entertainment at The Garden with year-round sporting events, solo musical artists and bands, and family shows. Christmas shopping at Macy’s is a must during a fall visit to New York City. The block-long store’s windows are decked out in holiday fanfare and decorations accent the entire store. Santa Claus is usually on hand to grant wishes and check his list one last time before he climbs aboard his sleigh for the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in November.

Once you’ve caught your breath from all things shopping, make your way to Lincoln Center for The Performing Arts, where you’ll find an entertainment complex that features renowned orchestras, ballet performances, independent films, and opera. If Wagner, Mozart, Mahler, or Pedro Almodóvar isn’t to your liking, head east to Central Park to see the orange and brown fall leaves, rent a bike and peddle leisurely around the six-mile circumference, or go horseback riding along the Bridle Path.

No visitor should leave Manhattan without experiencing Harlem’s Apollo Theatre on West 125th Street, a place where dreams still come true, while others are dashed on stage during its weekly Wednesday Amateur Night. The audience shows its appreciation for stellar acts with thunderous applause, and cast many would-be performers off the stage with raucous laughter. A final stop on this trip is The Cloisters at Fort Tyron Park, with its collection of art and architecture from medieval Europe. It’s also a great place to shop for last minute gifts and keepsakes before continuing on to your next destination.

Spiritual Warfare in Harlem

I've sensed for years that there's a presence or ghost in my apartment. I've written on this topic before, but feel I must readdress because I'm more determined to rid my living and creative spaces of the unwelcome boarder. I sense that it's an older African American/Hispanic (blatino) male, in his mid to late 50's, that committed suicide in or near the bathroom or kitchen window. There are times when I feel a gravitational pull when I'm near the bathroom window more so than the kitchen, as if I'm floating or leaning over the windowsill. I don't want to relive what he, heretofore unnamed, Gustavo, experienced during the last moments of his life. Did he actually commit suicide or was he pushed to his death? Did he commit suicide in the alley below or met with some other end at the hands of an angry assailant?

It matters not how Gustavo met his end. It's time for me to evict him, and send him into the light. He's not malevolent. He's lonely and distracting when it's most inconvenient for me. I've numerous creative snippets, opening paragraphs, and titles simmering in my idea journal that he's been preventing me from completing. Not one for navel-gazing, my mind wanders, and off I go cleaning or rearranging something. This isn't avoidance or typical creative procrastination. I've felt a weight descend upon me. During those moments, I've been able to step outside of my body and see myself in suspended, distracted animation.

Gustavo's a puppeteer, and I've been his unwitting doll that he's manipulated far too long. It's time to call on fellow faith/spiritual warriors to exorcise and evict him.

My mistake has been downgrading him all these years. He's not evil, just lonely. He's not evil, just finds ways to distract. Well, enough of that nonsense. If it's not helping me, it's definitely hurting me. Gustavo, I'm calling you out. Be gone!

I've made excuses for myself, and those, too, must stop. I know Gustavo's real, and not a euphemism or thinly-veiled rationale for fear of success, of which I know I don't suffer. I've thought this through over the years. Probably too much. I've given it and him energy that should've fueled my writing, working out, living, rather than feeling trapped in my home office.

I need to figure this out soon because I'm not getting any younger, and I've circled this fork in the road too many times. What could this/he represent in my life?

There's a marked difference when I'm not in the apartment. Outside, I feel free, weightless, and oftentimes don't want to return home. I know what I feel is real, and not something I've manufactured from my writer's toolkit.

I've felt the presence of evil sitting on the edge of my bed that made me bolt upright and command it to leave. That was a one-time occurrence. Maybe I've been wrong all this time, and it was Gustavo who sat on the edge of my bed, but then has since changed his complexion so that I think he's innocent and not focused daily on getting rid of him. Angels and demons, from what I've read and been told, are masters of illusion.

Act Three: time for me call upon all of my faith, strength, and determination and send him into the light. Gustavo, I send you forth into the light, or the into the bowels of hell, if you prefer. Just get thee behind me!

Blog Talk Radio: Staging Your Writing 06/27/09

Which challenges do you face in your creative writing life? Are you looking for a writing workshop, yet unable to locate one in your local community? What about starting your own writing workshop, or joining an online workshop?

Anjuelle Floyd and Morningside Writers Group founder and moderator, Kendall Williams, discuss Staging Your Writing to create dynamic and publishable personal essays, memoirs, fiction, screen, and stage plays.

We will also discuss the challenges and triumphs of starting and maintaining a committed writing workshop and community.

Join us on Saturday, June 27th, 3 p.m. (EST).

Lady Clancy : Laid To Rest

I used to be allergic to a stray bobtail cat lurking around my Granny's house. Granny's house was always a soft place to land for family and neighbors alike, and apparently stray animals found our company appealing as well.

I started kindergarten with mummified legs because I had sores between my knees and ankles. I remember my mom getting upset because the teacher wanted to discipline the entire class, but couldn't include me for an undisclosed reason.

I avoided cats from that point in my life until I relocated to the East Coast and a feline purred and cooed in and out of my legs, unbeknownst to me, as I sat in the living room of a Dominican grandmother with a Cruella de Vil white streak in her otherwise jet-black air. I jumped, certain I'd have an allergic reaction, and perhaps rushed to the emergency room. I didn't have a reaction. One childhood trauma overcome.

As I recall, I was feeling homesick, and tried to talk several grade school and college classmates back in Texas to relocate as my roommate. When that failed, my thoughts shifted to adopting a pet. I didn't have a good track record with puppies, and the thought of walking a dog in a new frigid climate wasn't on the top of my list.

I thumbed through The Village Voice, and landed on an ad from a cat rescuer in Stuyvesant Town. In my newfound allergy-free state, I wanted an orange tabby, one of the kittens she advertised.

I arrived at the apartment that undoubtedly had one too many felines, and was guided to a back bedroom with playful and meowing kittens clamoring for attention, as if they knew they were being screened for adoption. All except one. The orange tabby that I wanted, didn't want me.

Defeated. Crushed. I took my pet carrier and slinked out to the hallway. The cat lady wouldn't be outdone by a persnickety kitten. There was another litter of rescued kittens playing in the bathroom. I made my way inside and sat on the edge of the bathtub. What would it hurt to look at other kittens before I left?

My heart was set on that orange tabby, but an affectionate gray calico had other plans for me. She brushed up against me, perhaps because she was sick of auditioning for would-be adoptive parents. I scooped her up into my arms and off we went with her initial vaccination records.

Nineteen years and a second tortoise shell cat later, I was faced with the decision to euthanize Clancy after a long bout of illness. My once fat cat had lost weight, her gaunt face and hollow eyes begging me to put her out of her misery.

I procrastinated. I prayed for a miraculous recovery. Maxie, the younger cat, began avoiding her. She knew we were all preparing for a slow death march, and wanted no part of our subterfuge. Maxie did her best to keep me distracted, away from Clancy.

I accept now that it was selfish of me to prolong her pain, but I wasn't ready to let go. I logged onto the NYC Animal Shelter website weekly in attempt to steel myself for what might happen, but there'd be no way to script my emotional state and reaction. What if she died at home underneath the kitchen table? Would that be best for all involved? I'd have preferred not to have taken her to the shelter in East Harlem. I was greeted by a mixture of dying, fearful, or soon to die animals.

The shelter clerk wasn't welcoming or warm. The volunteers questioned my decision, while at the same time trying to get me to adopt a new pet before I left. I wanted to turn around. I couldn't end her life no matter how many times I had to clean up after her because she wasn't able to make it to the litter box.

I experienced an admixture of calm and uncertainty as I filled out the surrender application. Yes, I want to view the body afterward. Yes, I'm willingly ending her life. No, I won't hold anyone responsible.

I lifted her over the counter, and that was the last time I saw her alive. Forty-five minutes later, my roommate and I walked to a back room and spoke to her corpse, eyes opened, lying on her side. She looked peaceful. I tried to close her eyes with my fingers. I couldn't. They wouldn't close. I apologized. Somewhere inside me, a light turned off, a gong sounded.

No respiratory movement. No snoring this time. The Slavic vet reassured me that I'd done the right thing, that she was in pain and suffering. I picked up the soiled pet carrier, slipped on a pair of purple latex gloves, and blasted out the remaining signs of Clancy with a strong current from a water hose. It was and still remains a surreal experience. I keep waiting for someone to shake me from what seems like a nightmare or a bad joke. She was either underneath the kitchen table, lounging in the clawfoot tub, or reclining on the windowsill as I brushed her.

Empty carrier in hand, a male employee expressed his condolences as he stood cleaning out his shelter truck that I'm sure he collects abandoned and stray animals to that very location. From the bottom of my heart, he said, I'm sorry for your loss.

I'm sorry that I didn't have a backyard or pet cemetery to bury Clancy, instead of a mass cremation with other shelter kills. Everything changes from now on. I won't get a do-over, but I have an opportunity to improve Maxie's life, and when we're both ready, the life of a second kitten.

Toxic Love

Many people are in toxic relationships with a significant other, family member, friends, or with the person reflected in the bathroom mirror. We're taught as children to respect ourselves, and that love doesn't hurt. As we age and shed childish dreams and distance ourselves from our parents' protection, we slowly forget these important lessons and enter into destructive relationships that corrode our confidence and self-worth in order to hang onto somoeone we'd be better off removing from our lives.

It takes two or more to create a toxic situation. The spiritual vampire is normally at the center of the storm along with his/her willing victim. Love and/or the promise of love is seductive, intoxicating, and can be overwhelming in its early stages. I'd venture that most of us enjoy the pursuit, courtship, and initial euphoria of new romantic love or a platonic friendship.

Is love about power, egos, and manipulation? When dealing with an insecure person, certain relationships can resemble a corporate acquisition. These spiritual vampires are quite skilled in what to say and do to attract fans, admirers, and pawns to move about on their Chess board.

Manipulation is both subtle and overt, and oftentimes when we realize we've been lulled into a walking coma, it seems as if it's too late. The Kool-Aid has been digested and taken up residence in our flesh and bones. At this stage, panic sets in, and we feel woozy, stuff our clothes and last remnants of our pride inside an old suitcase, and head for the door.

The dominant one in a toxic relationship isn't always the one with strongest personality or the most intelligent. S/he is a master manipulator, skilled in guilt, and various partner dances to keep victims cheek to cheek whenever the scent of an escape wafts on the air.

All toxic relationships aren't created equal, and some can become dangerous or even turn deadly if left unchecked and untreated. The battered woman who forgives her mate after the first assault and remains in the home is asking for a repeat performance if she doesn't seek help or altogether leave.

Habitual arguments between romantic partners, roommates, or platonic friends should be examined for their root cause. Dancing with a demon isn't fun, as we rise and fall, sway back and forth in that familiar and hypnotic, addictive Tango or Waltz.

How many of us endure toxic relationships because we think we can't do better than the person we're involved with or that we don't deserve mutual friendships? How many of us keep stoking the flames of a relationship because we'd otherwise feel lonely? Rational thinking is abandoned because we yearn for attention, encouragement, and support. Granny always told us, "You can do bad all by yourself. You don't need anyone to help you with that."

I'm not advocating President Obama allocate money to research this oftentimes puzzling interpersonal dynamic, but we need an open dialogue for those who suffer, and treatment for the perpetrators.

I'd like to hear from you on how you ended a toxic relationship. Was it difficult to sever all ties? How long did it take?

Personal Twitter Guidelines

Several self-proclaimed experts have written their official Twitter rules, most of which I don't accept. When I first read about Twitter, I wasn't too sure if it was for me. I knew what a blog was, but this thing called micro blogging, I'd have to observe from a distance.

My initial and ongoing reaction to Twitter is that it's similar to merging into oncoming traffic at a busy metropolitan intersection or highway. You want someone to stop and notice you long enough so that you can join others in a conversation.

We've all rules of engagement, stated or subconscious, and Twitter is no exception. I don't like social media pundits, gurus, and experts offering unsolicited advice on how and why I should interact with people in cyberspace. My understanding of Twitter, MySpace, or Facebook, is that it's self-paced and voluntary. We're not in high school English class with a daily mandatory journal entry. However, some people feel compelled to share the trivialities and minutiae of their lives. God bless them that they have followers who enjoy reading such grocery lists. I personally do not. I prefer differences over a bleating sheep mentality any day.

The beauty of a global audience is that each person has an online signature, much like a fingerprint, whether or not they're aware of it. My opinion: it's sad day online when more people than not follow the beat of another person's Djembe, dun-dun, or snare drum.

I'm flattered when someone wants to follow me, but I don't automatically follow back. No apologies. I'm not concerned with accumulating thousands of followers. I launch Tweet Deck because I like interacting with people I might not otherwise have an opportunity because of time, time zones, and geographic distance.

Why should I automatically follow someone I've no potential personal, professional, or social interest? I don't respond well to unofficial online rules of engagement.
Back to my temporarily being flattered when someone new sends a request to follow. I think someone or something (Mr. Tweet) has advised that I'm worthy of being followed, but that doesn't guarantee I've any interest in following back. I don't want to read one-word tweets "hot", or "going home", or "stuck in traffic".

When I post a tweet, my goal is to offer news, tips, or interesting tidbits that I would appreciate reading. I talk about my personal world, but not to the point of self-indulgence or sheer boredom. Is there a mute button on Twitter? Yes, it's called block or unfollow.

A few reasons why I will not follow, block, or unfollow:

• No personal picture or avatar.
• No personal/business profile or website/blog link.
• No updates: "I've not updated yet!" (When you do, get back to me.)
• The person is obviously online to push their product or service, and has no personal stake for using Twitter.
• The person is more concerned with accumulating followers, similar to notches on a bedpost of sexual conquests.
• When there's an obvious disconnect. The person hasn't read my blog, website, or tweets, and has no understanding of who I am and why I'm online.
• Not understanding that all relationships require time, nurturing, and maintenance. Those seeking instant gratification might be in for a surprise.