Who gets the acacia tree and sunset treatment? The eyes peering above a swept across veil? The profile of a soulful black woman? A grimly, amusing article from The Guardian about book cover cliches.
Living in a part of London where ‘vintage’ means secondhand and damn expensive, I loved these book covers. These are the old books that pop up in jumble sales and charity stores. I so want to be a warrior, while reading the nursery rhymes.
In homage to Americanah’, a spot more hair business. There was actually a sign in a local hairdresser advertising Virgin Brazilian hair. We weren’t sure if the adjective was being applied to the donator or the hair itself. I’m afraid I was too much of a coward to ask.
Anyway, it makes the days of wetlook and gericurl seem so much more innocent.
Welcome, welcome to the first May. It’s Writer Distraction Activity Day. Welcome to the interactive periodic table of TV storytelling.
You have been warned….
Is that the click, click of ‘righthand cat’ and ‘artifact of doom’, I hear?
Somehow I missed these lovely pictures taken from Michael McCollum’s ‘The Way We Wore – Black Style Then’ from my favourite site Flavorwire earlier this year.
A beautifully written and poignant article from the Sunday Review of The New York Times about the impact of the lack of young, African American children in books.
A story for a compilation for girls. No magic, no princesses. This was one of my first paid commissions and my type of story.
I sent in proposals for two stories. One was about two young sisters who made their arthritic grandmother a robotic arm out of an extendable mop handle. The the was a short, sweet tale about a girl who is inspired by the shape and tones of a bees wing to enter the school carnival costume. See? No magic. No princesses.
The proposals were duly submitted and accepted. I wrote the stories and eventually received a big envelope with a copy of the book. My daughter and I, eagerly tipped it out on to the sofa and instantly flailed around searching for our sunglasses.
This picture does not do justice to the pinkness, the glitter and – well – the pinkness.
My daughter, who has nothing to do with ballet, or horses (after being bitten by one) gave me a ‘sell out’ look and disappeared upstairs. It was a good lesson in a) how to write short stories for publication in children’s anthologies, b) gender-specific marketing and c) how parents start to disappoint there children so, so soon.