_Excerpts from...
Teachable Moment
Presented as a monologue for the Quarantine Diaries, a fundraiser for the Actors Fund that raised over $100K. Check out Sydney Charles's performance of Teachable Moment HERE.
Presented as a monologue for the Quarantine Diaries, a fundraiser for the Actors Fund that raised over $100K. Check out Sydney Charles's performance of Teachable Moment HERE.
Your kids are working in virtual groups while I talk to y’all, so real quick, before I have to go back: Y’all are NOT HELPINNNNNNG. Like, at all. (Beat, sucks teeth) Hold on. (Talks while she types, using her teacher voice): I’m checking back in with you in two minutes. The expectation is an extended metaphor using this week’s vocabulary words. (Beat, switch back to the parents): Sorry. One of your children had a question. Nope. Don’t go and “help” because your answers are wrong. And if they’re not wrong, they’re so RIGHT that I know good and hell well your child didn’t do her own work. Do you really think I’m that stupid that I don’t know who your child is???
The Grammee Chronicles
Honoring and remembering one of the fiercest ladies in my life.
Honoring and remembering one of the fiercest ladies in my life.
Grammee, in spite of mailbox bombs and crosses being burned and death threats during the Civil Rights Movement; in spite of looking white and having the "permission" to pass; in spite of having the opportunity to "live above it all" decided she "still loved being Black." It made this dark-skinned girl take another look at things. I grew into my blackness. Not that it wasn't there before. My mom surrounded me with examples of Black excellence. I had a Black doll collection. I had bookcases full of books by Black authors. But being the ONE black girl in my family when the standard of beauty was everything I was NOT and at a time when beauty to a little girl was EVERYTHING, I still could not love being Black. It took a LOT for me to get there. It took a lot of hugs around my waist as people stared at me. It took a lot of research and deconstructing. It took sitting at my Grammee's feet and understanding the struggle and the sacrifice it took for her to get my mom and her brothers to the other side of the Civil Rights Movement and to get ME to the other side of the parking lot or the other side of my marriage or the other side of my blackness. Her hand is no longer around my waist, but I don't need it there any more. She started living inside me and walking with me and speaking through me a long time ago.
Anenzinga: An Urban Remastering
A fun, modern take on Antigone
A fun, modern take on Antigone
ANN: Izzy, you heard what happened?
IZZY: Naw. I just know our brothers dead.
ANN: I knew it! (Conspiratorially, like in a hush hush tone) That’s why I called you. We got ta rise up.
IZZY: …
ANN: Omigod. You really don’t know NOTHIN’ ‘bout what happened?!? Look. After the war, Cleavon buried Eddie, but left Paul out to rot because Paul was on the other side fighting against him. Cleavon said he ain’ NEVAH gon let Paul be buried right. He don’ care what NOBODY say. AND, he said that if anybody TRIES to mourn him, he’s gon’ kill ‘em dead. Now, here’s where we come in. ‘cause they’re our brothers, right? We HAVE to mourn them. They BOTH deserve to be buried. So what you gon’ do?
IZZY: …
ANN: Um. Hello? Are you in or out?
IZZY: …
ANN: (Annoyed AF) I’M. FINNA. BURY. MY. BROTHER. HEFFA. What you gon’ do?
IZZY: Din you just say, Cleavon gon’ kill people dead if they mourn him? Bih, I’m trying to stay alive.
ANN: He’s OUR. BRUHHHHTHHHHERRRRR.
IZZY: “GET KILLED DEAAAAAADDDDDD.”
IZZY: Naw. I just know our brothers dead.
ANN: I knew it! (Conspiratorially, like in a hush hush tone) That’s why I called you. We got ta rise up.
IZZY: …
ANN: Omigod. You really don’t know NOTHIN’ ‘bout what happened?!? Look. After the war, Cleavon buried Eddie, but left Paul out to rot because Paul was on the other side fighting against him. Cleavon said he ain’ NEVAH gon let Paul be buried right. He don’ care what NOBODY say. AND, he said that if anybody TRIES to mourn him, he’s gon’ kill ‘em dead. Now, here’s where we come in. ‘cause they’re our brothers, right? We HAVE to mourn them. They BOTH deserve to be buried. So what you gon’ do?
IZZY: …
ANN: Um. Hello? Are you in or out?
IZZY: …
ANN: (Annoyed AF) I’M. FINNA. BURY. MY. BROTHER. HEFFA. What you gon’ do?
IZZY: Din you just say, Cleavon gon’ kill people dead if they mourn him? Bih, I’m trying to stay alive.
ANN: He’s OUR. BRUHHHHTHHHHERRRRR.
IZZY: “GET KILLED DEAAAAAADDDDDD.”
Corn
Sheltering-in-place, from a dog's perspective
Sheltering-in-place, from a dog's perspective
Corn-and-ting, Day 2100. My couch, 2020. (sniff, sniff, sniff, lick, lick). I don’t know what’s corn-and-ting, but iss making my hoomans stay home a LOT more, and … Look, I love dem, but dey usedta go away, and now…. Here comes Baoba right now. (jumps up to run to the door; barks): I barks. All. The. Time now, pretending to guard the house. My hoomans point their phone at me when I barks or when I licks maself or when I sleeps or whenever they feel like it. I fink I’m being watched. (sniff, sniff, sniff, lick) Den dey “pose it on the phase book.” My balls are on the phase book! My barks are on the phase book. I hears the lady saying, “He doesn’t want anybody to haz fun. He’s barking everybody off the street. Ellowell.”
Dass NOT what I says. What we have here is a failure to communicate. I barks at my other friends to find out how dere hoomans are loose on the street and why MY hoomans won’t leave! (on table, barking out the window): “Hey! Can you come get MY hoomans?
Dass NOT what I says. What we have here is a failure to communicate. I barks at my other friends to find out how dere hoomans are loose on the street and why MY hoomans won’t leave! (on table, barking out the window): “Hey! Can you come get MY hoomans?
Solo
A Write Club original. Winner of the Solo v. Group debate!
A Write Club original. Winner of the Solo v. Group debate!
You group people need to get a grip. I mean, you’ve always got the person who needs a ride or money, the one who hates going to new places but somehow suffers from FOMO, the person who is allergic to everything up to and including AIR, the attention hog, the indecisive pansy, the loud/ignant jerk, the mope, the dope, the one who thinks they’re funny but they’re not and you wish they would sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up, but NO. ‘Cause you’re in a group and group dynamics dictate that everyone is special and deserves respect. And if you don’t know who you are in this shit show of a list, YOU are the problem.
Think about the things that show off our talent/skill/greatness. It boils down to ONE: The solo. The monologue. The aria. The SINGLE act of kindness. Being unique quite literally means being the only one of its kind. You can’t be ONE of a kind if you’re all grouped up in an amorphous blob.
Think about the things that show off our talent/skill/greatness. It boils down to ONE: The solo. The monologue. The aria. The SINGLE act of kindness. Being unique quite literally means being the only one of its kind. You can’t be ONE of a kind if you’re all grouped up in an amorphous blob.