There's this thing about pain. It's addicting and it wears clothes that makes it look like love. I know. Even pain fills out the lonely pockets, tears are better than nothing right? At least you're feeling something. Even it's raw and twisting, pain lets you know that you're still there. Within an inch of your own death, you're just glad to be feeling something.
Being mad at him means he's still there. For a while you think you're glorifying his presence, but really you're lighting fireworks for the pain. You welcome it home with open arms. You throw a party for your own suicide.
It's like a gunshot. It burns and stays stuck in a piece of flesh you never even paid attention to before. At first you're in shock; the warm feeling, the leaking feeling - it gets your attention. Seeing your fingers covered in blood makes you queasy. You rub it to make sure you're not imagining things. You realize that it's real. You're hurt. You're wounded and you need help. But that can take a few days, weeks even, maybe months. Some of you let the bullet stay there and rot inside of you. By then, the pain becomes normal. That twinge, the twisting, the discomfort - that becomes part of your routine. You forget what a day without pain is like. You are in a constant state of distress. It makes you cranky. You're not your usual beautiful self because you're uncomfortable; because you spend so much time pretending that you're ok that you can't be anything else.
Healing seems impossible. The thought of it seems like a mountain you're not strong enough to climb, not with the wounds you have, not with the kind of pain you endure daily. Healing is beyond the statute of your limitations.
The first step is to take the bullet out. Open the wound and remove the obstruction. It will be messy, you will lose parts of yourself - blood, flesh, and maybe some confidence. It will humble you. Put the tattered pieces of metal in a safe place, probably somewhere you don't have to see it every day. You will come back to it later, trust me. It's not over though. Not only do you have to remove the bullet, you have to remove yourself from the path of those inflicting things. Think back to where you got shot. Seriously, close your eyes and recall the day you got hit. Smell the air, look down at your feet, feel the air flow across the back of your neck, listen to the sounds of voices in passing cars and dribbling basketballs. Do you remember what you were wearing? Do you remember the way you styled your hair? Think about it up until the second you got shot, then open your eyes. Look at yourself in the mirror and promise yourself that you will not return to that place without an armor. Do not go back until you're strong enough to be an opponent and not just a victim.
In the meantime, start the healing. And I don't want to lie to you. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. It's hard to walk again. Teaching yourself to do the very things you've taken for granted is not easy. It's discouraging and sometimes you just want to quit. Being in pain will seem easier than being productive. But the truth is, and it's a hard truth - pain and joy cannot occupy the same house. So make a decision, do you want to endure pain or create joy? Do you want to live with what happened to you or truly overcome it? Stop seeking reprimand from the person who pulled the trigger. There's no justice like joy.
This is the unraveling of a twenty-something year old woman. I broke. I cried. I laughed. I hurt myself and others. I grew a backbone. I did many things and had many things happen to me. This story; well, it's the healing of it all. Enjoy.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Pulling the Trigger
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
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The UABBQ
Lately, I've been writing on topics completely outside of my comfort zone. A few weeks ago, I was asked to cover a BBQ. Now, most people would think, "Who would want to write for a BBQ? Why would a BBQ even need a writer? Is it really that interesting to write an entire story on?" But this opportunity wasn't for any regular BBQ.
This was the UABBQ, thrown by 21 men, all alum from the University at Albany. This year was the third installment of the consistently growing event filled with free food, liquor, music, goodies and beautiful people. Just 72 hours after posting the date, 1000 people sent in their RSVPs! Still, think it's a regular BBQ? Over the course of the last few weeks, I've conducted 21 interviews, written four articles and currently am preparing to post nearly 40 full interviews as a bonus to the final RECAP. But that's just behind the scenes.
What I can't fully describe is actually being in the middle of nearly 2000 people on a hot summer day with music, macaroni and cheese and memories that will last me a lifetime. It's something you just have to see for yourself.
Octavious Wilder of #TheCommittee presents to you the trailer for the #UABBQ.
This was the UABBQ, thrown by 21 men, all alum from the University at Albany. This year was the third installment of the consistently growing event filled with free food, liquor, music, goodies and beautiful people. Just 72 hours after posting the date, 1000 people sent in their RSVPs! Still, think it's a regular BBQ? Over the course of the last few weeks, I've conducted 21 interviews, written four articles and currently am preparing to post nearly 40 full interviews as a bonus to the final RECAP. But that's just behind the scenes.
What I can't fully describe is actually being in the middle of nearly 2000 people on a hot summer day with music, macaroni and cheese and memories that will last me a lifetime. It's something you just have to see for yourself.
Octavious Wilder of #TheCommittee presents to you the trailer for the #UABBQ.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
He forgot my eyes were hazel
Sometimes I wished him out of my dreams
Haunted by his smile
Curling my body to the words I wished he'd say
I buried the apologies I never thought I'd hear from his lips
We were obituaries now
Words that once had life in them and are now sad reminders of rotting flesh
I remember thinking to myself, God if you can just watch over him for me
If I had three prayers in my pocket, I saved two for him
The last one I kept just in case the first two didn't work
I wanted him to come back
And heal me
Kinda put his hands on the broken promises and put his lips to the tears he left behind
I wanted him to play back my voicemails and see if he could hear me pleading for his return in just a sad hello
There were so many things I wanted to say but only kisses could replace strange words
Only two dancing tongues could express the kind of pain I dared not speak into the universe
I thought to myself why would I let him get a placeholder so pretty
And I kinda tortured myself for being so ugly when I was there
Those are the kind of moments that novels come from
Where miracles happen and songs come belting out of wombs that once carried babies of parents who no longer loved each other
So sometimes I wished him out of my dreams
I begged God to take him away from me
I would have rather mourned a dead man than to love one who didn't love me anymore
It's exhausting
That kind of unconditional is tiring
It makes it hard to breathe and yet you have to because you don't want the first time he comes back, to see you in a casket
God, I loved him
And when we woke up, tangled in awkward moments
He remembered how hazel my eyes were
and for a second, I think he loved me again.
Haunted by his smile
Curling my body to the words I wished he'd say
I buried the apologies I never thought I'd hear from his lips
We were obituaries now
Words that once had life in them and are now sad reminders of rotting flesh
I remember thinking to myself, God if you can just watch over him for me
If I had three prayers in my pocket, I saved two for him
The last one I kept just in case the first two didn't work
I wanted him to come back
And heal me
Kinda put his hands on the broken promises and put his lips to the tears he left behind
I wanted him to play back my voicemails and see if he could hear me pleading for his return in just a sad hello
There were so many things I wanted to say but only kisses could replace strange words
Only two dancing tongues could express the kind of pain I dared not speak into the universe
I thought to myself why would I let him get a placeholder so pretty
And I kinda tortured myself for being so ugly when I was there
Those are the kind of moments that novels come from
Where miracles happen and songs come belting out of wombs that once carried babies of parents who no longer loved each other
So sometimes I wished him out of my dreams
I begged God to take him away from me
I would have rather mourned a dead man than to love one who didn't love me anymore
It's exhausting
That kind of unconditional is tiring
It makes it hard to breathe and yet you have to because you don't want the first time he comes back, to see you in a casket
God, I loved him
And when we woke up, tangled in awkward moments
He remembered how hazel my eyes were
and for a second, I think he loved me again.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
To the Creatives
“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”
Steve Jobs
Your Questions Answered
Have you subscribed to TassikaLloydPR@gmail.com yet?! If not, hurry up. Send in your full name, mailing address and any questions you have regarding my first novel!
Catch up here to get some insight on the main character.
1. Is this a coming of age story? And is it loosely based on the author's own experiences?
The entire story is a longitudinal observation of a young woman over the span of 10+ years so she definitely comes into her age and prompts other women to do the same. She also serves as a guide for women coming into their own age. We have several "comings" in our lifetime but I think this story addresses the primary one - the delicate stage between puberty and what we find out later to be 'senseless passion.' That's a rough spot to navigate and because that's where the book takes place, it's safe to say, this is definitely a coming of age story.
Everything that comes from me is based on my experiences, but that doesn't always make it my story. That sounds crazy but think of it this way, the things I've done or said - those are mine. But the things that I've seen or heard from others don't necessarily belong to me but that's still an experience. The book itself is based on my world and doesn't always include my personal participation in it. It could have been my homegirl or her boyfriend but I think it's almost a compliment when people think everything is based on me because that means I've done my job as a writer. I've made it so real that it sounds like I'm recalling a memory instead of just throwing some arbitrary thoughts together. I wish I could take the credit for living a life worth writing a tell-all for but I can only take the credit for being creative.
3. When is the book going to be finished?
It's finished my love.
3. Do we have a release date for Dylan yet?
Yes!
4. When is the novel being released?
On Dylan's birthday.
5. How much is the book?
I have absolutely no idea. What do you think is a reasonable price?
6. What is the process in ordering it?
These are really good questions. That's up to the publisher though. From what I hear, the goal is to make it available on its own website as well as other websites that offer E-books. I guess it all depends on where the consumers want to buy it. And I mean there's always the possibility that I'll pop up in your neighborhood and surprise people with the opportunity to purchase it on sight. Keep your fingers crossed!
7. Is Dylan and her story based off a real life situation or person?
Yes and no. Dylan is a completely fictional character so she's not based on any one person. I literally constructed a woman I would want to have a drink with or go get my nails done with. Her story is based on several things and people. Her story is really a culmination of the important (and very real) topics relevant to womanhood - loss, love, betrayal, faith, family, etc. Ooh, I'm giving too much away, but yes and no.
8. What inspired you to write a novel?
You.
9. Is it a self help book?
I get this question a lot and I giggle every time. I always want to say no because when I think of self help, those instructional books like "How to get a man in 10 days, step 1..." come to mind. But it's time to say yes. It is a self help book in that it helps you face yourself and the decisions you make as a friend, a partner, and most obviously a human being. I think people will find themselves reading and relating to subsequently ask themselves, how could I do it differently the next time? More than help, it's a healing narrative. The intention to help and guide is there. It's definitely the motive.
10. What's one thing you hope I will learn from reading your book?
How to love others from a place of purpose instead of possession.
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