Revised Writing Goals

My hopes, as they concern writing, are to continue to do so primarily through blogging, with the ultimate aim, of at some point, having enough quality material submittable for publication. Though my writing expertise has, in the past, been primarily critical per my academic training, my aim is to muster the creative energy to begin with a memoir (a sample of which from something I wrote nearly a decade will soon be posted as soon as I download the necessary PDF-to-word conversion program). Though my creative wherewithal can be developed, I figure the best well to write a memoir, is to, well write a memoir. Though this may sound glibly ambitious, I figure if I put my Nike’s on and “just do it,” as the slogan says, pieces will slowly fall into place.

While this is a blog functions as dropbox of sorts for my thoughts, there is nearly a ream of PDF’s that have yet to be converted from the archives (physical), as well as an infinite supply of psychic resource that has yet to be drawn upon.

The process will be active and retroactive, meaning that as I continue to write over the next year(s), the final draft so to speak will be a refined synthesis of material posted here (cut and pasted in some semblance order of course), as well as more original material used to fill in any number of necessary blanks. I will continue to post consistently, so as not to put the proverbial cart in front of the horse. Gradual exposure of the blog and my name, a route that would lead to the aforementioned end, would suffice if less circuitous measures prove difficult to secure. Though the publishing world is foreign to me, a number of people whose expertise would lend itself to this shadowy domain have thankfully availed themselves, their resources, as well different opportunities to me.

Were it not for the sustained and continued support and inspiration from everyone ranging from my earliest elementary school teachers to later graduate mentors, dear friends, to unacquainted blog readers, this goal, however lofty, would never have even materialized, so thank you all for a confidence which otherwise may have been very well absent, as we proceed from this juncture.

Our gifts are something that were once described to me as the things we do best with the least amount of effort. While writing is a pastime and passion of mine honed through a lifetime of practice, institutionalized (i.e. academic) and free-flowing (e.g., unstructured outpourings that you are likely to find here), that may, in my case, suit this definition, it doubles as a privilege as well. The ability to express, to speak to those who may be affected and for those who may be afflicted by the contents of these utterances, stands not as a weighty responsibility, but as a honor to have been received.

The most recent US Census indicates that 12-13% percent of the population self-identifies as Black. Approximately 4.4% of that same American populous has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder according to the Archives of General Psychiatry. If you do the math, these markers of identity dually strike less than one percent of the population (though it is difficult to say how many Black Americans go undiagnosed due to any number of factors such as obstructed access to and distrust of the healthcare system).  When compounded by those who are both willing and able to speak candidly about their experiences this number dwindles even further and varies indirectly with the aforementioned grandness of the privilege it becomes to give voice. All this is to say that the market, for a lack of a better term, for minority mental health is one waiting to be claimed from the bastardized spaces between stigma and shame.  

Some say efforts to publicize the personal are brave and courageous. To classify disclosure as such is one way to term them, but holding on to or hoarding my experiences and insight gleaned from them would strike me as terribly selfish in another light These things happened, and as, matter-of-fact as it say sound, if they provide a lesson and/or a laugh to someone who may be in need of either, who am I to deny whatever audience may be out there. And though it took many a torturous year and many a manic phase to squeeze the lemonade of out these perceivable lemons, as the vision and focus are defined further, the journey itself becomes that much more appreciable.

This black and bipolar intersection strikes me as one whose uniqueness forms the ground for a story, and others like it, that are waiting to be told. If my efforts embolden even one other person to tell their own story, sway from trial to triumph in their own life, or even seek help then my expectations will have been exceeded in the most exquisite of fashions.