Four Women and the City

Wow. It's already 2016 and . . . if you didn't know, I started walking my path to happiness in the fall of 2012. This path would lead to the best choice ever, one that I would commit to of my own volition. One that no one could interfere with and one that would bind me closer to God. I dropped everything to pursue my dream, anchored my fingers to the keyboard and the fear and worries of my soul at the bottom of the ocean with the Titanic somewhere. Allowed my laptop to become the nexus of my heart and head. I fell head over heels in love with my characters, and they told me what they wanted from me. I had to remove myself and let them take control, as they wouldn't have it any other way. What I wanted to censor had to take a backseat. Yes, there were times when I had to use my authority over them and put two diagonal bandaids over their mouths for fear of getting me in trouble, but for the most part, they got free reign as all characters should have. They did things I didn't agree with. Lots of them, in fact. But the goal had to be met so the story had to be told. 

This story, this trilogy, is a nod to Sex and the City. Sarah Jessica Parker and friends did something huge, something iconic, and that needs to be celebrated, yes, even ten years later. I wanted to tell my own side of a nod, to pay homage to the woman of D.C. because we are overshadowed by male politicians in power but where is our voice? New York City didn't give the fictional women of SACT a voice! They had to create one. No one's gonna do that and make it easy for you when you're in the minority. Women wanting to speak of (gasp) sex? In public, too? Circa 1998? Certainly some men think that women are domestic monoliths who speak nothing of vaginas and penises. Yeah . . . They're right! Women speak of dicks and pussies because when SATC came on, women looked at one another and said, "Yeah, Samantha! I don't want to say penis. I meant dick!" And guess what? No one died or had a heart attack. Barrier broken. Now do we go slinging these words all over the place like sailors enjoying a lager in the pub? Perhaps not. But women are tired of stereotypes. But back here in DC, women have a bigger problem than women in NYC: trying to be seen among the historical structures, government ID badges, and yes, Capitol Hill figures. We're more than teachers. We're entrepreneurs, we're ambitious career-climbing employees, we're degree-seeking students, we're in the dating pool, we're married. But, we're Black women, we're Latinas. We can keep our natural hair texture and our accents. And we can still rise. 

So, when you open my book, Capital Encounters, realize that this book wasn't a joke for me. Understand that Carrie Bradshaw and friends we're lucky to have those voices even as White women. And they took those voices and ran with it! Know that I wanted to give my fictional women of color voices, too. We, too, aren't monoliths of the bitter, the beat down, and the grouchy. We should be able to calmly depict the bad of our people without the tarp of blame covering us all. By the way, actions are individualistic after all. And I'm okay with pushing that boundary. 

So, read, like, and enjoy my blood, sweat and tears. My characters made mistakes and are gonna have to learn to grow on their own. They were just nice enough to let the world watch them. I warned them about going public, but they wanted to be women in DC with voices. Besides, they think Ms. Bradshaw rocked even when she aired her dirtiest laundry. And if the goal is to inspire one another, I'd say that Carrie Bradshaw and friends did a great job of accomplishing that. 

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