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I agree that Black writers need to create these heroines, but Tyler Perry or whoever the director of importance for Blacks is right now, should do the Parable series which all of these books seem to steal from. Octavia Butler's book has religious undertones, but they would be perfect for this type of adaptation. As far as the POTUS I like President Obama and I respect all POTUS because I'm ex military and I love this country, I just complain a little bit.

In the lifetimes of you 2, has there ever been a president who you liked and admired??? Are you still idealistic enough to believe that the POTUS will be a perfect leader who everybody loves and is satisfied with. All you can ask for is that a president does more good than harm. Bill Clinton balanced the budget, introduced family leave and kept the country out of war. Women's issues will be among Hillary's priorities. That's what I will hitch my wagon to because i want to participate in history by voting for a women for president even if I don't particularly like her. Bernie will never be able to pull off his radical reforms. The Republicans aren't even worth mentioning. I don't think Hillary at her worst is as bad as any of these clowns. Is there someone not running who you think should run? I said in another post that the young heroines of such futuristic movies as Twilight, Hunger Games, Divergent, all based on best selling series and embraced by the Millennials, were a trend that black authors should buy into and begin creating books of this genre with black female protagonists.

Hello Everyone, Like I said, I was half-joking and half-hoping. I know it would take mega bucks for the miracle that I speak of to take place for us. Anyway, moving on, I have changed my shipping. I only had it set that way because it took time to order the few books that I needed from Archway. Also, my shipping is based on weight. For my books and t-shirts it is $4.50 to ship. The cost goes up for the mermaid wall dolls because they are heavier and fragile. By the way, I have gone up and down Galveston Beach to check out their mermaid figurines and there wasn't a single pretty Black mermaid doll, painting, or sculpture no where to be found. Galveston Island/beach is surrounded by poor Black folks. But you hardly see any of us on the beach walking around. I was totally amazed by the poverty that is found only a hop, skip, and a jump from the tourist parts of the beach. When I went there to pass out business cards and talk about my book, I was floored by the lack of us!!! About my website, with my book ad on aalbc.com and NAPW, my visits went up quite a bit in the last few days. However, I am only getting window shoppers. My goal is to figure out how to get my visitors to make a purchase. I cannot lower the price of my book anymore without practically giving it away. I cannot and will not turn my mermaids white. So who knows what will happen for me. I will have to find my target audience somehow. They are out there somewhere. Virginia Beach, for example, is famous for mermaids--that's why I love my home so much. I was raised seeing mermaids--of course they were white. Also, Authonomy is down. By the time, I placed my manuscript on the site, two days later, everyone received notice that Harper Collins was discontinuing the service. Troy, I don't have any stats on the number of Blacks that actually had an opportunity to get their books reviewed by the editors and accepted by Harper Collins. I am sure that, like everything else, there were disappointingly few. Finally, I want to say that I go out of my way to support my people as much as I can--especially when it comes to our children. I do not understand why we don't support one another more. Our dollars run out of our communities as fast as we can get our paychecks. I really must move on from this because this is really disheartening. As a true believer in God, I just keep on doing what I am lead to do. Right now that mission is to keep writing and pushing to see how far I get. Again, thanks to all of you, Troy, Chris, and Cynique, on aalbc for your kind enthusiasm and support. I truly appreciate this site and believe me, I am always telling people about it. Troy, I am noticing that when I post, sometimes my post will not fall in order of first to last. It has done this twice. Could I be doing something wrong? Thanks

FUTURISTIC MOVIES, EVERYONE, DIFFERENT RACES GETTING ALONG,IS FINE/ESCAPING REALITY/ I LIKE THE MINIONS MOVIE..TROY CRITICIZED FOR ME NOT POSTING///LIKE SCIFI AND FANTASY MOVIES.

I am certainly connected to your passion in this poem. Very nice indeed.

Caution: This contains strong language. What The Fuck Do You Want From Me? “Son,” she said, “got to do yo’ work.” I ain’t got to do nothin’ Yeah, I’m angry—so what? What the fuck do you want from me? So now it’s all my fault. She can’t read or write eitha. Don’t want me around. He can’t read or write eitha. Neva wanted me from the beginning. Naw, I can’t read and write and fuck math and science--can’t do that neitha. “Son,” she said, “keep your head up and listen.” “Fuck you, leave me alone. I don’t know this stuff—hardly seen any of it befo'. School ain’t my answa—no real support there. They say, too old, foundation crumbling--my existence cracked and weak. Fourth grade come and gone, test scores way low. Can’t recall or retrieve it, too late for me—brain cells said so. What the fuck do you want from me? “Son,” she said, “open your book and read along.” I can’t read this shit. Don’t you think I would if I could? I tried. You know I tried. She persists—always persisting, even encouraging. Better than the one who gave me life. Fake the shit, read somehow. Omit some words, stumble on more, makeup others--satisfy her, make her proud. They laugh at me exposing my weakness and shame. I silence them with my stare. I told you I can’t read this. Leave me alone—Bitch get away from me. Son,” she said, “you’ve got to do this.” Didn’t have no books—she didn’t buy any—no magical blue train engine with his friends, no thousand acre forest with a whimsical bear named Winnie the Pooh and his slow friend—the clever, gray ass— nothing like that in my formative years. “Son,” she said, “don’t you want to go to high school?” Stupid questions coming at me from everywhere—all the time—from all of them. I dream of high school—even college—want to find me a good job. I see myself standing in front of the class reading my report written last night, seeing her face delight in my scholar. But that’s not me—can’t be me. I can’t read so I can’t write. I can’t write so I can’t read. Why am I here? Vicious circles all around me—lying to me, always lying. What the fuck do you want from me? “Son,” she said, “you’ve got to try.” I’m here for you, right here, right now. I’m a big ass teen, big as any man; she said I’m on a third grade level. Don’t you think I know it? I know it all too well. Fuck you, fuck her, fuck him, and fuck all of this reading and writing. Papers with hurried marks ripped and tossed, my pencil splintered in yellow wooden pieces on the floor. What the fuck do you want from me? My aim was straight—my target in range. His image mirrored mine. The bullet hit him square in his back. Blood flowed like red and black ink onto the ground. He could read and write, “literate,” she said. They spun me around, punching and kicking—them at me, me at them. Metal bracelets clench my wrists. Oh fuck! I can’t read, I can’t write, I don’t exist. What the fuck did you expect from me? “Life!” he said. Life with no chance of patrol—I’m sixteen years old. What the fuck do you want from me? What the fuck did I expect from you? Shirley G. Perry-Church, 12-4-2015