KEEP SMILING MISTRESS (An Ode To Writing) by William Fredrick Cooper
Written July 10th, 2008
KEEP SMILING MISTRESS, FOR YOU GOT ME.
YOU ARE MY WIFE NOW.
SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG.
NOW SMILE AWHILE FOR ME
JUST SMILE..
Peron E. Long,
Having captured my soul in the palm of your hand, reading your touching tribute to that everlasting girlfriend has me humbly asking if I could piggy-back. I hope you don't mind my undying affections for my mistress.
You know, you'd be surprised at the kindred spirits that lay under the surface when it pertains to Our First Love. Despite the genre differences and business agenda that in some ways corrupt that innocent feeling one might have with their first love, after reading your powerful prose, you realize the passion for your ‘boo’ is the same as the love for my mistress. eerily so.
Yes, brother, I too got excited in those formative years when going to the BOOKMOBILE. Taking out all the sports books I can imagine to study history, I would stretch the limits of my library cards by reading… ENCYLOPEDIA BROWN. Kindred Soul, I grinned that youthful grin when I read that. It gets scarier, Peron: Did you enjoy meeting ‘Ralph’, in Judy Blume's Forever? I did, but only after my substitute sixth grade teacher spent the last month of school reading Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret. Ah, the joy of it all. Wanting to have an affair to remember way back when the flirtations of my mistress first tempted me...
And played with my heart. Junior High School brought on the first love letters, to Martha Smith. Too bad she didn't like me, as I wasn't exciting enough (Were bookworms ever exciting in the seventh grade?) But that crush for introduced me to one of my best friends, David McGoy, for we both liked her at the same time. More on David later.
High School had me falling in love again, and more love letters came. So long in fact, that by the time they reached the point of affectionate expression, the apple of my would say the letter took too long saying "I LOVE YOU". That was her fault... damn, mistress. David, who went to a private school, and I used to exchange ten page TOP TEN PROGRESS REPORTS filled with joy and pains of puppy love, fantasies, dirty little secrets and lies. Being a sports junkie simultaneously, I wrote sports stories for the school paper. However it was a mock interview I wrote on a regents exam read to the whole English Department that told the teachers about my mistress. They tried by giving me Hemmingway and Tennessee Williams when others were chasing the Jordache Jeans, but I still didn't get it.
I think the mistress was angry with me for a tick...
Or was she molding me into the husband I couldn't see myself ever being to her? Introducing me to Jawaaza Kunjufu, Haki Madhabuti, Franz Fanon, Carter Woodson and the speeches of Malcolm X and Dr. Benn, her anger at the unjust, social ills of a community spawned militant letters concerning the racial climate, and injected a passion to helping our people that continues to this day.
How would I do it, I asked? My mistress had the answer. Running me through a series of emotional traps while combining this with the love I had for reading, she opened up a new avenue of reading by way of Terry McMillan. While pleasantly refreshed with this new assortment of books, I became frustrated. Arguing with her about the belief systems of African-American Women and negative conditioning that still, to me, are very subjective, I asked her how. How do I show readers that men have the same battles of hope and despair with regards to affairs of the heart?
By showing your life, flaws and all, my mistress said, adding words of caution.
"You will be perceived as having a woe-is me attitude, because it's never been done before. Men don't let women in to see their insecurities up close, so how can they fully understand a brother that cries because he's in touch with his femininity? And because of their issues, they won't see the depth of your strength. And through it all, some will still perceive you as weak, because they simply don’t want to go deeper. Given the struggles of everyday life and the need to escape some of them in books, can you blame the? However, in some places, there will be people hearing that tree fall.”
David McGoy was one of those people. Having a mistress of his own, he shared tips about keeping that other woman happy. Starting sentences with verbs, alliteration, and putting every ounce of emotion in every sentence, he said, you will be different, brother.
Back to the mistress I went with Six Days In January. She loved it, but demanded more.
“You’re a very deep man, who writes from the soul. You won’t be a major bestseller, but your words will linger long after you’re gone. You have to decide how much you love me and make a choice as to our path.”
My proposal to her came in the form of There’s Always A Reason. The reviews received prophetic of her words, sure I mess around on my wife by writing the sexually erotic story. But for the most part the mistress-turned-wife keeps me happy by challenging me with social issues that need addressing, the flaws in all of us that need further examining, and the need of acceptance of people with all the love a writer can muster. My wife has demanded that I keep a foot in the past and remember Baldwin, Wright and Hurston, but study the craft with the efficiency of Eric Jerome Dickey, Timm McCann and Tracy Thompson. Like the Oakland Raiders of my sports affinity, I have made a commitment to excellence that my wife wants.
David McGoy, my editor still demands me to go deeper, as does the email writing tips of Steven Barnes, a man who saw the same thing my mistress saw me; my passionate need to master the craft. But it wasn’t till I read your words, Peron, that I fully understood the love one must have for the captivating creative capsule. Once that girlfriend, mistress and/or wife invades your blood stream and its meditation magically moves from mind to paper, the articulate addiction is awesome. Improving on its improvisational journey with knowledge of every crevice and cranny the craft offers, a finished product brings a fulfillment like no other.
That first love can be something, can’t it, brother?
With all my heart,
William Fredrick Cooper
Written July 10th, 2008
KEEP SMILING MISTRESS, FOR YOU GOT ME.
YOU ARE MY WIFE NOW.
SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG.
NOW SMILE AWHILE FOR ME
JUST SMILE..
Peron E. Long,
Having captured my soul in the palm of your hand, reading your touching tribute to that everlasting girlfriend has me humbly asking if I could piggy-back. I hope you don't mind my undying affections for my mistress.
You know, you'd be surprised at the kindred spirits that lay under the surface when it pertains to Our First Love. Despite the genre differences and business agenda that in some ways corrupt that innocent feeling one might have with their first love, after reading your powerful prose, you realize the passion for your ‘boo’ is the same as the love for my mistress. eerily so.
Yes, brother, I too got excited in those formative years when going to the BOOKMOBILE. Taking out all the sports books I can imagine to study history, I would stretch the limits of my library cards by reading… ENCYLOPEDIA BROWN. Kindred Soul, I grinned that youthful grin when I read that. It gets scarier, Peron: Did you enjoy meeting ‘Ralph’, in Judy Blume's Forever? I did, but only after my substitute sixth grade teacher spent the last month of school reading Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret. Ah, the joy of it all. Wanting to have an affair to remember way back when the flirtations of my mistress first tempted me...
And played with my heart. Junior High School brought on the first love letters, to Martha Smith. Too bad she didn't like me, as I wasn't exciting enough (Were bookworms ever exciting in the seventh grade?) But that crush for introduced me to one of my best friends, David McGoy, for we both liked her at the same time. More on David later.
High School had me falling in love again, and more love letters came. So long in fact, that by the time they reached the point of affectionate expression, the apple of my would say the letter took too long saying "I LOVE YOU". That was her fault... damn, mistress. David, who went to a private school, and I used to exchange ten page TOP TEN PROGRESS REPORTS filled with joy and pains of puppy love, fantasies, dirty little secrets and lies. Being a sports junkie simultaneously, I wrote sports stories for the school paper. However it was a mock interview I wrote on a regents exam read to the whole English Department that told the teachers about my mistress. They tried by giving me Hemmingway and Tennessee Williams when others were chasing the Jordache Jeans, but I still didn't get it.
I think the mistress was angry with me for a tick...
Or was she molding me into the husband I couldn't see myself ever being to her? Introducing me to Jawaaza Kunjufu, Haki Madhabuti, Franz Fanon, Carter Woodson and the speeches of Malcolm X and Dr. Benn, her anger at the unjust, social ills of a community spawned militant letters concerning the racial climate, and injected a passion to helping our people that continues to this day.
How would I do it, I asked? My mistress had the answer. Running me through a series of emotional traps while combining this with the love I had for reading, she opened up a new avenue of reading by way of Terry McMillan. While pleasantly refreshed with this new assortment of books, I became frustrated. Arguing with her about the belief systems of African-American Women and negative conditioning that still, to me, are very subjective, I asked her how. How do I show readers that men have the same battles of hope and despair with regards to affairs of the heart?
By showing your life, flaws and all, my mistress said, adding words of caution.
"You will be perceived as having a woe-is me attitude, because it's never been done before. Men don't let women in to see their insecurities up close, so how can they fully understand a brother that cries because he's in touch with his femininity? And because of their issues, they won't see the depth of your strength. And through it all, some will still perceive you as weak, because they simply don’t want to go deeper. Given the struggles of everyday life and the need to escape some of them in books, can you blame the? However, in some places, there will be people hearing that tree fall.”
David McGoy was one of those people. Having a mistress of his own, he shared tips about keeping that other woman happy. Starting sentences with verbs, alliteration, and putting every ounce of emotion in every sentence, he said, you will be different, brother.
Back to the mistress I went with Six Days In January. She loved it, but demanded more.
“You’re a very deep man, who writes from the soul. You won’t be a major bestseller, but your words will linger long after you’re gone. You have to decide how much you love me and make a choice as to our path.”
My proposal to her came in the form of There’s Always A Reason. The reviews received prophetic of her words, sure I mess around on my wife by writing the sexually erotic story. But for the most part the mistress-turned-wife keeps me happy by challenging me with social issues that need addressing, the flaws in all of us that need further examining, and the need of acceptance of people with all the love a writer can muster. My wife has demanded that I keep a foot in the past and remember Baldwin, Wright and Hurston, but study the craft with the efficiency of Eric Jerome Dickey, Timm McCann and Tracy Thompson. Like the Oakland Raiders of my sports affinity, I have made a commitment to excellence that my wife wants.
David McGoy, my editor still demands me to go deeper, as does the email writing tips of Steven Barnes, a man who saw the same thing my mistress saw me; my passionate need to master the craft. But it wasn’t till I read your words, Peron, that I fully understood the love one must have for the captivating creative capsule. Once that girlfriend, mistress and/or wife invades your blood stream and its meditation magically moves from mind to paper, the articulate addiction is awesome. Improving on its improvisational journey with knowledge of every crevice and cranny the craft offers, a finished product brings a fulfillment like no other.
That first love can be something, can’t it, brother?
With all my heart,
William Fredrick Cooper
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