*Note: Although I wrote this for the one year anniversary of my website: http://janachantel.com/ I definitely think that the advice and the message still applies to all. I hope you all find this helpful.*
As some of you may know the one year anniversary of my blog is this week (Wed. June 13th). Starting off with only 0 hits, I’ve managed to end with a little over 15,000 hits (as of June 12th)—with some views coming from people in other countries. I have to say that I am pretty proud of how I went about setting up, promoting and maintaining my blog. So I would like to share some of my techniques with my fellow writers and all who is interested in starting up a blog.
As some of you may know through my Twitter, my Facebook page, and even my Authors Info profile, I am a complete music junkie. And my favorite genre of music is Hip-Hop. For me writing and music are synonymous. And I study what is going on in the music world—particularly the Hip-Hop world—and then apply it to my writing.
A very common strategy that upcoming Hip-Hop artist do is release a mixtape. A mixtape is usually a CD or a music file (mainly MP3 format) that compiles several of songs that shows off an artist’s skill and is usually free. The releasing of a mixtape helps an artist do three things: 1.) get their name out there, 2.) build up a fan base, 3.) and ultimately get...
Her hair is long—part down the middle, just passing her breasts. She looks back at me intensely, curious as to what I think of her.
Her eyes are brown—beautiful and almond shaped. But there’s age beyond her years behind those eyes.
Nose crooked. I remember she fell off of the tire swing in front of the lake house. Or was it the X amount of times she fell down the basement stairs. Whatever the case, the crooked nose is the result.
Her lips small, thin and closed—keeping so many unspoken words and secrets behind them.
I can only see her from the waist up, but I can tell by her posture that she’s tensed. On guard. Ready for me to make my move.
I smile at her. She returns it back, but I can tell that it’s forced.
“Hey.”
“Guards up. Guards up. Keep your guards up.”
“No need for that. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Guards up. Guards up. Keep your guards up.”
“You’ve done it again you know,” I say. “You’ve isolated yourself.”
“Guards up. Guards up. Keep your guards up.”
“Why do you keep doing this?"
Silence.
“You were doing good. Going out. Socializing with people—what happened?”
“Guards up. Guards up. Keep your guards up.”
I sigh. She looks to her left. I follow her gaze. Nothings there.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Guards up. Guards up. Keep—.”
“Your guards up,” I interrupt. “Yeah I know.”
Frustration comes over me. She’s known to do this. Hangs out...
Dear Daddy,
As you may have already guessed, somebody said something to me that made me sit back and reflect. They said I worshipped you. Made you seem like a better man than you really were. That hurt my soul. That hurt my heart. Ultimately I am a daddy’s little girl.
But I would like to think that through my writing I show nothing but complete honesty. Daddy you were a drug dealer and you use to abuse women.
This was a part of you that I did not like—did not think that was right. I could never condone what you had did. And what made it worst was the fact that you did it in front of your kids.
But you were my dad. And you were my world. You were the first man that I ever loved.
I worshipped you. I made you seem like a better man than you really were.
Naturally, I have to come to your defense when someone talks bad about you. But then I think about your victims—the people that you hurt. They have every right to think bad about you and view you as a jerk.
And it’s hard to be a child of an abuser. The things that I’ve experienced. The things that I’ve witnessed.
But you were the man that I loved and I loved you unconditionally.
I worshipped you. I made you seem like a better man than you really were.
Sometimes I wonder what was going through yo mind...
“You see world, you’re no good/No matter how I hate flashbacks and rewinds/Can’t escape the pain that be trapped in my mind/Now you see world, you’re no good.”—J. Cole “See World”
They were true innocents—bright futures and long lives ahead of them. Sadly, cut short by the evils of this world. And what makes me sad is that they never had a chance to experience the beauty in this world.
This is for the eight-year-old boy who was chopped up in the freezer, for the seven-year-old girl who was raped and left in a dumpster, for the two-year-old baby girl who still can’t be found, and for the twelve-year-old girl who predicted her own death and knew that it was around.
That baby boy got turned around walking from school, so he asked for directions. Now he’s laying six feet underground—I hope he’s well rested.
That beautiful little girl was so close to home when she got snatched up. And they did some foul things to her—things I don’t want to think of. And her body was found in a dumpster. Found in a dumpster like she was a piece of trash. God, how long will this madness last?
Now babies are taken on their daddy’s watch. Little two-year-old baby has been gone away from home for too long. And I keep praying that God will bring her home safely. She’s been gone for 18 days now. Lord, bring her home safely.
And it’s crazy how women can kill their own...
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