If you're looking for an excellent, enticing read, please visit
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/results.asp?z=y&ath=Wanda+Hudson
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0972458689/qid=1142375692/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/102-9098132-7690534?s=books&v=glance&n=283155
http://bwmmag.com/magazine/content/view/684/217/
or email wanda_d_hudson@yahoo.com to find out how to purchase Wait For Love: A Black Girl's Story.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Saturday, March 11, 2006
My Write To Breathe
Today is the day I picked up my first order of bookmarks! It's also the day I mailed out copies of my book! Talk about excitement! Some may not understand or say, "What's the big deal?" It's just another book with a flimsy piece of paper to mark the pages. Oh, please don't let me hear anyone say that! If I do, the news will report it as just another ramdom butt kicking by an unknown assailant. Then a blurred sketch photo will flash across the screen, because the victim won't know what actually happened to him/her, or who did the damage.
Wait For Love: A Black Girl's Story has been a long time coming for me. At one point in my burgeoning writing career all I thought about was the word rejection. Rejection...Rejection... I seriously thought of changing my first, middle and last name to mirror this one word. Reject would come into play as my nickname.
Ahhh, the woes of becoming published. They can feel insurmountable at times; comparable to falling off a mountain that you’ve tried to climb bare handed, with no safety net to catch you, and no one to offer words of comfort. So why get up and keep trying? Why continue on a journey when many times you feel there’s no end or glory in sight. It’s simple; it’s my and your write to breathe.
If you inhale air and exhale a story, a poem or a novel, you owe it to your every fiber to continue. This is your God given talent, and no one; not a publisher, an agent, or an avid reader can take that gift away from you. Why yes, of course you need all three to be successful, but when you begin to accept their words of denial as your own, you begin to suffocate. Suffocation is not part of your write.
I type this as a voice of experience, a voice of belief. Over time, that I seem obsessed with keeping track of, I have somehow amassed a complete novel of rejection letters. I have them organized neatly in a red binder in order of their receipt. At times I peruse them, wondering how can someone in their position deny me, my novel, my excellence, a chance at being revered by the reading public. What is their problem exactly? Don’t they know this is my write, my life, and my worthiness on this earth?
It would seem they didn't for the letters of dissent kept coming. The thing I love most about the letters is not the impersonal feel of them, but the fact that I’m so good at handling rejection. I have two or three from the same publisher, each on different stationary, but with the same HELL NO signature at the bottom.
I had the idea of attempting to have my rejection letters published. I changed my mind by realizing doing so would take away from the excellent writer I am. Who wants to be known as the Queen of Rejection on their first attempt? That’s not the image I’m going to portray or the story that I have to tell.
My story is one of success. Becoming a published writer - an accomplished novelist. One who can weave a story to entice you, to hold you, to bring you inside of my world, make you stay, and tell you when it’s time to leave. Those are some of the requirements of my write to breathe.
As I neared the end of seeing Wait For Love: A Black Girl's Story in print, rejection had become a special friend of mine. Every time we met I became stronger, more determined and destined to never meet his distant cousins by way of the postal service again. Keep in mind that another can never take away what’s in you or define your life’s calling. Then go back to your typewriter or computer keys and inhale. I promise you after all of this, you will still exhale your write to breathe.
Wait For Love: A Black Girl's Story has been a long time coming for me. At one point in my burgeoning writing career all I thought about was the word rejection. Rejection...Rejection... I seriously thought of changing my first, middle and last name to mirror this one word. Reject would come into play as my nickname.
Ahhh, the woes of becoming published. They can feel insurmountable at times; comparable to falling off a mountain that you’ve tried to climb bare handed, with no safety net to catch you, and no one to offer words of comfort. So why get up and keep trying? Why continue on a journey when many times you feel there’s no end or glory in sight. It’s simple; it’s my and your write to breathe.
If you inhale air and exhale a story, a poem or a novel, you owe it to your every fiber to continue. This is your God given talent, and no one; not a publisher, an agent, or an avid reader can take that gift away from you. Why yes, of course you need all three to be successful, but when you begin to accept their words of denial as your own, you begin to suffocate. Suffocation is not part of your write.
I type this as a voice of experience, a voice of belief. Over time, that I seem obsessed with keeping track of, I have somehow amassed a complete novel of rejection letters. I have them organized neatly in a red binder in order of their receipt. At times I peruse them, wondering how can someone in their position deny me, my novel, my excellence, a chance at being revered by the reading public. What is their problem exactly? Don’t they know this is my write, my life, and my worthiness on this earth?
It would seem they didn't for the letters of dissent kept coming. The thing I love most about the letters is not the impersonal feel of them, but the fact that I’m so good at handling rejection. I have two or three from the same publisher, each on different stationary, but with the same HELL NO signature at the bottom.
I had the idea of attempting to have my rejection letters published. I changed my mind by realizing doing so would take away from the excellent writer I am. Who wants to be known as the Queen of Rejection on their first attempt? That’s not the image I’m going to portray or the story that I have to tell.
My story is one of success. Becoming a published writer - an accomplished novelist. One who can weave a story to entice you, to hold you, to bring you inside of my world, make you stay, and tell you when it’s time to leave. Those are some of the requirements of my write to breathe.
As I neared the end of seeing Wait For Love: A Black Girl's Story in print, rejection had become a special friend of mine. Every time we met I became stronger, more determined and destined to never meet his distant cousins by way of the postal service again. Keep in mind that another can never take away what’s in you or define your life’s calling. Then go back to your typewriter or computer keys and inhale. I promise you after all of this, you will still exhale your write to breathe.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
40 Luv
With age comes wisdom, or so I've been told. With each decade comes a knowledge that will prepare you for a future of wealth, happiness, peace and abundance. Someone told me that, also. Well, I entered into another decade with grace, and yes, I feel more confident than ever.
March 2nd, 2006, I Wanda D. Hudson, turned forty years sexy. I remember vividly when I was sixteen counting the years that it would take for me to reach the age of forty. Thinking it was a long way off is the one thought I remember the most. Whoever said time sure flies when your having fun spoke the truth. Time also does some Starship Enterprise stuff when your finding your way without a road map, and if you had one, you couldn't read it anyway.
I think from the age of twenty-two until I was thirty-three I was kind of stupid. I won't say I was totally ignorant, because I knew I had to work, have shelter and pay bills to survive. But I look at many things about my history and slap myself. (I then apologize by eating something...hehehe) Many ideas of who I wanted to become didn't settle in until I was thirty-five, and many parts of my being claimed that it was too late - a broken heart and used body equaled damaged goods. Then I thought about the Salvation Army. You can get a GREAT deal on the used items there. Suddenly, being refurbished became a goal I reached for with both hands, with my mind, and with my used body.
At forty I have so many plans for my future, so many dreams that will happen while I'm awake - so many beautiful reasons why I luv who I am, and why I luv where I came from. Many of us want to stay young or turn back the hands of time. Honestly, if I could go back and be sixteen again, with the knowledge I have now of course, I would. Since there is no human that is able to hit a rewind button, or a time machine that will transport me, I'll keep my sexy self here and keep on pushin'.
There are a few things that I need to find out as being true in my new decade. One being, is sex better in your forties? Is this the decade when older women begin to find younger men more attractive? And in your forties, do you really get "IT"? And do you really give a damn if "IT" even exists?
Two days have passed since my birthday and I still feel confident. I'm more secure with simply being me, and more secure with the extra pounds that I'm carrying, not that I'm going to wear a belly shirt and show you, but these extra pounds are all mine to luv. I feel like whatever it is that I need He is going to make sure I have it. I'm not going to stress anymore over my wants. I feel postive that my daughters will open up their hearts and learn from their mama, luv her, and not be ashamed of where she has been. I feel good, people. I feel real good.
There is no need for me to volley right now. 40 Luv is a score I want to hold onto for awhile.
March 2nd, 2006, I Wanda D. Hudson, turned forty years sexy. I remember vividly when I was sixteen counting the years that it would take for me to reach the age of forty. Thinking it was a long way off is the one thought I remember the most. Whoever said time sure flies when your having fun spoke the truth. Time also does some Starship Enterprise stuff when your finding your way without a road map, and if you had one, you couldn't read it anyway.
I think from the age of twenty-two until I was thirty-three I was kind of stupid. I won't say I was totally ignorant, because I knew I had to work, have shelter and pay bills to survive. But I look at many things about my history and slap myself. (I then apologize by eating something...hehehe) Many ideas of who I wanted to become didn't settle in until I was thirty-five, and many parts of my being claimed that it was too late - a broken heart and used body equaled damaged goods. Then I thought about the Salvation Army. You can get a GREAT deal on the used items there. Suddenly, being refurbished became a goal I reached for with both hands, with my mind, and with my used body.
At forty I have so many plans for my future, so many dreams that will happen while I'm awake - so many beautiful reasons why I luv who I am, and why I luv where I came from. Many of us want to stay young or turn back the hands of time. Honestly, if I could go back and be sixteen again, with the knowledge I have now of course, I would. Since there is no human that is able to hit a rewind button, or a time machine that will transport me, I'll keep my sexy self here and keep on pushin'.
There are a few things that I need to find out as being true in my new decade. One being, is sex better in your forties? Is this the decade when older women begin to find younger men more attractive? And in your forties, do you really get "IT"? And do you really give a damn if "IT" even exists?
Two days have passed since my birthday and I still feel confident. I'm more secure with simply being me, and more secure with the extra pounds that I'm carrying, not that I'm going to wear a belly shirt and show you, but these extra pounds are all mine to luv. I feel like whatever it is that I need He is going to make sure I have it. I'm not going to stress anymore over my wants. I feel postive that my daughters will open up their hearts and learn from their mama, luv her, and not be ashamed of where she has been. I feel good, people. I feel real good.
There is no need for me to volley right now. 40 Luv is a score I want to hold onto for awhile.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
