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Evil Walks. Featuring The Sandman.

Posted by Barry K. Nelson on January 25, 2012 at 3:48pm
This is a new feature that I will have on both my Facebook page and my website. A new super short story series featuring one of my characters, The Sandman. Enjoy part 1 of Evil Walks.Al Hartman felt a cold chill run up along his back as he got out of his car. The young black male zippered up his black jacket all the way to the top until it covered the thin white dress shirt that he was wearing. He even felt a cold breeze blowing up the legs of his black pants. It was a most unpleasant feeling. He regret not dressing in advance to deal with this cold night air. But by his estimate he would not be out here for long. He locked and shut the door of his car and stepped onto the sidewalk. He reached into his pocket and brought out the slip of paper torn from a notebook and examined the address that he had written down. The Fallen Angel Tavern. 4010 Oakdale Street. On the North Side. It has to be close, Al thought.Al looked about at the row of dark storefronts along the street. Many of them were closed. Understandable in his mind. His wristwatch displaying the time, 11:46 P.M. Al took a few steps to the left towards a storefront with a large glowing neon sign in it’s window. He walked closer to get a better view. The Fallen Angel. This has to be the place. Al was relieved to have found his destination so easily. Half the job was done. Now all he had to do was go inside and conduct his business with the most unusual person who was waiting for him.Al walked through the door and entered the dark tavern. It had a gloomy atmosphere with the strong odor of cigarette smoke in the air. At the right side of the tavern were four round tables where several patrons were sitting and engaging in conversation while drinking. He spied cigarettes in the mouths of a few persons. Smoking indoors? I thought that was illegal.Al walked over to the bar at the left side of the room and was approached by the bartender. A burly, bald headed man wearing a black Pittsburgh Steelers jersey.“What can I get you?” asked the bartender.Feeling nervous, Al cleared his throat. “Nothing really. I’m here to meet someone.”“Oh? Who?”Al was hesitant to speak out. “I’m here to see the Sandman.”Now it was the bartender’s turn to hesitate before speaking. “You want to see the Sandman. You have an appointment?”“Yes.”“Ok then. He’s in the back.”Al proceeded to walk to the back of the bar, past two billiard tables, until he came to an open doorway. He entered a small room that was illuminated by a dim light bulb on the ceiling. Stacked six feet high against the left, right, and rear walls was a variety of different boxes containing alcoholic beverages. In the center of the room was a lone figure sitting at a wooden table. He was dressed in all black attire. His pants were tucked into his knee high boots. He had a long sleeved shirt and necktie. He held his black gloved hands down in front of a dark beer bottle on the table top. He was also wearing a long hooded cape. The hood, along with the room’s dim light, obscured the features of his face.Al received a cold shiver when he saw this dark figure. The thought came to his mind, Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I should back out.The dark figure gave Al a jovial greeting. “Come in. Take a seat.”There was another chair on the opposite side of the table. With apprehension, Al sat down.For several seconds Al stared at the ominous dark figure sitting in front of him. Then he worked up the nerve to speak.“So, are you the Sandman?”“There’s nobody else here except me,” was the reply. “And I take it that you’re Al. And I also take it that you’re supposed to be here at 11:00. You‘re late.”“I’m sorry about that. I was going to back down at first. Then I changed my mind.”“You were going to back down? Why?”“At first I thought that what you said on your website was a bunch of nonsense. You know. What you said you can do. Trade dreams for wishes.”“Trade dreams and nightmares for wishes,” the Sandman corrected.“Trade dreams and nightmares for wishes,” Al repeated.“Occasionally I’ll offer cash,” the Sandman added.Al nodded, pondering this information. “And you can grant any wish?”“That’s right.”"Ok. If I wanted you to summon a dragon. Can you do that?”“No.”“No? Why not? I thought you said that you can grant any wish.”“I can, Al. But I’d refuse to do it. I can grant you any wish. But as long as it isn’t a stupid wish. Wishing for a dragon is stupid. What the hell are you going to do with a dragon, Al? Most boroughs in Alleghenny county won’t let you keep a cow in your back yard.”“I live in an apartment,” Al humbly admitted.“Then you’d really be screwed,” the Sandman told him. “Let’s keep it a little down to Earth.”Trading dreams for wishes, down to Earth? Al thought. “Ok, then scratch the dragon. But you can still grant other wishes? Like dealing with my boss?”“Like I said.”Al hesitated before going further. “And when we make a deal. This won’t be like selling my soul or anything like that?”The Sandman sat back in his chair. “Do I look like I need your soul, Al? If you’re putting your soul up for sale you might have to settle for an X-Box 360 game.”Al was insulted by that assessment. “Excuse me?”The Sandman held up his hands. “No offense. Just saying. Have you looked in the mirror at yourself lately? Your drug problems, abusive to your girlfriend. Sorry. Ex-girlfriend. Stealing money from the accounting firm you work for. And now you’re so self righteous that you want revenge on your boss for not giving you the promotion that you think you deserve. You were so ticked off at the guy that you were surfing the web to try and find a hitman to take care of him. That’s when you found me. Am I right?”Al was stunned at these details that the Sandman revealed. “How the hell do you know all this? I mean…I.”“I like to get background information on all my clients,” the Sandman confessed.“Well. My issue with drugs. It’s not exactly a problem.”“It’s a hobby. I get it. We’re wasting time, Al. And I’ve got other clients. We need to step it up. So tell me about your dreams.”My dreams, Al thought. He had to dig within his memory to recall the most recent dream that he had. “A dream. I had this one a few nights ago. I saw myself laying in bed and then all these bugs came crawling out of my pillow. I wanted to jump up but I couldn’t move. Then they started to crawl all over me. Spiders, centipedes, roaches. Then I woke up. what do you think?”The Sandman crossed his arms over his chest. “Honestly? I think that if your dream were a TV show then the only entertaining part would be the commercials. But it’s good enough for me to take care of your boss.”“George Wilson,” Al growled. “That high and mighty ungrateful tin god jackass. He can go rot in hell. And I’m gonna send him there. And I‘d like to go to hell with him just so that I can watch him suffer. The idiot had the nerve to pass me over for a promotion to manager of accounts and give it to this skinny little four eyed witch, Darcy. I‘m ten times smarter than Darcy and I‘ve been there longer. But do I deserve the promotion? Oh no. As hard as I work? Oh no.”The Sandman leaned forward to the table and propped his head up against his right arm. He placed his left hand down and began to drum his gloved fingers down on the table top.“Excuse me. Am I boring you?” asked an indignant Al.“No. Not at all,” the Sandman returned. “I actually enjoy sitting here listening to whiners all night.”“Whoa. Hold on. I’m not a whiner,” replied Al. Insulted by the remark.The Sandman sat back and laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call that cheerleading. That’s serious talk after working for the man for so many years. I understand that your ten year anniversary with the company is coming up.”Al held that notion in high contempt. “Yeah. I busted my ass for that company. Working under that pig, Wilson. And all I’m supposed to get for it is a lousy lunch and a gold watch.”“Don’t forget the gift card,” the Sandman added. “A hell of a lot more than what I get.”“Never mind that,” Al snapped. “This is my chance to get back at Wilson for passing me up and not promoting me.”“And for giving you a second chance after you failed your drug test.”Al ignored the Sandman’s jab. “This is my chance to get even with him. Let’s make it look like an accident. That will be fun. Yeah. Make it a car crash.”“A car crash. You got it. You want balloons too?”Al nodded and laughed. He was feeling more enthusiastic about making this deal with the Sandman. “Alright. We got a deal. George Wilson gets his ass trashed in a car wreck. I only wish I could be there to see it.”“Ok then. It’s done,” the Sandman told Al.“Done? Just like that?”“Just like that.”“What about my dream? Did you get it?”“Do you remember it?”Al searched his mind for the dream, but the memory was not there. “It’s gone. I don’t remember it.”“Then I’ve got it.”“I don’t have to sign anything?” asked Al.“If it will make you happy then talk to the bartender on your way out. Maybe you can autograph a napkin before you leave.”This guy has a rotten sense of humor, was Al’s assessment.“Are we done?” asked the Sandman. “I’ve got two more people to talk to after you.”Al cracked a smile. “No. We’re done. That’s it. But I‘ve got just a couple of questions. Do you get a lot of people coming to you for help?”“Yeah. I do.”“People like me?”“Yeah. They’re all bad.”“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”“Nothing. Clock’s ticking. I’ll see you around.”See me around? I doubt that, Al told himself. He rose up from the chair and left the room. Al walked out of the tavern and got back into his car to drive home. He still could not believe that he drove all the way here from his apartment in West Mifflin to make a deal with a shadowy figure who claimed to be able to trade his dreams for a wish. It was like making a wish when you blow out the candles on a birthday cake. The only difference here is that Al’s wish was to kill his boss to gain revenge. It was a fanciful indulgence. But the question that he would take with him into the night would be, will it really happen?The next day Al was working in his small office in the accounting firm, Hessman and Associates. The time was 11:30 A.M. Earlier Al had gone through his usual morning ritual of staring at his computer monitor sitting in between two six inch stacks of papers on his desk on his desk. Earlier he consumed a styrofoam cup of hot coffee and then took a morning snort of cocaine to gain the motivation to slog through another day of work at a job that he hated. He was now busy working on his computer when he heard a loud knock on the stained glass of his office door. The door opened and a six foot tall, middle aged black man in a grey suit and short black hair entered the office. Al bristled at the presence of this man. This was the man that he hated the most in the world. George Wilson.“Hartman. Are you ready to go?” Wilson asked.Al was confused. “Go? Go where, sir?”“To you ten year anniversary luncheon,” Wilson explained. “You’ve been here ten years today. Have you forgotten?”“It slipped my mind, sir.”“Well we’re having it at the Hampfield Inn, on the South Side,” Wilson told him. “I’m driving. Grab your coat.”“Yes sir,” said Al. he was not at all enthusiastic about eating lunch at the same table with Wilson. Let alone riding in the same car with him. Al rose from his chair and grabbed his jacket from the tall metal coat stand behind his desk.Al felt awkward as he was rode in the car while Wilson was sitting next to him. It was a tense, silent drive between both of them. Al kept his eyes locked forward to the windshield as the white Cadillac drove along through the heavy traffic.After several minutes of silence Wilson spoke out to break the ice. “You know, Hartman. This entire anniversary lunch wasn’t my idea. It’s just the policy of the firm and I’m simply following that policy. It’s my job. But personally, do you really think you deserve a free lunch?”“I don’t understand, sir.”“You don’t understand? I asked you if you think you deserve a free lunch from the firm. You should be able to comprehend the concept of free lunch. It seems that you’ve been getting one your whole life.”Al was at a loss as to how to respond to Wilson’s charge. All he could do was sit and listen.Wilson continued to admonish Al. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Hartman. And I must say that I’m very disappointed with you on several levels. Your character as a person and your performance as an employee have both declined. And it’s all on account of your drug use.”Al sank down in his seat as he continued to listen to Wilson.“Out of the goodness of my heart I saw fit to support you and give you a second chance when your recent drug test came up positive. I figured that if you’ve got some kind of problem then we can try to work with you to help make things better. And help you keep your job. And how do you repay me? By showing up late on a regular basis, by calling off from work for several days when you feel like it, turning in sloppy work. And you’re probably unaware that I’ve been keeping an eye on your work very closely. I have no solid proof, but I suspect that you’ve been skimming money from several different accounts that you’ve been working on. No doubt to support your drug habit.Al felt his entire body petrify with fear when he heard Wilson’s accusation of his theft. And it was indeed true. He was taking small amounts of money from several of the firm’s clients for his own use. Small amounts that he hoped would not raise and red flags. But amounts that were enough to get him fired and land him behind bars with criminal charges against him. He was at a loss for words as to what to say in his own defense. “Mr Wilson. I…I mean. I…Don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Of course you don’t. That’s because people like you can do no wrong in your own little minds. There’s never any personal responsibility. And you expect me to give you a promotion in your sorry state?”“Hey. I deserved that promotion,” Al snapped back in anger. “I had seniority.”“Seniority,” Wilson scoffed. Turning his head to face Al. “What you deserve is to be fired.The car approached an intersection. Al barely noticed the blue SUV as it approached from the right and blew through the red light. The vehicle plowed head on into the right side of Wilson’s car. After the loud boom of the impact Al felt an over whelming sensation of pain penetrate his entire body. Cold metal sliced into his frail flesh. His bones snapped. A shower of broken glass from the passenger’s side window sprayed into his face. Looking through the now cracked windshield Al could only watch as the car skidded to the left and headed straight for a thick utility pole. Then there was another loud boom. Then Al’s vision went black.Al awoke, still feeling intense pain surging through his body as he lay in his hospital bed. The thick neck brace that he was wearing was so tight that he had difficulty breathing. His right arm was covered by a tight, white brace. There were also braces on both his legs. Looking down at his legs he also saw a figure dressed in black. The hood of his long flowing cape concealed the upper portion of his face. Al could only see the dark skin of the lower portion of this person’s face. Al recognized this shadowy figure from a previous meeting. “Sandman.”“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” the Sandman asked.Al tried to lift his left arm. This action caused pain to shoot through the rest of his body. “How do I feel? I feel like crap. I have two broken legs, my right arm is broken in two places, my neck is broken. And all I feel is pain. It even hurts to blink.”“That’s too bad,” said the Sandman. “That’s understandable. That other driver tried to park his SUV inside your sigmoid colon. You’re lucky to be alive. Too bad you didn’t end up like your boss, Wilson. He was thrown from the car and landed in this grassy field. But funny thing. The grass was unmowed. And it was so high that it provided a cushion for Wilson and broke his fall. He walked away without a scratch.”Al’s mind was balancing the sensations of pain and anger after hearing about Wilson. “Well whoop de friggin do to that. Is that supposed to make me feel better? The doctors say that I may not be able to walk again.”“That’s tough.”“That’s tough? Is that all you have to say? You’re the one. You caused this.”“What? The crash? Well sure I did. It’s what you wanted. Remember? We made a deal and I did what you asked. I put your boss into a car crash. So what’s the complaint?”“I didn’t want to be in the car when it happened!” Al shouted.“Then why the hell did you get in, Jackass? Who’s fault is that?”“I…You…Dammit!” Al’s legs and arm were throbbing. “I’m in too much pain to argue.”“Well don’t jump all over me just because you woke up on the wrong side of the bedpan.”“Bedpan. I wish you hadn’t said that. I really need to go. Can you help me-”“Oh, look at the time,” replied the Sandman. “I have to get moving. I have other appointments to keep.”The Sandman headed towards the door.“Hey wait. You’re not going to leave me here are you?”“I’ll tell the nurse to come in and help you out,” the Sandman told him. “But in the meantime if you ever have any more dreams that you want to trade me then just send me an E-mail. I’ll be sure to get back to you.”The Sandman left the room. Leaving the battered Al Hartman to wonder if his sleeping mind can ever conjure up a dream that would be worth bartering to get himself out of this dire situation.
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The State of Black SF: 2012. . . Why I Love Steampunk

Posted by Valjeanne Jeffers on January 25, 2012 at 1:00pm

I love fantasy. I know fantasy/SF is pretty popular these days, but I fell in love long before the genre became the “flyest kid at the school.” There's just something wonderful about escaping into a world (whether through reading or writing) that's so different from everyday mundane reality― a reality of responsibilities and bills― into a dimension where you still have the same crap to deal with. . . but now you can became a creature with preternatural strength. How cool is that? It gives you a decided edge over everyday reality, or at the very least makes it more interesting.

I wrote my first novel, Immortal, with these thoughts in mind. The beginning of Immortal was the story of a young woman, Karla, living on the planet Tundra. Karla has ordinary, everyday struggles.  But she has a little―no a big―edge. Immortal weaves a tale of portals. Time travel. Werewolves. Daemons. By the time Immortal III is thrown into the mix, vampires have joined the plot. Tell me, what's not to love? Fantasy also lends itself incredibly well to "what if?" scenarios. As in: what if there was no racism? What if there was no poverty? What if folks came together and decided to change the world. . .?

For those of you who haven't guessed it yet, I also like to mix genres. In fact, that's the other thing I love so much about fantasy; it blends so easily with other genres, like horror and science fiction. But if fantasy is my first love, I'd have to say steampunk is my second.

From the outrageous clothing. . . bustles, corsets and knickers, to the outrageous machinery. . . airships, steam-trains, muskets. This is a genre I just can't stay away from. Steampunk is a glorious mixture of other fantasy/SF genres. And the settings and plots reflect this― plots set in the post-civil war. Victorian England. Post-Apocalyptic America. Or a futuristic world, as in my steampunk story: The Switch. http://www.mochamemoirspress.com

Steampunk, like any other fantasy subgenre is also anybody's game when it comes to "what if?" plots, settings and costumes. Which of course is why I'm so head over heels in love with it. 

Some of the best steampunk I've read this year, includes other fiction by Black writers such as: The Chronicles of Harriet by Balogun http://www.mochamemoirspress.com and The Delivery by Milton Davis http://www.scribd.com/doc/76098823/The-Delivery

I'll drop the sequel to the The Switch,The Switch II: Clockwork in Spring 2011, by steam train of course :) Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds will also hit the shelves in Spring 2012. This is the conclusion to my Immortal saga, and wouldn't you guess? Immortal IV also has a steampunk theme.

And check out my awesome fellow writers and what flavor of fiction they love on my blogroll. In 2012 I want to see more fantasy/steamfunk offerings by fabulous writers of color. I fully expect that I will.  

 

Winston Blakely, Artist/Writer–is a Fine Arts/Comic Book artist, having a career spanning 20 years, whose achievements have included working for Valiant Comics and Rich Buckler’s Visage Studios. He is also the creator of Little Miss Strange, the world’s first black alien sorceress and the all- genre anthology entitled – Immortal Fantasy. Both graphic albums are available at Amazon, Barnes and Nobles and other online book store outlets. Visit him: http://blakelyworks.blogspot.com/ or http://blakelyworkstudio.weebly.com/  

 

L.M. Davis, Author–began her love affair with fantasy in the second grade. Her first novel, Interlopers: A Shifters Novel, was released in 2010, and the follow-up Posers: A Shifters Novel will be released this spring. For more information visit her blog http://shiftersseries.wordpress.com/ or her website www.shiftersnovelseries.com.  

 

Milton Davis, Author –Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com and www.wagadu.ning.com.  

 

Margaret Fieland, Author–lives and writes in the suburbs west of Boston, MA with her partner and five dogs. She is one of the Poetic Muselings. Their poetry anthology, Lifelines http://tinyurl.com/LifelinesPoetry/ is available from Amazon.com Her book, “Relocated,” will be available from MuseItUp Publishing in July, 2012. The Angry Little Boy,” will be published by 4RV publishing in early 2013. You may visit her website, http://www.margaretfieland.com.  

Valjeanne Jeffers, Author –is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls. Her fourth and fifth novels: Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork will be released this spring. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/  

 

Thaddeus Howze, Author–is a veteran of the Information Technology and Communications industry with over twenty-six years of experience. His expertise is in re-engineering IT environments using process-oriented management techniques. In English, that means he studies the needs of his clients and configures their offices to optimize the use of information technology in their environment. Visit him: http://ebonstorm.wordpress.com or http://ebonstorm.weebly.com  

Alicia McCalla, Author—writes for both young adults and adults with her brand of multicultural science fiction, urban fantasy, and futurism. Her debut novel, Breaking Free will be available February 1, 2012. The Breaking Free theme song created by Asante McCalla is available for immediate download on itunes and Amazon. Visit her at: www.aliciamccalla.com  

 

Carole McDonnell, Author–She writes Christian, speculative fiction, and multicultural stories. Her first novel is Wind Follower. Her short fiction has appeared in many anthologies and have been collected in an ebook, Spirit Fruit: Collected Speculative Fiction. Visit Carole:http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/ or http://writersofcolorblogtour.blogspot.com/  

 

Rasheedah Phillips, Author–is the creator of The AfroFuturist Affair in Philly. She plans to debut her first spec/sci-fic novel Recurrence Plot in Spring 2012. You may catch her ruminating from time to time on her blog http://www.astromytholosophy.com/

 

Nicole Sconiers, Author-is also a screenwriter living in the sunny jungle of L.A. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University Los Angeles, and she recently published Escape from Beckyville: Tales of Race, Hair and Rage. Visit her: http://nicolesconiers.com/index.html

Jarvis Sheffield, M.Ed. is owner & operator of TheDigitalBrothers.com, BlackScienceFictionSociety.com & BlackCommunityEntertainment.com. Visit him: http://www.blacksciencefictionsociety.com/profiles/blog/list?user=2stjwb1h216fd

 

 

 

 

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The Warden

Posted by Thaddeus on January 24, 2012 at 11:17pm
Got up to go to the can in the middle of the night. Damn prostate. I thought I heard someone clear their throat. Just getting off of a double, hallucination was a common side effect of sleep deprivation. I saw my son's Rottweiler sitting in front of the stove.


"Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon? I must have some for this sandwich." 

Being a doctor, you have a clear sense of what is possible in the world and what isn't, so I shook my head and went on to the bathroom. When I finished I came out to find the dog blocking the doorway. 

"Perhaps you didn't hear me." 

"No, no, I heard you. I simply don't believe you're talking, so I am going back to bed to get some sleep." 

"You're not even curious how I came by this roast beef sandwich?" 

"Roast Beef?" Stomach rumbled. "Okay, I'll bite. Where did you get the sandwich?" 

"I feel so guilty telling you. Okay, you twisted my tail. The twins gave it to me. I was supposed to keep quiet while they went to the concert."

"The Metalhead concert? The one they were forbidden to attend?" 

"Not my job. I just wanted some mustard. I knew you would take care of me if I just asked."

"So when are they getting back?" 

"Uh, I can talk, but I still can't tell time." 

"Fine, let's split that sandwich and wait. I'll get the mustard." 

"Did I mention that aromatic herb I've seen them smoking out back?" 

"No, tell me more." 

And so he did. I discovered things about my sons, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. As I closed up the mustard jar, the Rottweiler remarked, "Those thumbs are truly amazing. I heard you were a surgeon. Any chance I could have some thumbs?" 

"As a matter of fact, I have two sons who won't be using theirs after tonight. You have four paws and they have four thumbs. Can you wash dishes?" 

"Sorry, my resume includes biting, barking, ear-hustling, crotch-sniffing and talking to you. Dishwashing not included." 

"Just as well, they are going to need those thumbs for all the chores they will be doing." 

"They're coming." 

"I don't hear anything." 

He cocks his head and rotates his ears. "Dog, remember?" 

I turned off the light in the kitchen and waited. They would have to pass me to get to their room. I could smell the concert all over them; the beer, marijuana and cigarettes. Ugh.

"Evening, boys. Say hello to your new warden." 

The dog barks at them, a series of sharp, staccato sounds. 

Looking at the boys, "He says you are going to like it here at our new facility. Go to your rooms and take a shower. Lawn mowing at 8:00 AM. Sharp." I smiled at the dog, "Adding to your resume already..."

 

The Warden © Thaddeus Howze 2012 All Rights Reserved


From Writers Digest - Your Writing Prompt: Your kids have spent years asking you to get them a dog. You finally break down and get one, only to discover that this dog talks—but only to you. More interestingly, the dog loves to gossip about your kids and their lives. Write a scene where your dog rats out one of your kids for doing something they shouldn't. (500 words or less)
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Black Community Entertainment Video

Posted by Incus Interactive Productions on January 24, 2012 at 10:30am

Were in age where video has come paramount in the media industry and beyond. There's going to come a place in time were all other types of media will just be considered just to be a part of video. The embracement of video in the african american community has been of great importance. Music videos, movies, documentaries, youtube, and more have took the media by storm! But just as a african americans have embraced video for entertainment and communications, there also a lack of black videographers, writers, and special effects designers. A new site on the net @ http://www.blackcommunityentertainment.com/ hopes to help change that. 

 

 

This site is a focal point for black video media, and others that would like to give there unique content on the web. With this site we can upload video, images, and make blogs to express your views. It's just starting out, but all ready the site has a great audience in part to its sister site www.blacksciencefictionsociety.com/
 

 

If people would give support to sites like these, a lot of things could be made for the black media community as a whole. The power of media in our nation will be here decades to come, so it would be a virtue for black people to be one of the creative forces in the industy. Not just to make another "Taylor Perry" movie. Check the "Red Tails" movie as an example of what could, and is being done lately.

For more information check out these links:

http://www.blackcommunityentertainment.com/

http://www.blacksciencefictionsociety.com/

http://www.lightworksbeta.com/

http://www.apple.com/finalcutpro/

http://www.bhphotovideo.com/

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"Red Tails" Review....

Posted by H. Wolfgang Porter on January 23, 2012 at 2:30pm

Just saw "Red Tails" last night. Since I've seen Tuskeegee Airmen a number of times, I went with just my 'filmmaker' hat on and prepared to watch it with a director's eyes.

Up front, I'll say it was entertaining and easily stands with any number of WWII films you could name. It was also nice to see black faces not involved with the usual 'gangsta 'n ho' thing for a change.

So here's the review:

Without giving the story away, Red Tails starts in as the 331st Fighter Group (Tuskeegee Airmen) are stuck doing air patrols far behind the lines where little or no enemy activity occurs. Despite their training and readiness, the Airmen do little more than take out insignificant ground targets ranging from the unfortunate German motorcycle w/sidecar to the occasional train. The conflict begins with Flight Leader 'Easy' having to contend with his hotshot wingman 'Lightning'. His over-aggressive tactics and disregard for orders are a constant source of trouble in the air and on the ground for Easy who already has a handful with a diverse group of young pilots.

The other conflict is the one faced by Colonel Bullard played by Terence Howard and his struggle to have the 331st utilized as a credible war asset amidst firm resistance from high ranking white officers in the Pentagon. Colonel Bullard is pleasantly and intellectually defiant in the face of his detractors as he presents the facts of how well his men have been doing despite being held back.

The Airmen's chance to prove themselves comes as fighter escorts manned by white pilots are constantly drawn away from their assigned bombers by decoy German Fighters. This leaves the B-17 bombers and their crews vulnerable to the real force of German Fighters and their losses are appalling. Assigned to bomber escort duty, the 331st christened 'Red Tails' because of their aircraft tail paint, change tactics and don't fall for decoy fighters. By staying with the bombers, they offer stiff resistance to the German assaults and the Bomber losses plummet.

In the meantime, there are little moments where the Airmen face everyday life on the ground on base and in the town of Rametelli, Italy. A romance occurs between Lighting and a local Italian girl which is cute because he can't speak Italian and she can't speak English. There are other moments which show bits of how the pilots and ground crew interact along with Easy wrestling with a drinking problem.

It is after the Red Tails are assigned to full time bomber escort the story takes off. There are some fine aerial combat sequences and even the introduction of a skilled German Ace who rivals Lighting. During the battles we watch as members of the squadron become skilled and succumb to enemy fire. There's even an homage to the 'Great Escape' as one of the downed Airmen must contend with life in a German POW camp.

Overall, Red Tails is an entertaining film but despite the great photography and excellent combat sequences, I found it a bit flat. The acting was fine but I found the pacing of the story lagging where it seemed it shouldn't. There was also too much going on. It was like they were trying to tell an epic story in the standard 80-120 minute time-frame. I firmly believe this should have been done as a mini-series like "Band of Brothers" and "The Pacific". The setting, characters and situations begged for further development, but just didn't get it. Hopefully, the film will be successful and maybe Lucas can tap Hanks and Spielburg to put their WWII epic mini-series making machine on the Red Tails and give them the full treatment they deserve.

In a nutshell, Red Tails is a good flick. Take the kids while you're at it.

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Red Tails and Homage...

Posted by Reginald L. Goodwin on January 21, 2012 at 8:00am

The Tuskegee Airman experiment was supposed to fail. It was the pseudo-science of Eugenics as practiced by the military: blacks were not seen as "smart enough" to pilot high performance aircraft in combat. Just as blacks were not seen as "smart enough" to quarterback for an NFL team before Doug Williams.

 

Whether you support President Obama or Juan Williams, the issue is the same: they, being black aren't "smart enough" to govern a country or ask a presidential candidate a question regarding relating to a black electorate. As of December 2011, the economy is not "great," but it is better than it was:

 

 

Red Tails mustbe supported because it is not fiction, it is ignored history that supports a preconceived bias for a certain segment that needs our debasement for their own elevation.

That is why black speculative fiction must be written, purchased, supported. We can - to paraphrase Karl Rove - "create our own realities," not in support of dreamed empires, but in support of our, and our children's esteem.

ABC News: Red Tails movie honors Tuskegee Airmen

Washington Post: Luke Weathers Jr., Tuskegee airman, buried at Arlington as ‘Red Tails’ movie released

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Sin-Eaters: Devotion Book One - COMING JULY 2010

Posted by Kai Leakes on January 19, 2012 at 4:24pm

Khamun Cross was born to do one thing and that was to watch Sanna Steele, a woman so unique and special he would risk his all to have her. So what, that in his job of watching her, he happens to prowl the streets, hunting the very things that go bump in the night. Even monsters or everyday looking people that steal humans’ souls become Khamun’s victims, and he brings with him a power, a vampirism, that would send one straight to the dark.

Khamun craves the darkness in his victims as if it were his own personal dinner, but not as much as he craves the very woman he has been ordained to watch over as her Guardian Angel. Sanna Steele is just your average twenty-seven year old, with your everyday hopes, dreams and insecurities. She is clueless about the war that is secretly raging around her in the streets of St. Louis. A war she will soon become a part of. But what is so special about Sanna that the very things that go bump in the night, seeks to snatch her from her very existence in life?

This story by me, Kai Leakes delivers a classic tale of good versus evil in this supernatural thriller. ~COMING JULY 2012

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Excerpt from "Messenger" a short story

Posted by Alexis Skinner on January 18, 2012 at 4:26pm

      She was waiting for him to do something, but he had no idea what that something was.  Unable to focus, Talib closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, like his mother showed him when they used to practice yoga together.  He exhaled, grounding his thoughts on the cycle of breath and loosening his body.  The day's surprises had manifested in tension in his chest.  Lifting his shoulders up to his ears, Talib held them there until he exhaled again.  Sene began to sing in a hushed tone.  Though, Talib couldn't decipher the words, her low voice calmed his nervous energy.   He thought it was a chill passing through, but found himself vibrating from his feet up to his head.  Keeping his eyes closed in spite of himself, Talib found that he was beginning to understood Sene's song.  And he felt his head pulsate.  It reminded him of a headache, only, it was soothing—almost blissful.  His eyes shot open.  Sene was still singing with hers closed.  Talib focused his energy in her direction.

      I chose to come here, didn't I?  But I forgot what I was supposed to do.

      Sene looked at him, smiling.  “Yes, Amma sent me through the bummo to remind you.”

      “The what?”

      “The bummo.”  Sene crossed her hands, studying them intently at them as she attempted to form two carrots with them.  She cast a bird shadow across the room, explaining, “It's a sort of bridge between our dimensions.”  Trying again, “Amma dug a hole and anchored it.  He planted me in it, but I had to find my way to the other side.  To you.”

      “And this Amma person, is he a physicist?”

      “ He is the eldest spirit among us.  I think you'd call him a god here.”

      Skeptical, Talib seemed to distance himself from the idea.

      “Not the way humans understand it. He taught us how to turn thought into matter and gave his powers away, save for one.  Amma's sole duty, now, is to lead the dead spirits home.”

      Talib opened his mouth to speak, but waited for his mouth to catch up with his mind.  “How long have I been here, Sene?”

      “It doesn't matter.  Time is action.  The potential of activity is future, the summation is past, and now is upon us.  We must move.”

 

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Open Letter to Newt Gingrich...

Posted by Reginald L. Goodwin on January 18, 2012 at 7:46am

On the national celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King’s birthday, you put out the political dog whistle to a South Carolina audience that “blacks should want jobs, not food stamps,” and calling our nation’s first African American president the “food stamp president.” You also disrespected the moderator – Juan Williams – by calling him by his first name (almost like calling him “boy”), when he called you by your former title of “Speaker.” I wonder if you’d been so bold if Herman Cain were still in the race?

On my blog post September 16, 2010, I wrote about poverty, particularly those that had been driven into poverty due to the recession.

One of those people…was me.

I also posted an article from Black Voices regarding the extreme effort college-educated African Americans were putting forth to get jobs with not as demonstrative success as the rest of the country.

That was also…me.

I have a degree in Engineering Physics from North Carolina A and T State University. I worked in a warehouse at UPS with that degree, slinging boxes between the hours of 3 – 9 AM, Monday – Friday making $6.52/hour. Do the math…

And yes, Mr. Gingrich, I went on food stamps…, with a degree in Physics.

I wrote a blog that became a book that described my angst, my self-doubt, my hurt pride, my desire to provide for my family in the manner I’d trained myself in the sciences to provide.

I now work in New York back in the industry I’d left eight years ago, making an income that allows me to provide for that same family…honorably. That was not a government program, sir: that was the Grace of God.

You cannot logically paint a broad brush on any one group’s desire over another to remain on food stamps – your data and political dog whistle is quite inaccurate: “Despite significantly higher participation rates for Blacks and persons of Hispanic origin, 65 percent of all participants were White.” (Census.gov)

I am not running for president, I am the “We the People” you’re running in the GOP primaries to qualify to govern.

Your behavior in this primary process is an abomination to the political process the Founding Fathers – you say you revere – established.

The day after celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. your crass, unprofessional comments demean the station you supposedly “occupy.” Perhaps after your bath, may I suggest soap applied to the orifice in front of the oval called your face? Please be suitably aggressive in application.

I don’t debate, but I do vote! If you were to get the nomination by some stretch of a miracle, you won’t be getting mine.

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