Hey Fam. Myself and my buddy Phil Brown have done a short film for Ron Howard's and Canon camera's Project Imagination. Please go check it out, login, leave comments and Vote for us to be one of the 20 finalists on August 19th. Go the link below to see the film.
https://www.longliveimagination.com/gallery/video/596
Thanks
Mark Dudley
Imaginos Workshop.
As a newbie, I thought this would be a good place to introduce my story to BSFS. Here's the prologue from my book "Amachi's Hope". I'd appreciate hearing your thoughts. Nervously awaiting your replies... Sharon-
****
My most vivid childhood memory is also my saddest. The day I lost my abiyamo[i] will forever be etched into my mind. Atunwa[ii] and Orun[iii] were nothing but words used to comfort. Words used to make me believe that reincarnation and heaven were beautiful things. Words designed to give me hope. However, hope was the very last thing I thought of while I watched my mother struggle mightily to survive.
When my abiyamo bore me, she had reached an age wherein most women prepared to become grandmothers. She had prayed for a child for years and had pretty much given up. My baba[iv] had believed that children were not in his future and instead dedicated his time to being an elder and assisting my tribe with the development and education of our youth.
From what I was told, the day that my abiyamo found out that she was with child, she was delirious with joy but frightened of what my baba would say. She did not think about herself or how this would affect the life she led. My baba was already seventy-five years of age, ten years older than my abiyamo.
“Does he still want to be a father?”
“Does he still want this responsibility?” she asked herself.
She need not have worried; when she told him, my baba cried out in joy, “Oh Caimile, you’ve made me such a happy, happy man!” The joy shone in his eyes as he smiled at the mother of his long-awaited child.
My aunt Zakiya[v] who was my abiyamo’s youngest sister, told me that her pregnancy was not an easy one. “You would not let your abiyamo eat anything!” She said laughingly. “No matter what she ate you would reject it! The only nourishment you allowed her was coconut milk and fresh fruit. Your baba worried that the pregnancy was too much for her.”
He was right. The closer my abiyamo got to the end of the pregnancy, the weaker she grew. By her ninth month, she was bedridden and exhausted.
“It seems like the baby is drawing the very life from her.” My baba fretted to my aunt one day. “Don’t be foolish, Sadiki[vi]!,” responded my Aunt Zakiya. “Your wife has started on the path to motherhood late in life. This is rough for any woman but rougher still for a woman of sixty-five!”
I believe that it was then that my baba began looking at me differently. Even though he loved me, he loved my abiyamo more. When I think back on it now, I understand why he felt protective of my mother. He didn’t want to lose the person he loved most in the world.
My parents married very young. They were chosen for one another by their tribes. The arrangement was meant to unite their people, and make them stronger and more capable of defending the tribes from enemies. Her people were the Olorun[vii] and my father’s, the Shango[viii]. There was much tension as each tribe felt that they were superior to the other, in strength and in honor. After a fierce battle between each of the tribe’s strongest warriors, it was decided that the name Olorun would represent both groups. The Shango people and their culture were engulfed by my abiyamo’s native tribe.
Things were not easy for my parents after that. Though the agreement was approved by both parties, many people felt that my baba should have spoken up on behalf of his own people. They felt that he didn’t fight for the Shango, and that he was abandoning his tribe.
“Ah, how quickly you forget your people, now that you have a new home and a new life!” a tribesman bitterly said to him one day.
He began receiving ugly glances from individuals and little or no respect from the young. The parents of these youth made it clear to them that he no longer deserved it. In short, he became an outcast and my abiyamo became his lifeline.
Constantly together, they grew to love one another and were never apart. My baba depended on my abiyamo heavily and could not function without her. They were like two halves of the same fruit. He had been alone with her for so many years, that when she conceived me, the loss of their singular bond weighed heavily in his mind. But, he came to understand that this child would only add to their joy, and that it was unwise to rebuke a gift from the gods. They both anticipated my arrival, and baba thanked Yemoja the Mother[ix] for the gift of his soon-coming child.
Not only would my ojo ikunle[x] change my family but it would change the tribe as well.
***
Four hours before sunrise on the night of the Harvest Moon, my mother’s womb began its quickening, and our midwife was called.
“Bayo!,[xi] hurry the baby is coming!” yelled my Aunt Zakiya, as she banged on the midwife’s door.
Scrambling to pull on her sheath she ran out ahead of Zakiya toward my home. In my mind’s eye I can still visualize the tale as my aunt told it.
“There was much movement in your abiyamo’s home as everyone prepared for your arrival,” she told me one day as we were pounding yams for spicy amala, my favorite soup when I was a child.
She wiped the sweat from her brow as she continued, “Your baba wasn’t allowed inside, of course, so he stayed away and awaited the news. We prayed fervently to the Mother Goddess, Yemoja, asking for a safe delivery for both you and your mother.”
Her eyes closed as if she was reliving the day of my birth, and she murmured, “I was busy fetching hot water, and in all of the excitement, I heard only part of the prayer one of your cousins chanted:
‘May Yemoja protect and heal you with
the waters of life.’
‘May the waves of the Ogun River[xii] wash
Yemoja’s healing energy over you.’
To invoke the essence of the goddess, the birthing room was draped in blue and white linens, and egusi melons, grapes and fragrant flowers were arranged carefully around your abiyamo’s bed. These delicacies were considered to be some of the goddess’ favorite earthly things.”
“Weakness from the hot pains that consumed her body and advanced age made it impossible for your abiyamo to kneel on a mat during labor. Instead she found more comfort in lying down on a cot. I rolled up a few cloth blankets and tucked them behind her lower back.”
“Your yaya paced the outer room as she appealed to ori[xiii]. Rubbing her arms with her hands, she caught a chill every time your abiyamo yelled out.” chuckled Aunt Zakiya.
“She was worried that her daughter would be too weak to bring you into the world. Bayo sat next to your abiyamo and bathed her from head to toe with cool water. She rubbed her belly to help relieve some of the tension. After checking on my progress, she told your abiyamo, ‘The baby is almost here.’”
With tears gleaming in her eyes, my abiyamo glanced at Bayo’s face and saw the deep concern there.
‘I’ve been too much of a burden on everyone,’ she said as another pain ripped through her belly. ‘I did not want to call you until I was sure.’ Within that same breath she experienced another powerful contraction. Zakiya grimaced as she continued to reminisce about that day.
“Her arms shook as she grabbed hold of mine and Bayo’s hands and let out an enormous scream. Suddenly I felt as if I too were experiencing her pain. It raced up my arm and across my chest. I could not stand it and I did not understand how she was able to. I struggled to release my hand from hers but her grip was as strong as a rock. I literally felt like the bones in my hands were being crushed. If I did not know better, I would have sworn that our spirits were temporarily bound. That’s the only way that I could understand our connection. It was good that your baba was not near for he would not have been able to handle the stress of it.”
“Then suddenly the air in the room thickened. Everything took on a slower motion. A golden hue spread out from your abiyamo’s body.”
“I heard Bayo call out to her saying, ‘One more push!’”
“The light from my sister’s frame had become so bright that it completely distracted me from the pain I was feeling. My head was spinning and when I shook it to clear my vision, there was something or someone else in the room.”
“Yemoja the Mother had honored us with her arrival,” my aunt said, a trace of wonder in her voice and a far-away look in her eyes. “She graced us with her very presence that day, and I have never seen anything like it since then.”
I had slowed my grinding of the yams while she talked, and when she mentioned the Goddess, I stilled my small hands completely.
“My mind was not quite ready to accept what my eyes could see,” Aunt Zakiya said, her eyes locked into mine, her voice breathless with excitement.
“The cloth that adorned the Goddess’ body shifted colors many times, from a dazzling white to a deep sea blue, back and forth, back and forth. Her covering moved fluidly, as if it had a life of its own.” She paused, and squinted her eyes, as if trying to remember something.
“It reminded me of how the ocean looks after a storm—vast and sparkling, and all at once both calm and restless.” she smiled. “When I witnessed the beautiful goddess wearing the sea for clothes, and saw how her skin glowed like polished ebony, I knew everything would be alright.” Aunt Zakiya left her yams on the table, and stepped in front of me.
“The Goddess circled us with outstretched arms, as if she were cradling the whole group, and when she spoke, her voice washed over us like a mighty, rumbling tide.”
‘Amachi[xiv], come now, for your family awaits you.’
“At that very moment,” Aunt Zakiya said, “your abiyamo took a very deep breath, and you slid right into my hands, as slippery and naked as a new-born calf!” We giggled together, and she continued, “Mother Yemoja waved her left hand, and you were washed clean; your little body pulsed with the same light as the Goddess herself emanated.”
“Amachi…” My aunt said with a sigh.
“That was the first time I heard your name said out loud. No one knew what your mother would name you except her. At least, I thought no one knew.” She chuckled.
‘And then what, Aunt?’ I had asked…I was a curious child, and wanted to hear the end of the tale.
“And then,” Aunt Zakiya said, “you cried, as all babies do when they are pushed from their warm beds in wombs and into the cold, noisy world. Mother Yemoja smiled at you kindly.”
‘Abiyamo’ she said to your mother, ‘all the pain you suffered was not without reason. Though it may not seem that way now, you have given yourself and your people a great gift. Amachi’s birth is sacrosanct. She will live long after your ancestors have moved on from this world. She will grow to become the Oloruns greatest guardian and eventually lead others to follow the same path. The Oloruns legacy will persevere through her guidance and determination. She will be known as the “Goddess of Light”’!’ Aunt Zakiya exclaimed.
“She gently placed her hand upon your abiyamo’s forehead and I watched as the pain left her features and her breathing steadied. I too felt an ease within my body as well. When I looked up again, she had winked out of sight just as the sun peeked over the horizon.” Aunt Zakiya looked at me then, and smiled broadly.
“Seven days after your birth your naming ceremony took place.” Aunt Zakiya said as she returned to the table and picked up the grinding stone to finish pounding the yams into powder.
“Your abiyamo was still too weak so the event took place indoors. Even though your name was chosen by Yemoja the Mother, we waited until the ikomojade to say your name out loud and introduce you to the tribe. Everyone was excited to see you, as rumors had already spread about how you came into the world. Tribe members and relatives left their gifts for your family outside the entryway of your home.”
“Elder Madu[xv], your parents’ most respected advisor, took you from your abiyamo in preparation for your ceremony. He wore a traditional buba, pants and agbada that draped over his clothing. The customary garments were made from a material that had been first tied, and then dyed; watery white rings marked where the cloth had been bound during the dyeing, and he looked distinguished amongst his tribesmen. He had wise eyes and a gentle smile.”
“The elder threw a little water towards the ceiling and when the drops landed on your face you cried out. Everyone applauded happily, and your parents were grinning with joy. Your strong voice indicated that you would have a long life.” She laughed.
“After whispering your name in your ear, he then marked your forehead with blessed water and spoke out loud the name that would guide you through your life. Raising you in the air he bellowed,
‘Meet Amachi Yenyo[xvi] Inotu’[xvii]!’
“We cheered and clapped once more. After the ceremony concluded, the celebration began. Your baba helped your abiyamo to a seat in front of the door so she could draw from the positive energy flowing all around her. I placed you in a heavily lined straw basket that I made just for you and watched your parents as they enjoyed the love and camaraderie that occurred between tribe members. Already your presence had brought a sense of peace and calm that had not existed in many years.”
We continued to laugh and talk while we prepared the soup that afternoon, and I have treasured the story of my birth since then.
For the next six years, after my birth, things continued to get better. There was more communication between tribe members. People took more time to discuss conflicts instead of fighting. And there was no more blatant separation between the Olorun and former Shango members.
My abiyamo’s health on the other hand gradually became worse. She would tire easily and caring for me was a real task. My aunt would come by frequently to help out. I was busy and full of energy and questions.
‘How does the moon come up, abiyamo?’
‘Aunt Zakiya, why are there fish in the lake?’
‘Why do men get to be warriors, while women have to stay at home?’
I asked so many questions, my parents and family joked that I tested each one of their patience mightily, but they loved my inquisitive, rambunctious spirit. They usually answered me as best they could; that is, they answered all but one of my questions:
‘Why doesn’t baba pay attention to me?’
My baba was getting more depressed each day but tried not to let my abiyamo see it. He fretted that he would wake up one day and she would no longer be there. He spent very little time with me even when my abiyamo got angry with him.
“You cannot blame Amachi for what has happened to me! If it is meant that I move on from this life, so be it! Stop denying her the right to know her baba!”
My abiyamo tried to make up for it but she was just too weary to do the things I wanted her to do. My baba never really made an effort and my aunt ended up doing all the things that he should have done.
Aunt Zakiya would take me fishing or teach me how to weave a basket. She would take me into the brush and we would crawl on our bellies and quietly watch as the lionesses played with their cubs. They knew our scent so we were never in any real danger, but my aunt still wanted to respect their space. She taught me about our culture, about the orisas[xviii]: Olorun, Yemoja, Eshu[xix], Obatala[xx] and many others. Why it was important to respect them and acknowledge what they did for us as a people. As I got older I began to realize that my aunt was trying to make up for what I lacked; My mother’s time and my father’s interest.
Even now I still wonder… ‘Was my baba just unable or unwilling to fix what ailed me? Would he have let my heart stay broken forever?’
***
Very shortly after my sixth birthday, my world changed forever.
When my baba woke up he noticed that my abiyamo was barely breathing. He tried to revive her with no success. “Caimile! Caimile! Please wake up!” he cried while shaking her body.
He was frightened by the extreme heat that was radiating from her form. Her skin looked flushed, she was running a fever and her eyes were barely open. Scared and frustrated, he ran out of the house to retrieve our spiritual advisor and my aunt.
I can still hear myself, and feel my terrified screams erupting from my tiny throat. I was six years old and even though I was surrounded by friends and family, I felt absolutely alone.
‘Save her!’ I yelled.
‘You must save her…if she dies, who will take care of me?’ I wailed.
My aunt wrapped her arms around me and rocked back and forth as our tribe’s elders worked feverishly to bring my abiyamo back from death’s door. It was not her time; she had not been in the world long enough to discover her destiny. According to our beliefs, should a person die before their appointed time, they will not discover what Olodumare[xxi] the High’s plan was for them. Had my abiyamo lived long enough?
Fear gripped my heart as the elders chanted. They asked Olodumare to spare her. “Bless her with the breath of life once more!” exclaimed one elder.
Squeezing cool water across my abiyamo’s brow, they also called upon Yemoja the Mother and Erinle the Healer[xxii] for their protective energy and healing but it was of no use. Even Babalawo our most powerful spiritual advisor could not stop what was meant. Stopping Àyànmô[xxiii] was an ability he did not possess. Our djotò[xxiv], our ancestor, had come to lead her home. As he stepped away from her pulsing body, he would not—perhaps, could not—look me in the eyes. He squeezed my shoulder as he left my home. The sadness within me leaked from my eyes and seemed to pollute the air surrounding me. I felt my chest tighten. I felt my inner light dimming, as some of my essence drained away. I knew that part of my soul would die if she did.
A sudden chill crept up my back as I watched my great-grandmother’s spirit materialize by the front door. ‘Go away! You cannot have her!’ I wailed once again.
Holding me closer, my aunt murmured words of comfort that I was too upset to hear. ‘Who will take care of me?’ I whispered to myself in anguish.
My great-grandmother had been gone from this realm for many years and it terrified me to know that I seemed to be the only person capable of seeing her. Although I never met her, my spirit recognized her. A single tear trickled from her brown eye and down her wrinkled cheek. She wore a majestic embroidered gown whose colors were warm and inviting. Her feet were bare and her hair was a mossy silvery-grey that was even more beautiful against her dark complexion.
Passing through the wall of the hut, she re-appeared in front of my abiyamo’s body. Looking down at me she said, “Fear not my child, where your abiyamo goes is a happy place. She will not suffer and neither will you. She will always be there for you. You are not alone.”
As the other elders continued to chant, my great-grandmother placed her hand on my abiyamo’s chest. I listened as her heart slowly stopped beating and I held my breath as she inhaled her last. All around me, my family cried out in despair, but my baba sat silently. His natural energy and vibrancy slipped away from him like a mist. Sitting next to my abiyamo’s body, my baba stubbornly held on to her hands. If it were possible, I believe that he would have followed her to Orun. She was his life as she was mine. He glanced at me, his eyes hollow and dull—he had no comfort to give me.
Blooming from my abiyamo’s chest was a white light that hovered over her body. The light moved towards me and stopped. It seemed to be waiting for something but I was too distraught to realize it. My great-grandmother then said, “Hold out your hand little one.” In awe I watched the light travel up my arm and straight into my chest.
As I felt my mind and heart open, I knew that my abiyamo bestowed upon me something special. I was flooded with all her memories, all her insight and all the love she had for me. I could feel my inner light spark with renewal and my soul knit itself back together. Suddenly, I heard her voice, as clear as a birdcall in the treetops.
“My daughter, my heart: You and I are one. I give you all my strength, courage, wisdom and hope. Use them to lead you to your destiny. My destiny was to bring you into this world. I know that my purpose has been fulfilled. Mo feran re, my daughter, I love you!”
As I watched the spirit of my great-grandmother fade into hazy shadow, the heavy feeling of my abiyamo’s absence evaporated from my heart. I needed to only close my eyes to see and feel her presence within me. I knew that I would be able to face anything that the future hurled at me, because my mother’s spirit would guide me. Although I had no idea what awaited me in the years to come, I felt ready.
***
That same year, my talents became evident. The most important ones were communication with the dead and foresight into the future. My aunt had told me the story of my birth, but it wasn’t until that year that we discovered my unique abilities.
One night, my abiyamo came to me again but this time it was in a dream. Sitting under an Iroko[xxv] tree she motioned for me to sit with her. I was moved by her beauty and I was sure this was how she looked when my father met her: Flawless mahogany skin, gentle eyes, and a joyful laugh that always made you feel good inside.
She said to me, “Please tell you baba not to fret. Tell him I said, ‘do not give up on life.’ He still has a long future ahead. Tell him that I love him and I will be waiting for him when he is ready.”
He wept when I gave him her message and told me he was grateful for her love and forgiveness. The last time they spoke, they argued about me and the guilt was heavy on his heart. He finally apologized to me. “It was hard for me; hard for me to find the courage to face you. I believed that I was a disappointment to you and your abiyamo.”
After the message in the dream it became clear how I would most benefit my people. I would be a seer.
[i] Abiyamo - in Yoruba language, term for mother.
http://www.jendajournal.com/jenda/issue4/oyewumi.html
[ii] Atunwa – Yoruba for reincarnation
[iii] Orun – upper Outerworld, the heavenly plane; earthly deeds and character decide which heaven one travels. (Yoruba) http://www.geocities.com/CollegePark/Classroom/9912/yorubaspirit.html
[iv] Baba – Yoruba for father
[v] Zakiya – pure (African)
[vi] Sadiki – faithful (African)
[vii] Olorun - Yoruba deity, high god, bestows blessings and confers thanks when invoked (also known as Olodumare) http://www.uiowa.edu/~africart/toc/people/Yoruba.html
[viii] Shango – divinity or orisa of thunder and lightning in the Yoruba culture. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shango
[ix] Yemoja - In Yorùbá mythology, Yemoja is a abiyamo goddess; patron deity of women, especially pregnant women; and the Ogun river; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yemaja (Yemoja the Mother)
[x] ojo ikunle – day of birth (Yoruba)
[xi] Bayo – happiness (Yoruba)
[xii] Ogun River – In Africa, Yemoja is represented by the Ogun River rather than by the ocean in the New World. She is the goddess/orisa of this river.
[xiii] Ori - appeal to ori is regarded as the key prayer in time of crisis superceding entreaties to the deities. Indeed ori – a person’s inner spiritual head – is itself a deity in Orisa (Yoruba religion). http://www.answers.com/topic/ori-Yoruba
[xiv] Amachi - (Ah-mah-chi) –Who knows what God has brought us through this child (Ibo of Nigeria)
[xv] Madu – (MAH-doo) – of the people (Nigeria, Igbo)
[xvi] Yenyo – (Yehn-yoh) – mother is rejoicing (Nigerian, Yoruba)
[xvii] Inotu – (ee-NOH-too) – may I not offend the combined strength of the community. (Nigerian)
[xviii] Orisas – also known as orishas – gods
[xix] Eshu - Yoruba trickster-god, causes one to mature; god of beginnings, doorways and crossroads. He rules the opportunity and potentiality of a situation, and the risks and rewards inherent in it. - played frequently by leading mortals to temptation and possible tribulation in the hopes that the experience will lead ultimately to their maturation. In this way he is certainly a difficult teacher, but in the end is usually found to be a good one. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E-shu (Eshu the Trickster)
[xx] Obatala – orisa of peace, harmony and purity; father of most orisas and creator of humankind; represents clarity, justice and wisdom. “King of the orisa, Obatala is the essence of purity, justice and free thinking. He represents the pure and calm way to transcendence” – Description from “The Way of the Orisa; Empowering Your Life Through the Ancient African religion of Ifa” by Philip John Neimark. Page 95
www.afrikaworld.net/afrel/sevenorishas.htm (Obatala the Pure)
[xxi] Olodumare - Yoruba deity represents the creator of all
http://www.fa.indiana.edu/~conner/yoruba/cut.html (Olodumare the High)
[xxii] Erinle - orisa of medicine, healing, and comfort, physician to the gods (Erinle the Healer)
[xxiii] Àyànmô – Fate http://obafemio.wordpress.com/2009/07/26/reincarnation-orisa-spiritual-foundation/
[xxiv] Djotò - a guardian ancestor http://obafemio.wordpress.com/2009/07/26/reincarnation-orisa-spiritual-foundation/
[xxv] Iroko - a hardwood tree of tropical Africa (Late 19th century, from Yoruba)
http://www.britannica.com/eb/article?tocId=9042793
I was standing in my yard, marveling at how blue and cloudless the sky was. We had a bout of stormy weather and the sunshine was welcome.. It was too hot to work outside so I spent many hours on the web, checking out metaphysics and melanin and pyramid power. The next day the sky was still blue but criss-crossed with jet trails. No, I mean like crop dusting at high altitude, they call them chemtrails.
I watched a couple vids on background and outcomes. I had flashes of that sci-fi movie “Punzi” and the original “Total Recall”. In my heart I felt we just been awaken to a new reality the powers that be slipped into being. I remember the dooms-day virus flicks. We all are effected and inflected and every announced antedote either kills us faster or singles us out as a target for the end game.
All these years I've been collecting data, stories, articles. I thought they were for a bright future, not for survival. I'm thinking about an RV type mobile home, compact and movable if I have to. Also a Quonset hut for open space shelter. I wonder if I could design a re-breather to filter water and air in the home and a personal unit for travel. I thought about hydroponics and greenhouse garden/fisheries and homes connected by tunnels. I thought about minimum electronics, low power lights and food storage. The primitive peoples suddenly became very wise in my eyes.
I raced out the driveway to buy some stuff and saw people walking by clueless. We wait for crime or a terrorist without and devils within. We live in the soup of created chaos and destruction killing us softly. Yeah but I am the only one awake to this? Truth stranger than fiction.
Blind Corners is the fevered product of Author Jemir Robert Johnson. It features a collection of hard
boiled detective stories showcasing Jocasta Navarro, a black female private investigator.
I have the pleasure of being a guest artist in this anthology book of crime tales.
You will not be disappointed... my Blakelyworks Studio member, Luis Sierra is the main artist and
he does a classic job of storytelling. Just consider this your first venture in the urban
pulp world of Blind Corners. And remember, She will change the way you look at crime.
Hot off the presses coming this October.
Hello Everyone:
My name's Sharon and I'm the author of "Amachi's Hope" a YA fantasy that's influenced by West African culture. I came across your website while researching blogs that reflect the genre that I'm currently involved in. Not to mention, an acquaintance mentioned that I should check you out. I'm looking forward to seeing all the talent on this website.
Childhood experiences, both good and bad, can affect the developing architecture of the brain. When parents and other caregivers read frequently to a child, it reinforces the brain connections that will help the child develop reading and thinking skills. Experiences and environment also determine whether neural circuits involved with motor skills, behavior control, memory and other functions form robustly. Experiences also can influence gene expression in the developing brain by affecting the production of proteins that bind to DNA in the neurons, Cameron said. Scientists are just starting to understand such "epigenetic" factors in brain development.
When the body's response to stress — the rush of adrenaline, the increase in heart rate, the elevation of certain hormone levels — is constantly active, Cameron said, the result is "toxic stress" that can reduce the number of neural connections in the cognitive areas of the brain at a time when they should be proliferating.
A Kaiser Permanente study on adverse childhood experiences with 17,000 participants found that childhood exposure to violence, domestic abuse, family neglect or other stresses can have life-long consequences, including a higher probability of alcoholism, illicit drug use and depression. Cameron said the research suggests that children exposed to many adverse events early in life even have an elevated risk of heart disease in their 50s.
There are ways to prevent such outcomes. Good parenting, better nutrition and more cognitively stimulating experiences can "contribute very positively to a healthy trajectory" in life, Cameron said.
The most important influence on a neighborhood's crime rate, the researchers found, was the neighbors' sense of "agency" or willingness to intervene on behalf of the common good.
Earls and his colleagues found that some neighborhoods were functioning well and that the entire city was not under siege as some news reports might suggest. "We found that collective efficacy was, indeed, operating as a protective factor," he said.
The researchers also found that the benefits of collective efficacy go beyond easing violence. It also seems to be associated with more use of parks and recreational spaces in neighborhoods, initiation of sexual activity at later ages among youths, and even less obesity and fewer admissions to hospitals for asthma attacks.
I experienced my own personal collective efficacy from parents, a sister, a faith community that cared about me despite my circumstances. That charity was also extended to my closest friends.
"United States" seems idealistic to the point of oxymoron. We are divided: between sound science and utter fantasy; facts and ideology. I've read the most inspiring as well as inflammatory postings since the Zimmerman verdict (some calling him a "patriot"; Coulter tweeted "hallelujah"). It is more than just a tragic event centered on iced, tea, skittles and profiled suspicion. It is our addiction to talking points; our predilection to making sensation provocateurs equivalent to journalists; our treatment of Americans as aliens on their own soil: never mind immigration reform.
New York has just experienced one of the warmest days on record, but the doubt of climate research has been planted by forces that want to confuse the issue to maximize energy industry profits. Fracking used to be a curse on Battlestar Galactica, and has been studied with as much resolve. We're falling behind in science, technology, engineering and mathematics largely, unlike other countries we completely lack a "collective efficacy": we don't encourage women and minorities into the sciences; we fight political chimeras and windmills with the resolve of quixotic dragon slayers; we want the usual suspects and magical thinking to keep us on top as whole industries are shipped overseas; we have an "us-versus-them" mentality so that we don't see the value in our fellow countrymen and women to pursue liberty, happiness...and life (reorder intentional).
And, our fast-approaching last place has never been a good place to start a sprint.
AAAS: Experts Describe Long-Term Impacts of Stress on the Young Brain
Chicage Tribune: CPS lays off more than 2000, including 1000 teachers
We are currently preparing to launch our next (and really first) project. The name is still encrypted, but if you are interested in being a test reader / test user then drop us a line, here, or at www.moorsgatemedia.blogspot.com. let us know an electronic address that we and contact you at. For a taste of the project: see below.
The door shrieked in protest. Rust flecked hinges popped and rang as they separated from the wood beneath. The sound reverberated around the room and dove into Maura’s ears.
“The widow!” Paul jabbed his finger to point across the gulf between them.
She turned and looked out the casement window. The checkerboard of glass framed the harvest moon with a jeweler's skill.
Paul grabbed the faded dresser and began wrestling it away from the wall. The whitewashed mass refused to budge until he wedged his knees behind it and strained.
A piercing crack from the door drove electric convulsions down Maura's spine. The wood frame splintered, slivers of carved driftwood coughed onto the floor boards.
Paul leaned into the dresser and pushed; his bare feet slipped, scraped and grasped for traction. Slowly, too slowly, the antique began to move. Progress was marked in thin trails of blood upon the wide-plank floor.
Space Daily: A new form of carbon: Grossly Warped 'Nanographene'
https://www.dropbox.com/sh/hht6fwzhmlqof73/olrOJrUWao
Hard to believe three novels later all the years I dreamt of writing books that it really happened. When I think of all the hard work that went into getting them written and published, it certainly becomes real!
Now that 'Book of Dragon's Teeth' is a few days away from release, there's no 'breather' because I have other writing projects in the pipeline and working on a tv show and developing one as well. I'm also seriously thinking about going to get my Ph.D. in Digital Media Studies (what else?) So that's going to be a process on its own!
In the meantime, those of you who haven't read the two previous books from the TFLR Series you can find them at:
Book Two: TFLR: THE GRAY MAN
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| Image Source: Women in Planetary Science |
Dr. Alexander is the Project Scientist for the U.S. portion of the international Rosetta mission. She has also been the Cassini Project Staff Scientist and as the final project manager of the Galileo mission, overseeing its fiery crash into Jupiter. Her scientific interests include gaskinetic theory, theory of gaseous escape from planetary and cometary regoliths, theory of surface bound exospheres, magnetospheric plasma theory (terrestrial and planetary), exobiology, interdiciplinary science, and oxidation / reduction potential of planetary and cometary regoliths.
Her most recent publications include:
NASA Science News: Mission to Land on a Comet
European Space Agency: Rosetta
Opportunity's 10-year anniversary: still working for us. 
Amazing illustration by Tina KrugerThere have been some great discussion on this topic since Childrens book council came out with some startling stats on the subject. Like this article by Lee and Low Books and this short on NPR. Weigh on yall. There are the obvious points, but who is leading the charge in changing this?
-Robert Trujillo
He had a great science fiction series and several other shows on the Science Channel I enjoyed. Dr. Hawking has lost some scientific wagers though: with Kip Thorne; a "black hole war" with Leonard Susskind and Gerard t'Hooft; most recently with Peter Higgs (of the Higgs Boson).
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| Science Universe blog |
Nobel Prize: History of Special Relativity
Physics arXiv: Henri Poincaré and Relativity Theory, by A. A. Logunov
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| Organizational Relationship and Contact Analyzer - ORCA |
Realizing this evolution in technology was inevitable, some of what else the article said disturbed me:
“Police officers working in the district have told us that gangs of Racial Group A are known for a more centralized organizational structure while gangs of Racial Group B have adopted a decentralized model,” say Paulo and co adding that the results of their analysis seem to clearly show this.
The team is currently working to introduce a software in a major metropolitan police department throughout the summer of 2013.
Read that as: New York City, and a "scientific reason" for the continuance of "stop and frisk" and profiling...
Physics arXiv:
How Military Counterinsurgency Software Is Being Adapted To Tackle Gang Violence in Mainland USA
Related link: StreetGangs.com
It's been a long time coming but amidst economic meltdowns, personal health issues, family tragedies and the everyday fight to stay the course working in the field I love most, the sequel to 'The Gray Man' is complete! Hard to believe I was halfway through writing the initial draft when family tragedy and my work in film & TV production took off at the same time back in 2006.
I finished the first draft in 2010 despite everything happening (most of it bad!) I finally got the edits done last year and have been fighting tooth and nail to get the cover art done. After a (very) short break, it's off to the publisher and let the 'promotional games' begin!
If all that weren't enough (obviously it isn't), I've got several projects ongoing including one which is a collaborative work with some authors well known (and loved) here at the BSFS! So while I'm getting the new season of 'The Priestess' ready to go this month, I'll be working on a new television extreme sports show and prepping to make another movie (way overdue for that!) In the meantime, ETP (estimated time of publishing) for 'Book of Dragon's Teeth' is late July or early August. For you fans of TFLR, you have my sincerest apologies for the long wait!
