<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235</id><updated>2011-07-30T18:24:10.618-07:00</updated><category term='motherhood'/><category term='women'/><category term='passing'/><category term='business'/><category term='children'/><category term='songs'/><category term='MTV'/><category term='Aaliyah'/><category term='RIP Aaliyah'/><category term='spending money'/><category term='confidence'/><category term='book tour'/><category term='wedding'/><category term='karma'/><category term='favorite artist'/><category term='community'/><category term='relationships'/><category term='artists'/><category term='expression'/><category term='new release'/><category term='school'/><category term='actress'/><category term='book'/><category term='blog'/><category term='&quot;I Care For U&quot; song'/><category term='sagging'/><category term='empowerment'/><category term='bad boys'/><category term='respect'/><category term='online book release party'/><category term='Jill Scott'/><category term='feelings'/><category term='internet'/><category term='self-esteem'/><category term='men'/><category term='book signing'/><category term='8 years later'/><category term='happiness'/><category term='singer'/><category term='Cassandra Daniels'/><category term='money'/><category term='engagement'/><title type='text'>Writers write...I am a writer.</title><subtitle type='html'>I wanted to share everything involved that makes me live, breathe, eat and sleep writing.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>30</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-7875634983243347138</id><published>2010-04-09T08:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-09T08:35:57.285-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blog'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wedding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='engagement'/><title type='text'>I'm engaged! Now what?</title><content type='html'>It's funny because my now fiance and I had been "planning" a wedding for about six months now. Planning like throwing around ideas, subtly window shopping at venues, colors, decorations, and favors. We signed up to theKnot.com several months ago just so again to get some ideas. So then he proposed on March 20. I just recently got my ring back from it getting sized. So noww........what am I going to do? What any other unconventional bride would do? I have researching and researching and researching and any good idea, I will post either with a blog and/or a video. I don't think I will on this blog. I want to keep my writing first and then have a wedding blog. I will post the address once I start it! But Yayyyyy.....I'm engaged!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-7875634983243347138?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/7875634983243347138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-engaged-now-what.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/7875634983243347138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/7875634983243347138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-engaged-now-what.html' title='I&apos;m engaged! Now what?'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-3702877372505836745</id><published>2010-03-08T08:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T09:40:58.163-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Positive roles for the Oscars</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/S5U2oSp0EcI/AAAAAAAAADI/4uaLj03CwuQ/s1600-h/monique.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 102px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/S5U2oSp0EcI/AAAAAAAAADI/4uaLj03CwuQ/s200/monique.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446319390204367298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I didn't watch the Oscars last night but I hoped that Monique would win. I had to ask myself why though. I did see &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Precious &lt;/span&gt;and thought it was okay. Not necessarily great but both Gabby and Monique gave great performances. Did I see Oscars? Again, not necessarily but at the same time, they did really good. So I was hoping for Monique to win. She did win. I am very happy for her. Then on Twitter and FB, I see others comment about the type of roles that African American actors and actresses are winning Oscars for. Halle won for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Monster's Ball&lt;/span&gt;, Denzel won for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Training Day, &lt;/span&gt;Jennifer Hudson won for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dream Girls, &lt;/span&gt;Forrest Whitaker for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Last King of Scotland &lt;/span&gt;, Jamie Foxx for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ray &lt;/span&gt;which I thought that last two were well deserved and loved both movies, Cuba Gooding Jr. for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Jerry Maguire&lt;/span&gt; and now Monique for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Precious. &lt;/span&gt;A lot of people are saying why are we for the most part winning for a role that is negative. All in all, African Americans aren't not portrayed in beauty that we are. We're crooked cops, abusive mothers, we have big egos, and adulterers. This may represent some of us but not all of us. All of the actors (excluding Jennifer since it was her first role) have made wonderful films that they should have recognized at that level. To take it a step further, people have been nominated or not and didn't get recognized at all. That definitely makes me upset but that might be getting off the subject. Monique won because her acting was believable. She wasn't just the funny girl anymore. She definitely wasn't trying to make us laugh. We hated her and when have we ever &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hated &lt;/span&gt;Monique? She deserved the award for that indeed. When Halle and Denzel won their awards, I was with everyone else when saying "Why win for those roles? They weren't positive at all." I still kind of feel that but at the same time. Although I didn't care for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Monster's Ball &lt;/span&gt;or &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Training Day,  &lt;/span&gt;the same comment has to apply to them as well. Halle is considered one of the most beautiful women in the world. In &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Monster's Ball, &lt;/span&gt;there was not one thing beautiful about her. She was abusive, obnoxious, and again somebody we didn't like. I didn't like the movie but it was a role we're not used to. Same thing with Denzel. I feel the same way about Denzel that I did back then. He has done some wonderful work and to not get an award for them is disgusting to me. But....I say all of that to say this. As black people, we should celebrate them and not criticize. The Academy isn't paying attention. WE need to pay attention and praise our people for their work. If we keep knocking them down and the Academy is knocking them, how are we any better than them? Congrats to Monique! Congrats to Gabby for being nominated! Congrats to Morgan Freeman, Lee Daniels, and even though I do not know his name, congrats to guy who won the award but got Kanye'd! :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-3702877372505836745?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/3702877372505836745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2010/03/positive-roles-for-oscars.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/3702877372505836745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/3702877372505836745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2010/03/positive-roles-for-oscars.html' title='Positive roles for the Oscars'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/S5U2oSp0EcI/AAAAAAAAADI/4uaLj03CwuQ/s72-c/monique.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-1739454698933488623</id><published>2010-01-19T09:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T10:08:09.561-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Helping Haiti and People who are Hating!</title><content type='html'>Like everyone else, I'm watching the destruction and sorrow in Haiti on the television, online, and hearing it on the radio. It is horrible to watch but something that needs to shown on a daily so that people won't forget or decide to move their attention to something that doesn't deserve it. I saw Katie Couric on Charlie Rose last night and she had just got back from Haiti. She talked about meeting a thirteen year old boy named Pierre who had lost both of his parents, had head trauma and a broken leg. She was holding his hand and asking him questions and he answered what he could. But then when the tented area that they were using for a hospital was silent, Pierre let out a deafening yell and he said "Why me? Why us? Why the horror?" So I'm watching the footage of this little boy and hearing him cry and couldn't imagine what I would do if that happened to me. You could see his pain in his eyes. You could hear it in his screams. You can see and feel the pain through the television. I truly commend the people who are going to Haiti to help, people who are donating, and people who are showing that they give a damn. Now....to the people who are saying ridiculous comments such as the Haitians deserve it or that it's not the US so why are we helping or even it's not my problem. I really don't care. You really don't care? How can anyone not truly care for those people? How can anyone say that they deserve that devastation? Why wouldn't anyone want to help out in any way they could? That $5 that you might use for the club, a pack of cigarettes, a Big Mac, etc. could save hundreds of kids and babies in Haiti! I understand that the economy is bad but it can't be that bad if you just got your nails done and planning on bowling later....when you know those freshly done nails are going to break? I'm not judging but for the people who are judging Haitians for whatever reason, take a good look at yourself first.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-1739454698933488623?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/1739454698933488623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2010/01/helping-haiti-and-people-who-are-hating.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1739454698933488623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1739454698933488623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2010/01/helping-haiti-and-people-who-are-hating.html' title='Helping Haiti and People who are Hating!'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-4869000181676282445</id><published>2009-12-26T14:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-26T15:00:28.522-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Look back on my 2009....</title><content type='html'>I'm doing this a little early. Next week, 2010 begins and all of 2009 ends. 2009 for me was long. This year has been very long and full of mountains and plains. I say that because I made a lot of decisions. Some for good and I know now that some were bad. I learned a lot about myself and my mind. I've learned about the complexities of love, passion, friendship and pain. This year has truly been full of self-evaluation and reflection. I've noticed that I've been looking at myself from outside. Asking myself why did I do that or this? Did I do that? Do I really like this or that? Am I ready for this? Why didn't I and why do I continue to do this? 2009 has been all about questions. A lot of sighs and reliefs. 2009 was very helpful for me but also somewhat fearful. I guess I feel like this year is preparing me for a lot more things. Good and bad. I lost my job this year but plan on getting married in 2011. I'm actively trying to lose weight but also feel like I'm losing my mind at times. I joined a spoken word group and writing more poetry which I did plan on doing. My poetry has been definitely helping me and meeting new people is always a great thing. I've found people from my past and very happy about that. I'm going to be 27 in a few days and actually feel like I've caught up with my age. Before, I would always feel like I was behind. I was always the youngest of everything. I didn't look my age or hung out with people my age. Now I feel like I am 26, going on 27. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;In 2010, I will no longer the Bag Lady. Everything I learned this year will applied to 2010.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-4869000181676282445?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/4869000181676282445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/12/look-back-on-my-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/4869000181676282445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/4869000181676282445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/12/look-back-on-my-2009.html' title='Look back on my 2009....'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-5985744743007535220</id><published>2009-12-08T12:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-08T12:49:09.809-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ima a diva, Ima a diva, Ima a diva</title><content type='html'>So I went to the gym this morning around 10. Usually in the morning, the majority of the people are elderly or stay at home moms. This time, there were enough of that but also a group of women that looked like they could auditioned for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sex in the City &lt;/span&gt;or &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Desperate Housewives. &lt;/span&gt;I saw them from downstairs and put on my earphones. I looked down at my playlist and instantly thought, "Why not start with Beyonce this morning?" So I head upstairs and I see those women standing near the equipment I usually use; giggling and pointing at each other's body parts. I don't know why they were but oh well. I turn the music and some how start walking to the beat. Body was swaying and strutting. I promise I don't do this on purpose. Depending on the song, I end up doing that. As the beat gets harder, (I'm sure you have but if you haven't, here is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Diva &lt;/span&gt;by Beyonce &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNM5HW13_O8"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNM5HW13_O8&lt;/a&gt; ) I make eye contact with everyone I walked past. It was almost like a video or something. I strut a little closer the group of women and they all suddenly stop talking and look at me. I am such a writer because that's when my imagination went from 1 to 10 in two seconds. I was no longer in a gym but a party and the woman of the hour had arrived. Not Beyonce but Cassandra and everyone just became speechless. I got on my machine and began revving it up. I was a diva at that moment. Not in the bad sense though (if there is a bad sense these days) but in the sense of confidence and security. I worked out hard and smiled doing it. I felt good. I felt strong. I felt proud. I guess working out is starting to work now. Not necessarily on the outside yet because it hasn't been long enough. It has helped the inner self image that I carry with me on a daily. Have I lost weight yet? I don't know because I still haven't been on a scale. I am, however, starting to slowly lose the insecue weight on my mind. 2010, I plan on making me a lot stronger than I am with each day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-5985744743007535220?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/5985744743007535220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/12/ima-diva-ima-diva-ima-diva.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5985744743007535220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5985744743007535220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/12/ima-diva-ima-diva-ima-diva.html' title='Ima a diva, Ima a diva, Ima a diva'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-6547248634787428049</id><published>2009-12-03T11:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-03T12:34:06.075-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Week #2--One big sigh</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SxggfQsKV8I/AAAAAAAAADA/wbpR1ELKP6g/s1600-h/magic-mirror-360x400.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SxggfQsKV8I/AAAAAAAAADA/wbpR1ELKP6g/s200/magic-mirror-360x400.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411110673713878978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can say is that I hate shopping. I literally hate dressing rooms because they are small which makes me look wider. I hate the mirrors because I am convinced that they are distorted. I never really liked shopping anyway. I've always been good to find exactly what I want in 30 minutes or less and be out. Now I have try on everything and I usually get sizes too big so I can narrow it down exactly what I should be wearing. I refuse to be like that type of woman who wears that extra small shirt JUST BECAUSE I could some years ago. I can't see how people do that but that's another blog. But I am eating healthy now. Not enough meals according to my father but he's right. I've only been eating once day. Not on purpose. I'm just not hungry until later in the day and then after that, I'm good. But I do need to eat at least four times a day, throw a protein shake or a smoothie too. Now I know. You're looking at my title and it says "week two". I am asking for a lot just for week two but what can I say. I'm impatient. I'm working out twice a week but will probably change that to four times a week. Last night's workout was a killer. After five minutes of cardio, my legs were on fire...but I worked through it. I stuck with it. I'm going back to the gym tomorrow and then again on Monday. I would post my weight but I actually don't know it. Maybe I don't want to know. Right now I'm thinking a certain number and just sticking with that. One big sigh....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-6547248634787428049?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/6547248634787428049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/12/week-2-one-big-sigh.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/6547248634787428049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/6547248634787428049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/12/week-2-one-big-sigh.html' title='Week #2--One big sigh'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SxggfQsKV8I/AAAAAAAAADA/wbpR1ELKP6g/s72-c/magic-mirror-360x400.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-5856199703323436024</id><published>2009-11-26T09:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T11:12:31.674-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving....to me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sw6-jnIPibI/AAAAAAAAAC4/BW-fVEE4vm8/s1600/native+american+pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sw6-jnIPibI/AAAAAAAAAC4/BW-fVEE4vm8/s200/native+american+pic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408469721526798770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Thanksgiving 2009 for me....Indianapolis weather has the typical cool breeze. Leaves are still on the ground and the smell of food is floating in the air. I'm at my father's house now and will be here probably for the remainder of the day. I'm going to watch some cable, use up some internet and eat until I can't take it no more. I have fond memories of Thanksgiving as a child. Helping my father peel potatoes, learning the right way to make mac and cheese from my mother, trying chitlins for the first time (very interesting!) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and spending time with family. I never cared for the whole dinner with the Pilgrims and the Indians. Even as a kid, all that meant to me was the Pilgrims filled their stomachs up before the killing. That whole "happy go lucky" picture that they fed us in school was BS to me. Now at 26, I still feel the same. I celebrate families getting together. I know of some families that only meet during the holidays.  Not everyone is close to their families so if this is a way to bring them together, I'm all for it. Now, along with quality time with family, I've been gaining knowledge too. I've been finding Native American quotes, proverbs and words of wisdom. One of my Twitter friends &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="status-body"&gt;&lt;span class="entry-content"&gt; @&lt;a class="tweet-url username" href="http://twitter.com/ciciwryter"&gt;ciciwryter&lt;/a&gt; said &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;that there is more to eating. That we need to stay aware.  I hope that people do make themselves aware of Native American history. Read about the beauty of their culture, their history, and their people. Don't just eat. Read. Research. Learn. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Check out http://www.legendsofamerica.com/NA-Proverbs.html for quotes and proverbs. &lt;/span&gt;Enjoy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-5856199703323436024?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/5856199703323436024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanksgivingto-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5856199703323436024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5856199703323436024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanksgivingto-me.html' title='Thanksgiving....to me'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sw6-jnIPibI/AAAAAAAAAC4/BW-fVEE4vm8/s72-c/native+american+pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-1090669646764492641</id><published>2009-11-24T11:50:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-24T12:18:11.152-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back into it....(sigh!)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sww_Y1ejt_I/AAAAAAAAACw/h-0f-VTsDhY/s1600/african_american_bride.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sww_Y1ejt_I/AAAAAAAAACw/h-0f-VTsDhY/s200/african_american_bride.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407766948469782514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to the gym today. It's been a year and a half and my original starting date was August 1st. Well, three months later and here I am. I found my old membership badge, a sports bra, some workout clothes and I was off. Thanks to my mother for getting me a IPOD Touch. Going to gym without music is horrible for me. If I can speed up or slow down to the tunes in my ears, insecurities begin to sink in and take over. My eyes begin to wander. To the left: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;This girl obviously doesn't need to be working out. She looks like Beyonce. She's just taking up space. Damn, why can't I look like that? &lt;/span&gt;To the right: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I hope this man sweating profusely doesn't have a heart attack. &lt;/span&gt;Then of course when I look up as I have Janet Jackson blaring in my ear, the TVs has the Today show on and of course they are featuring favorite Thanksgiving recipes. I will admit that I have gone insane for choosing this weeks of all weeks to go back to the gym. How I see though is that this week is motivation. In fact the next couple of months is motivation for me along with harming images that I keep replaying in my head. I need to keep it up and stay motivated. Why? I am getting married (sarcastic Yayy!) and all I keep seeing is disaster in a dress and being upset. So it's time for me to work out, eat right, and do as much as I can before the big day. When is the big day? Not until April 9 2011 but still...2010 is just around the corner. Before I know it, I'll be hearing "Ma'am, can you suck in just a little bit more? We still need to squeeze in one more roll!" Oohhhhhh myyyyy goodnesss! I am not the one! Wish me luck folks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-1090669646764492641?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/1090669646764492641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/11/back-into-itsigh.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1090669646764492641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1090669646764492641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/11/back-into-itsigh.html' title='Back into it....(sigh!)'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sww_Y1ejt_I/AAAAAAAAACw/h-0f-VTsDhY/s72-c/african_american_bride.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-4666878338269953333</id><published>2009-11-19T12:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T12:16:27.898-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beauty within</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt; My beauty has been caught in words &amp;amp; photos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Behind bars, held hostage from me during my lows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now I've found the key and let it free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you see me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(c) Cassandra Daniels 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-4666878338269953333?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/4666878338269953333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/11/beauty-within.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/4666878338269953333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/4666878338269953333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/11/beauty-within.html' title='Beauty within'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-8332251125980755294</id><published>2009-11-04T11:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T11:41:44.330-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blackness</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I feel my blackness through my veins&lt;br /&gt;from the tightness of those slavery chains&lt;br /&gt;from the southern trees that grew strange fruit&lt;br /&gt;that ripped at our souls that came straight from the root&lt;br /&gt;I feel my blackness through the joy of freedom from Lincoln&lt;br /&gt;but he didn't free us for the right reasons&lt;br /&gt;he wanted us to rebuild a country that didn't love us so he gave us hope and released our chains&lt;br /&gt;replaced then with laws&lt;br /&gt;that made us feel drained&lt;br /&gt;We couldn't choose our destinies&lt;br /&gt;discover our identities but we still had to love this country&lt;br /&gt;Marcus Garvey came on the scene&lt;br /&gt;with his speeches and poems&lt;br /&gt;of 'back to Africa' journeys&lt;br /&gt;"find out the truth and you will be free"&lt;br /&gt;but to many of us, hostages or not, this was all we knew and this is our truth&lt;br /&gt;Now it's the 20s and Harlem is alive&lt;br /&gt;with poetry and art that stimulates our minds&lt;br /&gt;with dancing and singing&lt;br /&gt;we're having a good time&lt;br /&gt;we're holding our heads up and lifting our voices&lt;br /&gt;loving each other and making our own choices&lt;br /&gt;Times are hard but we will survive&lt;br /&gt;This rebirth of black love kept us alive&lt;br /&gt;I feel my blackness&lt;br /&gt;through the beginning of Jim Crow&lt;br /&gt;We're losing control of what we have&lt;br /&gt;and it made us feel low&lt;br /&gt;I feel my blackness&lt;br /&gt;through the increasing&lt;br /&gt;of lynchings and beatings&lt;br /&gt;and misleadings&lt;br /&gt;They're taking away our air before we can breathe it&lt;br /&gt;blinding our eyes before we really can see it&lt;br /&gt;closing our mouths and tearing our hearts where we couldn't say anything&lt;br /&gt;or feel anything&lt;br /&gt;It's now WWII&lt;br /&gt;we're fighting on the front lines&lt;br /&gt;we're making ourselves strong&lt;br /&gt;imprinting our faces onto their minds&lt;br /&gt;we should be welcomed with open arms&lt;br /&gt;be respected with smiles and many praises&lt;br /&gt;Times have changed and should be for the better&lt;br /&gt;but even after all that, it's still stormy weather&lt;br /&gt;Now we're thinking&lt;br /&gt;"maybe they'll understand&lt;br /&gt;we're all men and we've earned this right&lt;br /&gt;we should be able to open our eyes when it's day and sleep well at night"&lt;br /&gt;It's now the civil rights movement&lt;br /&gt;Rosa Parks sat down&lt;br /&gt;Dr. King stood up&lt;br /&gt;Malcolm is making us feel our blackness&lt;br /&gt;Black is black&lt;br /&gt;a strength, not a weakness&lt;br /&gt;Then we got the real right to vote and it rocked our boat&lt;br /&gt;We've made it better for our kids and their kids&lt;br /&gt;Right?&lt;br /&gt;We closed our eyes and exhaled and said we finally did it&lt;br /&gt;Then we lost Malcolm&lt;br /&gt;Had we made it better&lt;br /&gt;Next it was Martin&lt;br /&gt;Was it really better?&lt;br /&gt;We now have black pride&lt;br /&gt;we've shot down all the lies&lt;br /&gt;it's just me and you&lt;br /&gt;We're black people&lt;br /&gt;now we're beautiful&lt;br /&gt;Malcolm and Martin have led the way&lt;br /&gt;The Black Panthers are making us see better days&lt;br /&gt;We're strong&lt;br /&gt;we're tall&lt;br /&gt;"I'm black and I'm proud"&lt;br /&gt;was heard through the racial walls&lt;br /&gt;I feel my blackness with every touch I lay&lt;br /&gt;With every look from my eyes&lt;br /&gt;With my talk and stride&lt;br /&gt;Blackness is no longer a color but an attitude&lt;br /&gt;It's who I am and now I hope&lt;br /&gt;you feel my blackness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(c) Cassandra Daniels&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-8332251125980755294?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/8332251125980755294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/11/blackness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/8332251125980755294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/8332251125980755294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/11/blackness.html' title='Blackness'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-5174955907599388738</id><published>2009-10-28T12:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T12:03:06.920-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Red Kool Aid</title><content type='html'>My favorite was always red&lt;br /&gt;Cherry&lt;br /&gt;Fruit punch&lt;br /&gt;Strawberry&lt;br /&gt;It all tasted the same&lt;br /&gt;Never mattered the name&lt;br /&gt;As long as it was red.&lt;br /&gt;But as I lay here&lt;br /&gt;And see nothing but&lt;br /&gt;It’s beginning to change&lt;br /&gt;I stare down at my blurry hands&lt;br /&gt;My soaking legs&lt;br /&gt;And bleeding stomach and wonder if this is real&lt;br /&gt;I couldn’t have done this&lt;br /&gt;But I have&lt;br /&gt;I granted your wish&lt;br /&gt;You didn’t want this seed&lt;br /&gt;So I did what you couldn’t&lt;br /&gt;What you didn’t have the heart to do&lt;br /&gt;I did it for you&lt;br /&gt;And even if you thought the constant&lt;br /&gt;Yelling and screaming didn’t do the trick&lt;br /&gt;I took care of that shit&lt;br /&gt;As I sit here&lt;br /&gt;Repeatedly hearing your lies&lt;br /&gt;While trying to hold back tears&lt;br /&gt;That escapes from my eyes&lt;br /&gt;I cringe as little Derrick&lt;br /&gt;Or little Monica’s blood runs through my veins&lt;br /&gt;You see&lt;br /&gt;I believed you&lt;br /&gt;When you said you would hold me&lt;br /&gt;When I was in pain&lt;br /&gt;But I guess that didn’t include&lt;br /&gt;The kind that was self inflicted&lt;br /&gt;So I guess we’re not going to have&lt;br /&gt;R. Kelly playing&lt;br /&gt;Or candles burning&lt;br /&gt;Or the make believe fairy tale of&lt;br /&gt;Our lives together&lt;br /&gt;You don’t want to hear about all of that&lt;br /&gt;Our two year relationship ended the second I said those words&lt;br /&gt;When a silly crush merged&lt;br /&gt;Into this.&lt;br /&gt;But since you aren’t working&lt;br /&gt;And I’m still trying to get my education&lt;br /&gt;A real abortion wasn’t going to happen&lt;br /&gt;But you knew we wouldn’t need any money&lt;br /&gt;With all the sleepless nights of you&lt;br /&gt;Accusing me of lying down with another&lt;br /&gt;Your cousin&lt;br /&gt;Your boys&lt;br /&gt;Even your brother&lt;br /&gt;You knew all of this would get to me&lt;br /&gt;But see&lt;br /&gt;It wasn’t that long ago&lt;br /&gt;That I lied down on your bed&lt;br /&gt;You said&lt;br /&gt;“This will feel good”&lt;br /&gt;I said&lt;br /&gt;“I’m scared and not in the mood”&lt;br /&gt;You said&lt;br /&gt;“It will be okay”&lt;br /&gt;I asked&lt;br /&gt;“Will you love me always?”&lt;br /&gt;You said&lt;br /&gt;“As long as the sun shines&lt;br /&gt;You will always be mine.”&lt;br /&gt;Well&lt;br /&gt;Darkness has fallen upon us&lt;br /&gt;And separated our beings&lt;br /&gt;Because you are not with me&lt;br /&gt;And everything is ending&lt;br /&gt;So now I’m sitting in this tub of water&lt;br /&gt;Which is turning a dark reddish color&lt;br /&gt;I’ve hit my stomach so many times&lt;br /&gt;That I don’t even feel like it’s crime&lt;br /&gt;It’s just evil&lt;br /&gt;In the midst of my tears&lt;br /&gt;I can hear my unborn baby cry&lt;br /&gt;It’s calling out my name&lt;br /&gt;I can hear him or her saying to me&lt;br /&gt;“I’m not the one to blame”&lt;br /&gt;But I am the one that laid&lt;br /&gt;In a bed that wasn’t mine&lt;br /&gt;Filled with lust but thought was love all intertwined&lt;br /&gt;I cry harder as the water became redder&lt;br /&gt;Maybe next time I would have known better&lt;br /&gt;Maybe next time I would have thought twice&lt;br /&gt;Maybe next time I will decide not to lay&lt;br /&gt;But now I know&lt;br /&gt;That my child will never know&lt;br /&gt;The taste of red kool aid&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(c) Cassandra Daniels&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-5174955907599388738?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/5174955907599388738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/10/red-kool-aid.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5174955907599388738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5174955907599388738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/10/red-kool-aid.html' title='Red Kool Aid'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-1385685270142388042</id><published>2009-10-11T18:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T10:31:26.414-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Diary of a Tired Black Man" review</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCASSAN%7E1%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"&gt;&lt;/o:smarttagtype&gt;&lt;o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"&gt;&lt;/o:smarttagtype&gt;&lt;o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="State"&gt;&lt;/o:smarttagtype&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if !mso]&gt;&lt;object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"&gt;&lt;/object&gt; &lt;style&gt; st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Font Definitions */  @font-face 	{font-family:"Book Antiqua"; 	panose-1:2 4 6 2 5 3 5 3 3 4; 	mso-font-charset:0; 	mso-generic-font-family:roman; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;}  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman";} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;I just finished watching “Diary of a Tired Black Man”. This movie was directed and produced by Tim Alexander and was made in 2007. I was looking for a comedy to watch and came across this. From the cover, I took as a response to Tyler Perry’s movie “Diary of a Mad Black Woman” which I have also seen and enjoyed. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;After the first three minutes of the movie, it’s shown that it’s a movie with actors and well written scenes but also a documentary with street commentary of the clips as well as answers to questions asked by the director. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;The movie surrounds the relationship of James and Tonya. They had been married for four years with one daughter. The first clip shows Tonya sitting in her home with three of her friends and James pulls with a white woman. Tonya as well as her friends voices their opinion about James and his new girlfriend and how he has the audacity to pull up and kiss his &lt;i style=""&gt;white &lt;/i&gt;girlfriend in front of her. When he comes to the door, we find out he’s there to pick up their daughter. After about five seconds, James gets bombarded with mean names (&lt;i style=""&gt;weak ass nigga&lt;/i&gt;) by Tonya and her friends because he is now dating a white girl. We then find out that he pays for the house that Tonya and their daughter lives in. He pays for their car and gives her alimony. She also does not work. Before the clip is over, he says that he is not a &lt;i style=""&gt;weak ass nigga&lt;/i&gt; but a tired black man. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;Throughout the rest of the movie, we see many clips from actual persons on the streets and in restaurants. They watched the before mentioned clip and give their thoughts. I thought that Tim did a wonderful job with that. I wasn’t just watching what he perceived as a dysfunctional relationship between two married. I wasn’t just watching actors acting. It also displayed real thoughts and feelings. He asked questions to passer Byers about their past relationships and personal feelings. He didn’t ask anything too revealing but we did find that a common topic both men and women love to talk about is love and relationships.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;In the beginning, he focuses on a term that I’ve heard on occasion: the angry black woman syndrome. He defined the “angry black woman syndrome” as a black woman who is extremely bitter from her past; &lt;i style=""&gt;misery loves company &lt;/i&gt;type of woman. She constantly wants to argue, whether it’s valid or not and she has said the phrase &lt;i style=""&gt;There are not any more good black men &lt;/i&gt;to whomever she wanted to tell it to. It is how she feels and she will always feel like this because of some bad relationships with black men. Tim going on the streets of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:city&gt;&lt;st1:place&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;Chicago&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:place&gt;&lt;st1:city&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;Atlanta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:state&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;New York&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/st1:state&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt; and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;st1:city&gt;&lt;st1:place&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;L.A.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt; confirmed where he got the term from. He met with a lot of women who felt that way and explained in detail as to why they felt like that. I found myself nodding my head in agreement to some what of they were saying and also shaking my head at some comments. One thing I think all women do, both black and white, is that we hold a lot of things in. If we’ve gotten hurt by one guy, two guys, and three guys, that fourth guy, as wonderful as he can be, will catch because of the three guys ahead of him. Tim also spoke to me and asked how they felt about the “angry black woman syndrome”. They all had about the same consensus. Black women are making bad decisions in which they meet, lay with and have children with. Black women can be exhausting because they want to fight. The black man just wants peace and the black woman can’t have peace. Too many young black girls and boys are raised by just single women and that’s destined for failure in future relationships. I agree to some extent with the men. Women, in general needs to make better decisions with the men they meet. Not every man we meet is going to be that knight in shining armor. That goes the same for men thinking they found the woman of their dreams and she turns out to be a nightmare. I do not know about black women wanting to constantly argue. I do know of some but not only black. I’ve met all types of women who love to make their sweat and not in the good way. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;Tim Alexander then took different situations that the viewer as well as the people on the street could comment on. He touched on child support, gold digging women, and women who talk too much to their friends. I can see the problem that men see with women talking too much. &lt;i style=""&gt;Misery Loves Company &lt;/i&gt;can definitely happen with this subject. If a woman is happy with her man, another woman can find one thing wrong with that man and let her know. Even if she wasn’t asked for that advice, she will give it. Not all women do this but I have personally seen it and know that it can be a problem in a relationship. &lt;i style=""&gt;Diary of a Tired Black Man &lt;/i&gt;really highlights why this is something women should be wary of. He also talks about interracial dating and how it affects black women. He makes the point of black women getting angry when they see a black man with a white woman whereas a black man not getting mad when he sees a black woman with a white man. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;The ending does have a surprise which I at first added but have taken off. It did make me think and happy at the outcome. I thought the movie was great insight into what men, particularly black men think about black women and relationships. I liked that it was both a movie with real actors and commentary from regular people. Tim Alexander did what everybody else with conversations and ideas and put it on film. I suggest that everyone, men and women, black and white watch this movie and form their opinion if they don’t already have one. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;When renting &lt;i style=""&gt;Diary of a Tired Black Man, &lt;/i&gt;I honestly thought it was a spoof or something completely comedic. It was funny as well as enlightening, interesting and a great male point of view. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-1385685270142388042?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/1385685270142388042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/10/diary-of-tired-black-man-review.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1385685270142388042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1385685270142388042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/10/diary-of-tired-black-man-review.html' title='&quot;Diary of a Tired Black Man&quot; review'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-7336480426626960027</id><published>2009-08-25T08:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T08:36:47.712-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='artists'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='8 years later'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='passing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='actress'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Aaliyah'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='singer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='RIP Aaliyah'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='favorite artist'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='MTV'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='&quot;I Care For U&quot; song'/><title type='text'>RIP Aaliyah</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I remember when Aaliyah passed away. I was getting ready for work at a coffee shop. At the time, my father delivered the newspaper. When he got home, he was on his cell phone with my mother. She was living in Jackson at the time. I walked into the living room and sat down and he dropped the newspaper in front of me. On the bottom right was the headline "R&amp;amp;B star and actress Aaliyah Haughton died in plane crash". I couldn't move. I just kept looking at the headline and then at her picture and back to the headline. It was so surreal that I didn't even believe it. I went into my bedroom and turned on the news. MTV had Aaliyah's friends crying and talking about her life and along the bottom of the screen was that she had in fact passed away. I turned to BET and they were running the time when she was on 106 &amp;amp; Park. They had on slow mo with Boys II Men playing "One Sweet Day". They shown her picture and 1979-2001. That is when I broke down. I cried and cried. For those who know me, I don't cry. I haven't cried during any personal funerals at all. I just don't cry. Her death crippled me literally. It was as if I had lost a sister or a best friend. Aaliyah to me was that older sister. Whenever I was trying to make a decision or felt a certain emotion, her songs helped me through them. I was a singer and dancer. I memorized all of her songs and dance videos. I've sang Aaliyah's songs in just about every talent show I've done. So I eventually pulled myself together and went to work. Ironically, I was working with a female who I talked to all the time about music. She and I talked about Aaliyah all day. That day just hurt me deep. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a song that I constantly played during that time and it was "I Care For U" by Aaliyah. When I first heard it, it was during her Behind the Music. I heard it and it was so haunting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hey my baby. Tell me why you cry. Here, take my hand and wipe those tears from your eyes. Can I talk to you? Comfort you? Let you know...I care for you.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I played that song over and over and over. I just couldn't believe that she was gone just like that. Just gone. She had just made the "Rock the Boat" video and I remember watching the making of it. I kept asking myself I just saw her/how is she gone? During an interview, Fatima had said the same thing...she just waved to these people, told them she loved them and then.... The crazy part is that the end of the "Rock the Boat" video, Aaliyah's swimming in the water and she's going up to the top. The water is so clear that you see the sky and the clouds and the sun is shining down on her. I'm not religious at all but watching it after her passing, all I could think of was she was an angel going to heaven because it really looks like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaliyah and her music will forever be my heart. She is gone but never forgotten. RIP girl...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-7336480426626960027?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/7336480426626960027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/rip-aaliyah.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/7336480426626960027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/7336480426626960027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/rip-aaliyah.html' title='RIP Aaliyah'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-5017636068578371343</id><published>2009-08-23T17:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-23T17:36:13.738-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='women'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='songs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='self-esteem'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='empowerment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jill Scott'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='happiness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='confidence'/><title type='text'>Get Empowered!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SpHf9BoIRaI/AAAAAAAAABo/fMfzBqSdjEU/s1600-h/empowered.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 93px; height: 124px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SpHf9BoIRaI/AAAAAAAAABo/fMfzBqSdjEU/s200/empowered.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373322069931476386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCASSAN%7E1%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C03%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Font Definitions */  @font-face 	{font-family:Andalus; 	panose-1:2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; 	mso-font-charset:0; 	mso-generic-font-family:auto; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:8195 -2147483648 8 0 65 0;}  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman";} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: right;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;Music can bring you to a high&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;That elevates you to the sky&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;Music can have you shed a tear&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;With each note, each word so clear&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;                         Music allows you to live&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;                    Feel free and believe&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;                            Music is…empowerment to me.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCASSAN%7E1%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Font Definitions */  @font-face 	{font-family:Andalus; 	panose-1:2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; 	mso-font-charset:0; 	mso-generic-font-family:auto; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:8195 -2147483648 8 0 65 0;}  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman";} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;`Music and writing has always been consistent in my life. I could always find a song or a lyric that would represent what I was feeling or thinking about at the time. It didn’t matter if it was sadness, lust, anger and greed-I could find a singer that felt the same and expressed it through song. One thing I’m learning and growing with each day is empowerment. I feel empowered every time I speak the words &lt;i style=""&gt;I love you &lt;/i&gt;to someone because I’m opening my heart to them. When I say it, it’s a big deal. I feel empowered when I dismiss something in my life that I know is bad for me. I feel lighter with each load of stress lifting off my shoulders. I feel empowered through my family, my writing and songs. I listen to certain songs that when I hear them, they make me smile and feel joy in my soul. Here is my list of songs of empowerment. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Andalus;font-size:20pt;"  &gt;1&lt;sup&gt;st&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt; is “U.N.I.T.Y.” by Queen Latifah, the jazzy hip hop jam that became an anthem for women. The lyrics are powerful that provokes an emotion that for awhile, women were not hearing a man calling them a bitch. Queen Latifah reminded us as women that we can be strong, beautiful and sincere without it being taken as too assertive, arrogant, or too outspoken. Queen Latifah has always demanded respect with a quiet whisper over a sultry jazz tune or a pounding hip hop beat. All Hail the Queen!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Andalus;font-size:20pt;"  &gt;2&lt;sup&gt;nd&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;is “A Rose is still a Rose” by Aretha Franklin and Lauryn Hill. Up until then, I only knew of Aretha as the woman who asked for “R.E.S.P.E.CT”. That song in itself is a symbol of strength. I would like to think that “A Rose is still a Rose” is the next generation version of asking for respect. To be told that you don’t have to lay with this man and that man to get what you want is needed on the radio. Aretha Franklin is not only the Queen of Soul but she’s like every woman’s godmother who can sing. I remember telling my boyfriend at the time that “I’m still a flower and I hold the power”. That is forever imprinted on my soul. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SpHfOg-BGwI/AAAAAAAAABY/fPqd979O16E/s1600-h/sisters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 118px; height: 118px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SpHfOg-BGwI/AAAAAAAAABY/fPqd979O16E/s200/sisters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373321270890928898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Andalus;font-size:20pt;"  &gt;3&lt;sup&gt;rd&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;is “Sista” by Rachelle Farrell. When I first heard this, it made me think of a something Tyra Banks. She said one thing that we as women do is instantly hate on another woman the second she walks into the room. It doesn’t matter if it’s her hair, her man, her clothes/shoes, money—it doesn’t matter, we can find something we don’t like and frown or say something about her. One thing I’ve done and try to do every day is not only uplift my people but another woman. I will admit that I don’t have many female friends for that reason-hating, but at the same time, I do try to praise a woman for taking care of her business. Whenever I meet other writers or poets, I can’t look at them for being more successful or have written more books than me. It just means I have to work harder but at the same time, be happy that someone else is living their dream. “Sista” is a great song for a mother, sister, aunt, grandmother, and best friend. This song is something to hear when you’re just hanging out with your girls and everything is cool.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Andalus;font-size:20pt;"  &gt;4&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;is “Me” by Tamia. This song is empowering in more ways than one. She’s talking about leaving a man because he’s not doing her right. She needs to take care of herself and only herself. This can heard when having problems at work, rollercoaster relationship with a boyfriend or best friend or even a family member. &lt;i style=""&gt;“&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;And to choose between you two, boy you know If I have to choose, I choose me…”&lt;/i&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;basically says there’s only one person that needs to be number one and empowerment begins with one first before the masses. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Andalus;font-size:20pt;"  &gt;5&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;is “Hate on Me” by Jill Scott. When I first heard this, I immediately started dancing and humming a long with Jill. I love her as an artist and the way she expresses herself through song. When this came out, she hadn’t released anything for a minute and that, in itself made it explode even more. She said “...&lt;i style=""&gt;You cannot hate on me cuz’ my mind is free”. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;That is very powerful statement for any woman, no matter how young and old. This song is fully of empowerment because it allows you to believe in yourself. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;Every day, there is a woman watching a talk show, reading a book or talking to friends about self-esteem. When you need a song to fill you with empowerment and confidence, listen to the songs on this list and feel inspired. Feel beautiful, confident to song!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SpHfdJbCowI/AAAAAAAAABg/b1buxBV3-jw/s1600-h/beauty.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 122px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SpHfdJbCowI/AAAAAAAAABg/b1buxBV3-jw/s200/beauty.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373321522268250882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Andalus;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-5017636068578371343?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/5017636068578371343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/get-empowered.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5017636068578371343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5017636068578371343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/get-empowered.html' title='Get Empowered!'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SpHf9BoIRaI/AAAAAAAAABo/fMfzBqSdjEU/s72-c/empowered.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-6797150304295870729</id><published>2009-08-17T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T15:28:35.027-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='women'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='respect'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sagging'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='internet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='men'/><title type='text'>Respect</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SonY09-0SrI/AAAAAAAAABA/awAGac9uhXM/s1600-h/ghetto.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 98px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SonY09-0SrI/AAAAAAAAABA/awAGac9uhXM/s200/ghetto.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371062435118860978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I saw something disturbing today and had to say something. I understand that each and every person can live their life the way they want to. If they are over the age of 18, they are considered an adult and responsible for their actions. Having said that, I see a lot of people who are &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;technically&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;an adult but their minds and bodies have not caught up with that at all. Case in point, I saw some pictures on the net today that made me question the minds of some people. They were pictures of women who made it clear that they did not care about themselves and their families. I say that because these pictures are on the net. Could they have stopped someone taking the picture-no but if they weren't acting the way they were, there wouldn't be a picture. I don't understand when some women feel like they wouldn't be labeled for the things they do. Taking care of your kids is great but if you're nine months pregnant with a half shirt on, doing a dance on a man in the middle of the street that resembles HOW you got pregnant leaves a deeper impression. If you're going to school to better yourself, that is wonderful. But if you come to an interview wearing a wife beater, some sweatpants and answering your phone DURING the interview, where does it show that you're going to school and getting an education? I applaud all women and the ones who are taking care of their business, I tip my hat to you. But if you're posing half naked in your baby's room and posting it on the internet, all I want to do is ask why? Why? Why do some women think they are invisible or that they will be respected simply because they ask for it? The world is harsh and with cell phones and the internet, your face can be plastered everywhere and you might not even know it. The ones who do know and don't give a damn, all I can say is karma is bi*** and one day, it'l&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SonY80bYBaI/AAAAAAAAABI/5h4FuWi5v9g/s1600-h/sagging.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 118px; height: 107px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SonY80bYBaI/AAAAAAAAABI/5h4FuWi5v9g/s200/sagging.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371062569993242018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;l come back. &lt;/span&gt;   &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To my brothers...I meet and see so many men that seem to be clueless to what is really on. First&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; off, why is so hard for &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;some&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; to wear a condom? Maury will always be on television because there will always be women sleeping with multiple men and the multiple men not wearing condoms? It's your life. You can sleep around until your penis falls off but is that what it's going to take? You wake up one morning, go to the bathroom and all you hear is a big splash because it just fell into the toilet? Why wouldn't men have if not respect for the woman, respect for themselves? We may not want to admit it but men and women know when it's just sex. If it's just sex &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;and you know it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;, WEAR A CONDOM!You know that you do not want this woman to have your child, wear a condom. What's the problem? If a man can spend hundreds on rims, clothes and weed (some), they can buy some condoms. Second, just as I mentioned a female applicant walking into the interview with a wife beater on, I've interviewed several men who thought a white tee and some jean shorts was cool. I've even had a guy flirt and then when I kept it professional, he got pissed. I know some females do that. It's not right for either one. But, men, you are asking for a job. You are asking the person that is sitting in front of you to help you pay your bills. Why not come correct? I don't understand the logic of playing ball, leaving the court and going straight to the interview with just a splash of Chocolate Axe spray. Come on! What makes things so bad is these men and women that I speak of, they are really serious about what they are doing and do not see anything wrong with it. People, you have to respect yourself FIRST because if not, it will not only show but no one else will respect you. You have to be conscious of what you are doing and be on your A game all the time. I'm no different. I'm a writer. At any opportunity, I try to post my work and pictures every where. I will not put myself in a position to where I do some thing careless and stupid that would damage anything I've done. I'm not perfect by any means but what is wrong with respecting yourself and holding yourself higher than any and everything? Try it. It just might work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-6797150304295870729?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/6797150304295870729/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/respect.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/6797150304295870729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/6797150304295870729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/respect.html' title='Respect'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/SonY09-0SrI/AAAAAAAAABA/awAGac9uhXM/s72-c/ghetto.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-8644929542104695059</id><published>2009-08-15T21:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T23:11:01.700-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='artists'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='money'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='community'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spending money'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='business'/><title type='text'>The New Business Plan</title><content type='html'>Back in junior high and high school, I sang. I sang with choirs, talent shows, around the house, to anyone that would listen. I loved to sing and on occasion, still do. I can still hold a tune. It seems like to be a rapper or a singer these days, I need to be able to sing, should try to dabble in acting and/or have my own reality show. After I do that for at least a year, I need to form my own production company and find a few people who are just like me and sign them as artists. I need to turn some water and flowers into my own fragrance. I need to find some straps of clothing and form my own fashion line. Does all this sound familiar? It should because everyone is doing it. Just about every perfume and cologne out today is by an artist. The majority of reality shows are of celebrities or people who hang with celebrities or people who think they're celebrities. You see singers and rappers in movies and television shows. I must say that I understand you have to multitask. I understand that someone should not only sing but she should be able to dance and/or write her own songs and do something for their community. I understand that being a triple threat is important. But...everyone has their own record label. Everyone has a fragrance. Everyone has or is about to start a clothing line. I've noticed that during the last couple years, artists have been opening clubs and restaurants. Clubs and food establishments, like everything is a hit or miss type of thing. Can someone, anyone do something else? Anything else? Can we see artists with building contracts and construction companies? Build schools and programs for children to go from pre-school to college. What about after school programs? Why isn't that a trend? What does it mean to dress, smell and listen to your favorite artists if you're not dressing for interview to be successful or smelling a five course meal that you cooked in your own home or listening to your name being announced at your graduation? Does it really matter? I can't blame any artist because it's not their job to make a child go to school, finish and go to college but we all agree that they have major influence. Everyone wouldn't be starting their own fashion lines and own record labels if the last five artists didn't do it. So I can't place blame on anyone but I think that in order for our community to grow, we need to stop spending money and start building our money and security. We need to educate ourselves and learn everything behind the scenes so that we can be successful on the front lines. Just an idea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-8644929542104695059?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/8644929542104695059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-business-plan.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/8644929542104695059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/8644929542104695059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-business-plan.html' title='The New Business Plan'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-1528434585293019226</id><published>2009-07-27T16:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T16:30:49.548-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sm44V4tHtZI/AAAAAAAAAA4/ls6FMOJuBTE/s1600-h/good+and+bad.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sm44V4tHtZI/AAAAAAAAAA4/ls6FMOJuBTE/s320/good+and+bad.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363286154894882194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought a dress the other day going to the museum and looking at the African art. Everything looked so regal and emotionally. I found this black dress and and decided to take a picture. I wanted to capture the growing Queen in me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-1528434585293019226?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/1528434585293019226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-bought-dress-other-day-going-to.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1528434585293019226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1528434585293019226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-bought-dress-other-day-going-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Sm44V4tHtZI/AAAAAAAAAA4/ls6FMOJuBTE/s72-c/good+and+bad.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-9215039446483609557</id><published>2009-07-27T16:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T16:23:48.426-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The clear vision</title><content type='html'>I am finally getting the clear vision that I've heard others talk about and try to explain to me. I have a clear vision of my future and a better outlook of my life and my mind. I'm still growing of course as anyone else does but each day, I learn something new about myself and how I feel about life. One thing that has changed over the years that I now see myself actually getting married and being in a fulfilling marriage with children. Before, it was that I would get married, have children and then he'd cheat which would then leave me as a single mother. I grasped on that idea so much that I eventually told my parents that I wouldn't go through all of that pain and heartache. I'll just go to a sperm bank and have a child like that. I would know what I was getting into. At least I'd be able to protect myself. As I've gotten older though, I began looking at my life and how I was raised. I could get married and my husband just might cheat and we'd get a divorce. Under no circumstances, though, would I deny my (ex)husband to see his child. I couldn't do that. I don't know how I could. My parents are my best friends. Even more than that, I'm very close to my father. Daughters need their mothers and definitely need their fathers. I wouldn't want any child of mine to not know their father, no matter what happens. However, now, I understand what others used to tell me when I was growing up. You don't want to be the girlfriend forever. I used to think that I didn't need a ring/marriage to show my love to this person. I would be content with just that. Now I understand that I would want children and to be married to someone who I can work out any and everything.I hope that does work out for me now that I want it. We'll see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-9215039446483609557?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/9215039446483609557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/07/clear-vision.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/9215039446483609557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/9215039446483609557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/07/clear-vision.html' title='The clear vision'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-2334764592954292753</id><published>2009-07-16T15:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T15:42:51.051-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Favorite LIVE performances</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/83G4k8mVe_E&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/83G4k8mVe_E&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-2334764592954292753?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/2334764592954292753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/07/favorite-live-performances.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/2334764592954292753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/2334764592954292753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/07/favorite-live-performances.html' title='Favorite LIVE performances'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-8155519824424484230</id><published>2009-06-03T16:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T16:48:23.760-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='motherhood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'>Why aren't you a mother yet?</title><content type='html'>When I worked at Walmart, I worked with many females. I hung out with them outside of work and talked to them on a daily. I had a few things in common with these women; we all were African American, in our 20s and we all love to go to the all male revues. Other than that, it was really it. I'm a writer and more of a homebody. I never really cared for the club scene. The number one difference was and still is that I do not have any children. I would say 90% of the females there had a child. When I first told them that I didn't have any children, they asked the question: Why not? Why aren't you a mother yet? I want to wait. I always use protection when I get physical with someone. It hasn't been my time to have children yet. It's been all of those reasons and yet, sometimes, I ask myself the same question. I want children. I think about kids on a daily. I have dreams about kids. When I volunteered in Jackson to help kids read, I loved it. I believe that I am meant to be a writer and a mother. So why hasn't it happened yet? It's not that I've purposely tried to get pregnant. No poking the condom or not birth control or anything like that. I've done everything to remain safe and as secure as I can be. I also know that I need to be somewhat financially ready for a child. That's the right idea. It's the right way. It does get me wondering though if it'll happen. I don't want to be in my late 30s trying to have kids. I know for a fact that I'm not alone in this. That makes it comforting. I guess when it comes down to it, it'll happen when the time is right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-8155519824424484230?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/8155519824424484230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/06/why-arent-you-mother-yet.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/8155519824424484230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/8155519824424484230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/06/why-arent-you-mother-yet.html' title='Why aren&apos;t you a mother yet?'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-9073840206925229027</id><published>2009-05-25T13:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T13:34:06.328-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Booksigning update</title><content type='html'>The booksigning last Saturday...time to update. So I got there a hour early. I walked in and saw a few employees and the place was pretty quiet. I introduced myself to the new manager who was very happy that I was there. Apparently the guy I was talking to previously was no longer with them and the new manager didn't have my contact information. Brett (new manager) and Ashley (employee) were really nice. I thank Books On Sale bookstore for allowing to be there. My brother was with me so we started setting up. I had a really nice area right in front of the doors. The store has three doors to enter and I was in front of two. So Chris (brother) and I started taking pictures of the store, the table set-up, of me--promo shots that I use later which I will be adding really soon. 12:00-it started and not surprising enough, it started slowly. It's a new bookstore so I wasn't expecting crowds of people by any means. Between 12:15 and 12:30, people started showing up and that was cool. I was all smiles and giggles. First off, my goal was to sell five books and meet ten new people. New people, not family or friends, new people-whether they were there for me or not. I am to say that I sold six books and met 22 people. The ones who didn't buy a book got a flyer, bookmark, and small conversation. That was cool. I did meet some very interesting people. One mother and daughter were going to check out the opera and saw my flyer and decided to come through. They were really nice. Then a group of five or six black females started walking toward the bookstore. I was sitting there Damn! They came there, didn't buy the book but we talked about me visiting their reading group. I got each name and gave them my info so that was networking. I was happy for that! Thank you to Lenique, Mechelle, Neece, Sam, and Candice! I look forward to talking book and words with you! My mother was very proud as usual. My family is so supportive. I thank them so much for their help! I am so grateful to them. Overall the booksigning was success. I did what I wanted as far as my goals and got my name out there. Books on Sale (&lt;a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmJvb2tzb25zYWxlaW5keS5vcmc="&gt;www.booksonsaleindy.org&lt;/a&gt;) are thinking about setting up a booksigning with several authors. I think that's great idea. I'm going to get in touch with some local authors and see what we can do. I'll add pics soon. Thanks again to everyone who came. For those who couldn't and for my out of state friends, I plan on doing a virtual booksigning. If I figure out all the kinks, I think it'll work really well. I'll keep you updated. Until next time, keep reading/writing/pondering!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-9073840206925229027?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/9073840206925229027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/05/booksigning-update.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/9073840206925229027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/9073840206925229027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/05/booksigning-update.html' title='Booksigning update'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-1371884672346593302</id><published>2009-05-25T13:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T13:33:25.919-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Self-Hatred</title><content type='html'>I have a handful of female friends that I would call a "friend". You have people in life for different reasons: Support, business and security. Support are the people that will have your back no matter what. They will pick up the phone no matter what time it is and listen to you vent and understand your venting. They are real deal supporter during the good and bad and not somebody who just comes around when things are good. Business are the people that someone might refer to as associates or business co-worker. I have many business associates, especially within the writing community. These are the people I would ask for advice about writing, promoting, and marketing. I do have friends who are business associates as well because just as much as I ask for advice, they give me support for my writing. Then of course, security. Security are the people who are the friends that make things happen. I consider my hairdresser , mechanic, book editor, etc. as the security "friends". I speak to them on a daily but for a purpose. I wouldn't consider my hairdresser a friend but I'm secure enough with her to take care of my hair without any worries. She knows what to do without me saying anything. We keep everything personal outside of that because that's not why I'm there. Same for the mechanic and editor--they take care of something that is very delicate and I'm secure with them and know that they won't mess it up. Now, having said all this-I have a handful of female friends because I don't know how to deal or work with females. Meaning being friends with females tends to feel like a job. Case in point: when you walk into your office, you know who not to tell something personal, who not to bring your man around, who not to smile at, or even to eat lunch with it. She talks too much, she's too flirty, she always has an attitude and she mooches. You get a little further to your desk and you see the one who is trying to take your job and is doing just about everything she can to take it. Walk a little further, you pass the girl who whines and cries all the time and she's had another fight with her man. You finally sit down, look up and catch eyes with the worse of them: the hater. She doesn't like you. At all. She probably doesn't have a reason why and you two could hang out if the third wheel of jealousy didn't try to tag along. We've all met these women. We've all worked with them, seen them at our family reunions, hell-might have been these women once or twice. Why is, though, that these types of chicks are always around? Why is there always that one female who feels like the whole world owes her something? What trips me out the most is that no matter how young or old, females will act like that. I was told that I self hate myself because I don't care of females or having a lot of female friends. That's not self-hatred. That's factual. I can honestly say that I do not remember the last time I talked about a female just because she had something I didn't or just for hating sake. I remember one comment about a female I used to work with. She's 28 or 29 years, has six children, not married but ALWAYS at the club and always drinking and getting into fights with other chicks. Last time I heard anything about her, she was having another child. I said she needs to slow down because keeps walking on a very dangerous line. I've said that to her several times so that wasn't anything new but facts are facts. Why do some women feel like what they doesn't affect anyone else? There are women who don't mind being called a bitch. There's women who would set you straight if the first letter of bitch came out your mouth. Then there's women who call themselves bitches but get mad when men do it. Why call yourself that? Why cut down the next female just because you don't have what she has? If you want, work for it. Don't hate about this and that and you're not doing anything. Why are there women who think that five kids by three different men is okay? Now, don't get me wrong. If I had female friendships like Living Single or Girlfriends where we do argue on occassion but still have geniune support for each other and making same strides in business, I would appreciate and be very grateful for that. But...this isn't TV. I have met too many conniving, jealous, worthless females who have nothing better to do but to knock me and what I'm doing. I hate to tell you, though, I won't be knocked by that. In fact, that only makes things better. Who ever said "You can talk about me because I'm hot topic..." knew exactly what they were talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay...done venting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-1371884672346593302?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/1371884672346593302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/05/self-hatred.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1371884672346593302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/1371884672346593302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/05/self-hatred.html' title='Self-Hatred'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-9212915246013214404</id><published>2009-04-22T15:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T15:32:32.401-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blog'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='online book release party'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='book tour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='book signing'/><title type='text'>Rainy paths and long winding roads</title><content type='html'>I have my first booksigning of this year in a couple of weeks and getting a little nervous. I haven't had a booksigning in a couple years and I have been reading articles, writers' blogs, letters and posts about booksigings and other things of that nature. One thing I've noticed is that a lot of authors do not hold booksignings. They have several reasons: cost, not enough in sales, and the closing of book stores is increasing. Why try to set up a book tour when you can go on virtual book tour with other blogs? That is something I want to look into. I think it's not saves on all the reasons listed before but I think you could cover a larger range of people. When I have my booksigning in Cleveland, a lot of my Indy people won't be able to come. On a virtual book tour, any and everyone can chcek it out. If they can't come by the blog on the specific day, they can always check it out later. So I'm definitely looking into that. I have decided that I want to set up an online book release party. For the same reasons, I want to have a nice online party and talk about Karma and take care of everything without spending all the money. So we shall see. I hope everything works out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-9212915246013214404?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/9212915246013214404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/04/rainy-paths-and-long-winding-roads.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/9212915246013214404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/9212915246013214404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/04/rainy-paths-and-long-winding-roads.html' title='Rainy paths and long winding roads'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-6875801929683274571</id><published>2009-04-05T10:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T10:50:27.402-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny thing happened...</title><content type='html'>A week ago, I was at the library writing like usual and this girl walked up to me. She worked there. I had seen her every time I was in there. She had to have been 20, 21 years old. She asked me if I was a writer. I said yes. She thought so because I'm always writing and I always lay my book in front of me for all to see. She asks me a few questions about being a writer and then leaves. I was like cool. That was nice. She comes back with a folder in her hand. She then asks me, "Can you read this essay for me? I've written this over and over and still feel like it's not right." I had just hit a writing speed bump so I said yes. This chick opened up the folder and it was a six page essay! At first I looked at it like what the hell! But...I did it anyway. Now, I wouldn't call myself an editor at all. I almost always need someone to look over my stuff, but I digress. She told me I could mark on it--pretty much do what I wanted. I marked things I thought were wrong and some really good lines. By the end of it, though, I had a lot more wrong marks. When I handed her the paper, she gave me this look like "Damn, I shouldn't have given it to her." I told her not be discouraged and just look at it one more time. Before she left, I gave her my card and asked her to check out my website when she had the chance. My card also has my cell number. She called me yesterday and said she got an A- (94) on her paper and her sorority sisters plan on reading "Karma Has a Name". That made me smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;var addthis_pub="blaxdiamond";&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a id="data:post.url" onmouseover="'return" onclick="return addthis_sendto()" onmouseout="addthis_close()" name="data:post.title"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" height="16" alt="Bookmark and Share" src="http://s7.addthis.com/static/btn/lg-share-en.gif" width="125" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/200/addthis_widget.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-6875801929683274571?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/6875801929683274571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/04/funny-thing-happened.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/6875801929683274571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/6875801929683274571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/04/funny-thing-happened.html' title='Funny thing happened...'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-3018460766346562574</id><published>2009-02-06T06:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T06:50:02.024-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feelings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='expression'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bad boys'/><title type='text'>Do women really want the bad boy?</title><content type='html'>I've heard this, talked about this and even thought it. Do women really want the bad boy? Do women really want the thuggish-ruggish, hard, tatted, ruff neck type of guy? Are nice guys just too nice? Bad boys keep things exciting and that could be taken in a good and bad way. They're risky and put themselves out there. They say and do things that you might not be able to do on your own. They seem to be very outspoken and have a &lt;em&gt;f*** you &lt;/em&gt;attitude. Nice guys for the most part play by the rules. They keep things settled and safe. If the woman wanted to try something new in the bedroom that is completely risque, she might talk to that bad boy before the nice guy. If she wanted to impress her parents, the nice guy is definitely on the arm. Why is it that we can't find both? A clear example to me would the hip hop lyricist Mos Def. To me, he is both. He is intelligent, creative but very out spoken. He can debate without cussing or making a scene. Just looking at the choice of characters he portrays show that he is both. His character in &lt;em&gt;Bamboozled &lt;/em&gt;is ridiculously different from his character in &lt;em&gt;Be Kind Rewind. &lt;/em&gt;He can be that bad boy or the nice guy. Sadly enough, however, he will not be the one I marry or even possibly ever meet. Yes, a tear just fell...:) Why can't women find both? Why can't that bad boy who is tatted up know calling a woman a bitch isn't a good thing? Why can't the nice guy be spontaneous every once and a while? Why can't the bad boy express him without feeling like he's soft? Why can't the nice guy not worry so much? Men want a lady in the street but a freak in the bed. Why can't we have the same?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-3018460766346562574?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/3018460766346562574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/do-women-really-want-bad-boy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/3018460766346562574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/3018460766346562574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/do-women-really-want-bad-boy.html' title='Do women really want the bad boy?'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-8961821087162248680</id><published>2009-02-02T16:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T16:59:12.032-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What would the world be like...</title><content type='html'>What would the world be like if black people weren't in it? I heard this question today and had to ask it myself. What would the world be like? Right off the top of my mind, the world wouldn't havne't any soul. Black people have soul. We have soul in our words, soul in our food, soul in our music, soul in our music and soul in our love. We bring soul to art, body and mind. If black people weren't here, we wouldn't have stop lights. We wouldn't have open heart surgery. We wouldn't have peanut butter. We wouldn't have Jazz, the Blues, hip-hop and spoken word. We wouldn't have the White house and Washington D.C., the fire extinguisher, the baby buggy, the A/C and fridge, and the golf tee. If we weren't here on Earth, what the world be? In honor of Black History 3-6-5, we make the world go 'round!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-8961821087162248680?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/8961821087162248680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-would-world-be-like.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/8961821087162248680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/8961821087162248680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-would-world-be-like.html' title='What would the world be like...'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-5126288352415954126</id><published>2009-02-01T10:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T10:53:14.052-08:00</updated><title type='text'>CHAPTER ONE - Karma Has a Name</title><content type='html'>CHAPTER ONE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Karma Lanai Scott was born in Dallas, TX on a hot day in May to Lillian and Raymond Scott. Her name stemmed from a gigantic fight between her parents.  Before her father became a minister, he used to be very jealous and insecure and when her mother got pregnant, he just knew it wasn’t his child. He not only accused her of cheating, but also left her for three months of her pregnancy. It really came down to the fact that they weren’t married yet and neither wanted their families to know that they were having sex before marriage. Come to find out, Karma was Daddy’s little girl after all, so her mother wanted to make sure that he was reminded every day of what a fool he was. She came into the world blaring as her mother put it. Her mother constantly told her again and again of how many sleepless nights she and her father had. As a baby, she had to be the first to do everything, and that included the first one to go to sleep. Growing up, she was always curious about how things worked or why things were the way they were.&lt;br /&gt;Although her parents tried to show her everything in life, they were stiff and demanding when raising their only daughter. She seemed to be like any other young woman. She was young with a wild imagination and wilder ideas. She wanted to see everything and do everything. Her father was a professor at Texas A &amp;amp; M University and a minister at Mount Temple Baptist church, and her mother was a homemaker and her husband’s assistant at their church. Karma was surrounded by the importance of religion and education all of her life. As she got older, they were important to her, but not as much as her parents liked. Karma tended to do things differently.&lt;br /&gt;Karma was 5’6 with pecan colored skin and almond shaped brown eyes. She had flowing, wavy, black hair with a streak of fiery red going down the back. She let herself live life as full as she could without getting hurt. She was attending college and her second year, she was already having regrets of choosing her major. She wanted to attend Florida A &amp;amp;M and study fashion, but her professor father and homemaker mother decided that she studied political science. She liked it, but it just wasn’t her. She liked to dress and dress other people. She always designed her outfits during high school and was voted “Best Prom Dress” senior year. But, her parents were paying for it so what could she say?&lt;br /&gt;Karma had a free attitude when it came to life, especially with dating. There was a time in her life when she was content with being in a serious relationship. She was modest, supportive, loving, patient, loyal, and most importantly, trusting. That changed with a two year relationship that had too much of a crazy ending. At first, everything was wonderful. She was on cloud nine for their first year. Her boyfriend couldn’t do any wrong and the thought of him cheating never entered her mind. On their two-year anniversary, Karma found out that her best friend was pregnant by her boyfriend. To make matters worse, she found out from her best friend’s mother. So from then on, she focused on things that were less stressful.&lt;br /&gt;After that horrendous breakup, she didn’t care if the men she met had a girl or not. She wasn’t in the market to have another man hurt her again, as she was content with hanging with her girls and meeting a guy every now and then. Whoever made up the term “friends with benefits” must have been with her at one time or another. She was too pretty and life was too short for bullshit. She made sure that she always had a plan A, B, and C. If one guy wasn’t acting right, she could call the next and she was all good. She was only interested in loving and taking care of herself, which made her make selfish decisions. She went from modest to complex. She became impatient and the trust level disappeared completely. She didn’t trust any man and she felt that they shouldn’t trust her. It was that simple. Karma didn’t have a problem with self-esteem or confidence. She got any guy she wanted and turned down anyone she didn’t. She was twenty years old and already thought that love and happiness was a loss cause&lt;br /&gt;The volume on her car stereo increased as she turned the corner to her friend’s house. She pulled up and noticed that other people had arrived already. She parked the car and started rummaging through her purse. “Damn, where is my cell phone?” She felt around on the floor in the dark and finally found it. She got out of the car, only to be met up by Candace.&lt;br /&gt;“What’s up, girl?”&lt;br /&gt;Karma shut the door and pulled her purse on her shoulder. “What’s going on? What are you doing out here?”&lt;br /&gt;They walked past a drunken couple kissing all over each other. “I had to get some fresh air. I can’t even breathe with all of that smoke.”&lt;br /&gt;Karma laughed as they entered the already said smoked out room. They were surrounded by an intoxicated crowd while listening to the bass of Lil’ Jon on the speakers. Karma took off her jacket and handed it to Candace.&lt;br /&gt;“Hey, where’s the liquor at?”&lt;br /&gt;“Girl, you already know. What do you want?”&lt;br /&gt;Karma laughed again and answered, “Hell, what do you have?”&lt;br /&gt;“The regular. Mike bought something of everything: Gin, E&amp;amp; J, and some Long Islands. You know how he does it.” Karma started heading towards the kitchen when Candace pulled her on her arm and stopped her.  “Hey, hold on a second.” Karma turned around and started coughing from all of the smoke.&lt;br /&gt;“What ever happened to you and old boy?” she asked as they walked to the kitchen. She grabbed a glass and mixed some Brandy with a cola.  &lt;br /&gt;“Who?”&lt;br /&gt;“You know…T.K. The one you met at the store?”&lt;br /&gt;Karma rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass. She stirred it around with her finger and took a big sip. “Nothing. He came over one time and expected me to give it up right then. I mean, it was all-good at first. I made some food and we were watching a movie. Next thing I know, he’s giving me this look, so I’m like okay, whatever. We start kissing and I instantly get turned off. It just wasn’t happening.”&lt;br /&gt;They shared a laugh and noticed that the music started getting louder. They headed toward the music and the crowd. I am going to have a good time, she thought to herself. She looked over the room to see everyone she knew. As she scanned the vague faces, a smooth looking brotha caught her eye. She took another sip and smiled at him. She felt her pocket to make sure she had her keys and I.D. and headed his way. The crowd was moving deeper in the middle of the room. She made her way through people who were trying to dance and the ones who couldn’t do anything but sway slowly to a fast song. She looked up to see him standing there with a group of his buddies. I can’t approach with his dudes right there, she thought. She zigzagged to the right and sat with some girls that she knew. She started nodding to the music and felt like dancing. She stumbled up and started bobbing her head. As she got deeper into the music, she felt a heavy body on her back. She spun around, only to see her corner brotha. “What’s up?” He got real close and whispered in her ear. She placed her hand on his shoulder so she could keep her balance.&lt;br /&gt;“I’m Juan. What’s your name?”&lt;br /&gt;“Karma.”&lt;br /&gt;“That’s different.”&lt;br /&gt;“It’s a long story,” she said quickly. As he spoke more, not only was he screaming liquor, but cigarette smoke as well.&lt;br /&gt;“Where’s your man?”&lt;br /&gt;“I don’t have one. What about your girl?”&lt;br /&gt;“She ain’t here,” he answered. She shrugged her shoulders and looked him dead in his eyes.&lt;br /&gt;“I don’t care if you don’t.”&lt;br /&gt;“Hey then, that’s cool. So what’s up?” He smiled and reached in his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone. She loved how guys got straight to the point. She pulled out her cell phone and told him that she would give hers if he gave his. They exchanged numbers and gave each other a hug. She was about to walk away, but then felt like dancing. She spun around and put her ass deep into him.  She knew he was feeling her body, so she wanted him to really feel it. Their heads started bopping together and she let his hands do their thing. They made their way from her thighs to her hips and around her stomach. She wasn’t even tipsy and already feeling good. She finished the song with him and then smiled while walking away. She was not about to be with him all night long. She came here to have fun and that’s what she was going to do.&lt;br /&gt;Karma couldn’t resist. It was getting closer to midnight and every time her eyes linked up with Juan, it drove her crazy. She told herself to just have fun and not to go any further than getting a phone number, but her body could not resist. She had to feel that bulge that was poking her during their dance together.&lt;br /&gt;Smacking lips followed their slithering bodies to the back of the house. Juan’s hands had already touched the upper half of her body in ten minutes and she was now ready for him to touch the bottom half. He leaned her against the wall and planted his soft lips on hers. Her mind was spinning with alcohol and her body was covered with some man candy that her sweet tooth was yearning for. She moaned with pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He brought his lips from her mouth to her cheek to her neck. He began laying butterfly kisses on her right ear, making her body tremble from the tickling sensation.&lt;br /&gt;Juan whispered, “I want you.”&lt;br /&gt;That was what Karma liked to hear. She took her hand down to his Jamaican region and felt him through his jeans. He wasn’t playing, was he? She laughed to herself. He began unbuckling his pants and released the monster from his constricting chambers. Even under the cracked light above them, Karma saw all that she needed to see. Juan kissed her neck, the nape of her chest, and her stomach as he pulled her panties from under her jean skirt. He slanted into her, making his kisses deeper. Karma reached in her purse and pulled a black shiny package. She was so glad that she brought this one, and not the ones for the small to medium size brothas. If she did, she wouldn’t have been able to get her freak on. She handed him the condom and said, “Here you go. It didn’t seem like you were prepared.”&lt;br /&gt;“Oh, baby girl, I’m always prepared. It’s nothing wrong with a chick being prepared her damn self.” Karma laughed and waited for him to slide it on. He rolled it down the shaft and whispered, “I want you from behind. Is that alright with you?”&lt;br /&gt;“Oh yeah,” she meowed.&lt;br /&gt;Karma spun around and rested her arms on the wall. She felt her ass spread apart as he slowly entered her. When he reached the spot of the choice, they both let out a gratifying moan that floated on the night air. Juan gripped her hands and eased in and out of her like a pro. Karma closed her eyes as she felt herself melting onto him. He started to pick up some speed when Juan slightly kicked a box that was near their feet. He then stopped and lifted her leg up on top of the box. He inserted himself into her again and this time went with some full force. It was beginning to get really good when Karma felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. In the midst of her moans, she conflicted with herself if she should answer the phone. Juan began giving her slow strokes that made her shiver in the warm breeze.&lt;br /&gt;“You gonna answer that?” he asked her between breaths.&lt;br /&gt;“Hell….no.” She moaned again. This time her phone rang and it was the ring tone she had set for her mother. Karma groaned at the sound of that. If her mother was calling twice, something had to be wrong. “I have to….answer this,” she panted. She reached for the phone and rather than stopping, Juan continued with a lingering pace. “H-H-Hello? Hey, mama. I’m…f-f-fine. Why am I breathing so hard? I was running up a flight of stairs. I d-d-d-o run. Mama, can I c-call you back?”&lt;br /&gt;Juan was feeling so good and she knew he needed to stop, but she didn’t want him to stop and neither did he. Her mind and body were at war and so far, her body was winning by a long shot. Her mother kept talking, reminding her about the Harvest Tidings service that their church was having this coming Wednesday. Karma had promised months ago that she’d be there. As much as she tried, she couldn’t talk her way out of this one.&lt;br /&gt;“Mama, I really n-n-need to go. I promise I’ll be t-there,” she stuttered. All of a sudden, Juan pulled her back farther and had her bent over half way toward the ground. His mouth got close to her ear and he whispered, “Keep talking to her.”&lt;br /&gt;Karma quickly shook her head as she tried again to get off the phone.&lt;br /&gt;“Mama, can I please…”&lt;br /&gt;Her mother cut her off with reading scriptures and reminding Karma the importance of believing the Lord Jesus Christ and how he died for their sins.&lt;br /&gt;If only mama knew how much sinning I was doing right now!&lt;br /&gt;Juan began pumping harder and faster with her leg still propped up on the box. Before she knew it, Karma’s legs began to tremble and her body began to get extremely feeble. She didn’t want to, but she had to hang up before her mother heard all of Karma’s orgasmic experience.&lt;br /&gt;“Mama, I love you but I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Karma hastily hung up the phone, and with one hand leaning on the wall and the other holding onto him, she said, “You better work this out!”&lt;br /&gt;Juan let out a laugh as his grip on her hips got really tight. Karma bit her lip with stinging pain, for she knew what was coming. She got hot, and her heart beat like a car stereo thumping in a neighborhood. At that moment, the moon and sun formed a sunset and Karma was cloud nine. She let out a satisfied moan that was well deserved. Juan had literally fallen on top of her as she felt his body shaking.&lt;br /&gt;“Damn. No body has gotten a rise out of me like that in a long time.” She smiled. She didn’t know if it was all him or the fact that her mother was preaching to her over the phone while Karma was getting pounded. Juan stepped back a bit and pulled up his pants. He had a huge Kool-Aid grin as he watched her pull on her panties.&lt;br /&gt;“Damn, baby girl. You were good ya damn self!” He kissed her on the lips and waited until she was situated. She kissed him again and told him to give her a call sometime.&lt;br /&gt;“Trust me. I will.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-5126288352415954126?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/5126288352415954126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/chapter-one-karma-has-name.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5126288352415954126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5126288352415954126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/chapter-one-karma-has-name.html' title='CHAPTER ONE - Karma Has a Name'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-772557528784887230</id><published>2009-02-01T10:21:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T10:36:10.578-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alice Walker on 1/19/2009</title><content type='html'>I just watched Alice Walker in Washington D.C. the day before Obama got sworn in to be president. I'm sure all know but if you don't, Alice Walker is a wonderful author, poet, activist and a strong woman. She wrote &lt;em&gt;The Color Purple&lt;/em&gt; which I am crossing my fingers for the play to come to Indianapolis. She wrote an open letter to Barack Obama that I thought was very interesting. I was so happy to watch this. I have cable but I only have basic. She was appearing on Book C-Span and I didn't know if I had the channel. When I did, I hopped off the couch and said YAY! A little excited...I know but I love to listen to other authors speak. I'm sure I have several reasons why I was drawn to writing. I am a very shy person. I love to read poetry but I always get really nervous reading it in front of people. Writing novels allowed me to be behind the scenes and live through other people-my characters. I often wonder if other writers are the same-quiet, loners, people who would rather listen than speak. People who would rather write in quiet instead of talk in noise. I don't know...it could be just be. Alice Walker was so soft-spoken with a lot to say. She read a poem she wrote shortly after her sister died on December 27, 2008. It was pretty long poem but one thing I remember was that her sister didn't believe in voting. That's not a surprise to me. She was from a generation who saw men, women and children die trying to vote. When Barack was elected, all I heard from myself as well as everybody I spoke to said they've never see this day or never would have thought that we'd see a black president. I said it. I still said it. I was watching &lt;em&gt;Head of State &lt;/em&gt;with Chris Rock the other day and remembered thinking when the movie first came out back in 2003 that we would never have a black president. That is why this is a movie. The majority of movies are make-believe. They're supposed to be. One movie made out of comedy did actually come true in reality-Barack Obama is our 44th president. YAY OBAMA! I just had to say that. Alice Walker and Toni Morrison are two women whom I'd love to meet. Not only because they are writers, but strong women who express themselves through word so well that it's literally incredible. They are so intelligent and hush but so powerful. That is a great thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-772557528784887230?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/772557528784887230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/alice-walker-on-1192009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/772557528784887230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/772557528784887230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/alice-walker-on-1192009.html' title='Alice Walker on 1/19/2009'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-5882451960501033598</id><published>2009-02-01T09:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T09:41:17.978-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cassandra Daniels'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='karma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='new release'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='book'/><title type='text'>Karma Has a Name</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmNhc3NhbmRyYWRhbmllbHMuY29t" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://img234.imageshack.us/img234/8769/1174587a3e22f72m3uk2.png" border="0" width="435" height="75" alt="BannerFans.com" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is sexy, confident, full of fire and will always come back to bite you in the ass? Meet Karma Scott, a fiery twenty year old that got what she wanted and who she wanted. It didn’t matter if he had a girlfriend, a fiancée or the wife with kids; he was going to be hers. She met a hotshot lawyer who didn’t hide his marriage. In fact, he kept it on a broad view. Little did Karma know that she’d fall in love, get pregnant, and get caught up in a murder mystery that changed the game forever. All in all, everyone will know that Karma has a name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read an excerpt on my website &lt;a href="http://www.cassandradaniels.com/"&gt;www.cassandradaniels.com&lt;/a&gt; today!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-5882451960501033598?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/5882451960501033598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/karma-has-name.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5882451960501033598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/5882451960501033598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/karma-has-name.html' title='Karma Has a Name'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8027961066161762235.post-2512300530956191155</id><published>2009-02-01T09:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T09:21:50.084-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Now the fun begins...</title><content type='html'>I just published my third novel &lt;em&gt;Karma Has a Name &lt;/em&gt;and I am so excited to release it. I've been writing and talking about this book for nearly two years. I started it about six months after &lt;em&gt;Caught in the Middle. &lt;/em&gt;I kept getting asked what is the next book going to be about and when is it coming out. I had this crazy idea one day and then Karma came out. Over time though, that idea slowly dissolved into something else. It's a book that I'm very proud of. It's full of pain and sadness, happy times and hurt. It has a lot of hurt in it. When I get a copy of it, I might weep on some scenes because some of them were written from strictly emotion. When I dropped a tear, the character dropped a tear. When I fought with my boyfriend at the time, my characters were definitely fighting. When I read the final copy, I will probably relive a lot of it. I hope that the novel, though doesn't come off as a diary as opposed to an actual novel. I made sure to have the fiction moments of a story but I threw my entire life and heart into the novel. I loved &lt;em&gt;Caught in the Middle. &lt;/em&gt;It was fun to write and live through the eyes of Lena Harper, my young naive lead character who was an escort. I loved the reactions that readers had after they read it. I literally can't wait for people to read Karma. I've already had a good review of it. I just hope that people enjoy it and understand the depth of things that went into it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8027961066161762235-2512300530956191155?l=writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/feeds/2512300530956191155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/now-fun-begins.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/2512300530956191155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8027961066161762235/posts/default/2512300530956191155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writerswriteiamawriter.blogspot.com/2009/02/now-fun-begins.html' title='Now the fun begins...'/><author><name>Author Cassandra Daniels</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02722239160352482496</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_1vU44MFJY2I/Suub9he0RiI/AAAAAAAAACQ/kIDE-W-EjvU/S220/052.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
