Tag Archives: W.D. Foster-Graham

Old School New Kid 6

“Never Give Up”

 Guest Writer: W.D. Foster-Graham

 

Believe in dreams and never give up.

     For this Old School New Kid author, this motto has seen me through my ongoing journey. July has been a productive month for me, as well as one for fun and some me-time. On the fun side, I took a road trip to northern Minnesota, where I saw Bemidji (Paul Bunyan country), lakes and forests galore, and Grand Rapids, the birthplace of Judy Garland. Those of us men of a certain age may remember the code question we used to identify other gay men in neutral surroundings: “Are you a Friend of Dorothy?” On the productive side, my first draft of The Right to Be has been completed, To Thine Own Self is nearing first-draft completion, and the outline, beginning and ending of the next novel in my series, The Rise of Sherry Payson, is done.

     With that being said, I would like to share with you, Wyatt O’Brian Evans’ followers, a preview of my upcoming novel, Never Give Up, scheduled for release this December.

Prologue: November 6, 2012

     Prentice Delaney-Ross was on a high, cheering in campaign headquarters as news of President Obama’s re-election “rocked the house.” People were hugging, cheering and shedding tears of joy all over the office. Several times he and his husband Trevell embraced and kissed and shouted. There were many good reasons to do so that night. Not only had the president been re-elected, but Maine, Maryland, and Washington voted in favor of marriage equality. Minnesotans had voted down a constitutional ban on marriage equality. Having celebrated their third wedding anniversary barely two weeks ago, the victories were mind-blowing.

     He had no doubt his stepbrother, Jerome Franklin-Edwards, and his husband Ariel were at home with their daughters soaking up all the amazing news, even as they listened intently to the president’s acceptance speech. The same held true for the rest of his family, especially his grandfather, Earl James Berry. Grandpa had always been a huge supporter of President Obama, as well as a staunch ally for equality and a believer in justice. He had retired from the bench in 1996, but his reputation as Judge Berry and that of his lifelong friend, Elijah Edwards Sr., continued to be influential in the circles they traveled.

     “You know, when Barack grows up, he’ll look back on this time and wonder what all the fuss was about,” Prentice said some time later after they stepped out into the hallway to hear themselves upon the conclusion of the speech.

     “I imagine he will,” Trevell concurred. “Right now, he’s probably sound asleep while his grandma and grandpa are keeping up with all the commentary.” Indeed, Prentice’s mother, Linda Berry Delaney Edwards, and his stepfather, Melvin Edwards II, had doted on their newest grandson, Barack Joseph Berry Delaney-Ross, from the very beginning. Trevell’s parents were no better. Although they lived in Green Bay, Tremayne and Darcelle Ross were regular visitors to Minneapolis, showering affection on their first grandchild. A former Green Bay Packer, Tremayne Ross often had an audience and he never failed to talk about his grandson. Trevell strongly suspected his father desired to see Barack make it into the NFL when he grew up. Even at the age of two, the brainwashing had already begun.

     Prentice had witnessed this phenomenon, and he understood it well. Grandpa Berry was not above a little brainwashing himself, setting Little Barack’s sights on an appointment to the Supreme Court. It was a challenge to the couple, diplomatically holding those respective ambitions at bay so they could let their little boy be what he was, a two-year-old who was just beginning to really explore his world.

     Hand in hand, Prentice and Trevell strolled down Hennepin Avenue to the parking ramp, basking in the afterglow of victory, sharing smiles and waves to drivers and pedestrians on this brisk fall night. At one point their eyes met and Prentice felt his heart break out into a melody. Twenty-seven-year-old Trevell had the total package—the matinee idol looks of a young Idris Elba, the solid build of a quarterback and a well-spoken demeanor. Prentice himself had inherited his father’s smooth Duke Ellington looks with a strong dose of Berry genes, which would make anyone stop in their tracks to see if he was real or fantasy. At the age of twenty-eight, at this moment he felt like he was on top of the world.

     They reached the parking ramp near the Target Center, for the moment lost in their own thoughts. Prentice’s mind kept going back to his Grandpa Berry. He and Grandpa Edwards had said President Obama really needed two terms to accomplish what was necessary back in 2008, and they had gotten what they asked for. He had to hand it to them, for they never lost faith that this day would come. Jerome, in fact, said so, not only about the presidential election but all the other issues as well, at a time when none of it seemed possible. Grandpa Berry had known the history behind Jerome’s “gift,” all the way back to the time he and Grandpa Edwards were young men.

     Though he grew up on Milwaukee’s North Shore, a six-hour drive from his grandfather in Minneapolis, Prentice always felt a connection with the man. Like his late father, Prentice Delaney Sr., Grandpa Berry had both a passion for the law and the importance of family. Unlike the portrayals of so many police shows these days, he had never been so driven to the point where he totally sacrificed his family for the sake of his career. On visits to Minneapolis with his parents, Prentice was blessed to see the special side of him, the family man. As a grown man, when he and Trevell made the decision to move to the Twin Cities, he made it a point to spend lots of quality time with his grandparents. Witnessing the love, commitment and devotion they shared after sixty-four years of marriage, Prentice hoped that he, too, would have that kind of a legacy to pass on.

 

     They stepped into their Chrysler 300 sports sedan, listening to an Alicia Keys CD as they left the parking ramp and headed out into the streets of downtown Minneapolis. Cars were honking their horns and people were out celebrating, something unusual for a Tuesday night.

     “You think Sierra and Rashid are still up?” Trevell asked Prentice.

     “Sure. They wouldn’t miss this for the world. The only reasons they weren’t at campaign headquarters was because Destiny was sick and it’s a school night for Little Earl,” Prentice replied, picturing his sister and her husband watching the set and simultaneously calling everyone they knew.

      “You know we’re going to be going through this with Barack in a few years, just like they are.”

     “True. Anyway, since Barack is spending the night with Mom and Mel, let’s stop by and see Grandpa and Grandma.”

     “Aren’t they in Chicago visiting the Christophers?”

     “They were, but they wanted to make sure they were home for Election Day, so they could vote. I’m sure they’re up for the occasion.”

     “OK, but just remember that we have grocery shopping to do tomorrow and I have an early meeting.”

     They passed Loring Park and the Walker Art Center before they turned off on Douglas Avenue, driving through the historic, posh Lowry Hill neighborhood. Just before they reached the Berry estate on Kenwood Parkway, they happened to see a car driving away from it at high speed. “What’s up with that?” Trevell wondered.

     “I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Prentice answered. “Wait a minute. That looks like Grandpa’s limo over there.”

     Prentice braked quickly and they bolted from their car. The road was normally quiet, but tonight it felt a little too quiet for comfort. Ears alert for unnatural sounds in the cool night air, Prentice and Trevell slowed down as they approached the still Cadillac limousine. Their eyes grew wide with fear as they stepped closer, their night vision revealing the bullet holes in the windows.

     “Nooooooooooooooo!!” Prentice yelled as Trevell frantically grabbed his cell phone to call 911…

 

© 2019 by W.D. Foster-Graham
All rights reserved.


W.D. Foster-Graham is an independent novelist from Minneapolis, Minnesota.  He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, and he was an original member of the multi-Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness.  He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best Poets of 2003.” 

His tastes in writing run to family sagas and M/M romance, seasoned with his own brand of African-American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits and classic movies of old Hollywood.  He was also inspired by the late novelist E. Lynn Harris, who believed that an author should write the books he/she wants to read.

Current works in development are a continuation of his Christopher Family Novel series: Never Give Up, a blend of historical novel/family saga /whodunit, and two M/M romance novels, The Right to Be and To Thine Own Self. 

You may visit W. D. at his online home, wfostergrahamauthor.comand on Twitter, @WDFosterGraham1.  And, email W. D. at  wfostergraham@wfostergrahamauthor.com.

 

Old School New Kid 5

“Fatherhood”

 Guest Writer: W.D. Foster-Graham

   

     June is when Pride Month is celebrated. It’s also the month when Father’s Day is observed. For far too long, there’s been a myth that the two are mutually exclusive. As a Black gay man of a certain age (or SGL) who is also a father, I wish to share my own thoughts and experiences on this particular journey of a lifetime.

     Back in the day, those of us who had boyfriends/partners resigned ourselves to the fact that we would never have children, relegated to “the gay uncle” status if we were out, “confirmed bachelor” if we weren’t. Then there were those of us who had children from an opposite-sex marriage or a girlfriend, but that came with the steep price of hiding who we were. Sadly, that legacy is still in part with us today.

     Having come out at 18, it was a trip when, during a heart-to-heart shortly after graduation from college, my father talked to me about having grandchildren and the respectful way to treat women. I understood the first message: don’t make a baby you cannot raise. I never spoke my thoughts out loud, but my mind said, “Dad, didn’t you get the memo? I’m gay. Not happening.” I hadn’t counted on the fact that my Higher Power has a sense of humor, for at the age of 45 I sat down with Dad and said, “I’m ready to be a father.”

     That moment was the start of a three-year journey to fatherhood. To Dad, it was the opening for “Son, welcome to my world.” We had many philosophical discussions and heart-to-hearts about what being a father meant. For me, this portion of the process better prepared me mentally. I also realized that many of the values I grew up with had rubbed off. One thing was certain—every step of the way, Dad had my back.

     My commitment was firm: I was going to be a father whether or not I had a husband/partner. I became part of a new category—the one of families we create, via adoption or surrogacy. Trust and believe, these are the most planned-for children on the planet. Like Dad, I wanted to start from scratch in raising my child. If I were to have only one, I wanted a boy. It was a process I certainly had to be prayed-up for, for I encountered my share of detractors, some of whom were other gay men who considered what I was doing to be impossible.

     My Higher Power, however, had other plans. Wherever I went, doors opened, and I am grateful to every person who was part of the journey. There were false starts as well. However, I went on making space and preparations for my child as though it was already a done deal. At one point, I was down on my knees praying, “Whether You give me this child or not, I will still praise You.” Two weeks later, I received a phone call at work. I was skeptical at first because of the previous false alarms, but they were serious. They had a baby boy for me—straight from the hospital!

     When they brought him to me that evening, my first words were, “Oh, my God,” and fell in love on the spot. At the age of 47, I was now a father. Dad, of course, was over the moon when I called him with the news. My church family was also a strong support system for us. Now the work started; as I have since learned, being a parent is the toughest job on the planet, and it never stops.

     Oddly enough, I experienced a certain form of sexism when my son was a baby. Since he went everywhere I went, there were people around who made comments like, “Oh, you must be babysitting.” When I revealed I was a full-time single father, I was asked, “Where’s his mother?” On occasions like that, knowing that people kept such comments to themselves when addressing a single mother, I put on my Resting Bitch Face and said, “You’re looking at her.” Unknowingly, I became a role model, for some of those very people, after watching my life, commended me for the way I raised my son. Thanks, Higher Power!

     We went through the good times, we went through the rough times, we went through the make-us-pray times. When it came to parenting skills, in addition to my own, there’s a lot of Dad in me. It was imperative for me to be a positive example for my son, hence he knew I was gay early on. One day, at the age of eight, he endearingly told me, “Daddy, I’m going to find you a husband.” A year later, my little matchmaker played a role in my meeting my husband for the first time, in church. Result: the three of us became a modern family.

     At 19, my son has grown into quite a young man. During this time, hearts, minds, and laws have evolved. He’s brought his friends home, plus a girlfriend or two in his high school years. It’s as though I blinked, and now he’s an adult, with dreams and ambitions of his own. When it comes to his family and friends, he’s loyal and protective. He owns up to his new responsibilities. The years of loving on him have reaped a son who says, “I love you” whenever he goes out, which touches my heart deeply. And I have a deeper appreciation for the plans my Higher Power has for me.

     I saw a poster in my local community center that said, “Boys shack up; men get married. Boys make babies; men raise their own and someone else’s.” Black love. And to all the Black LGBT fathers out there, raising your children with love and living your truth: I wish you peace. I wish you power. I wish you strength. I wish you joy.

     Believe in dreams and never give up.

 

© 2018 by W.D. Foster-Graham
All rights reserved.


W.D. Foster-Graham is an independent novelist from Minneapolis, Minnesota.  He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, and he was an original member of the multi-Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness.  He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best Poets of 2003.” 

His tastes in writing run to family sagas and M/M romance, seasoned with his own brand of African-American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits and classic movies of old Hollywood.  He was also inspired by the late novelist E. Lynn Harris, who believed that an author should write the books he/she wants to read.

Current works in development are a continuation of his Christopher Family Novel series: Never Give Up, a blend of historical novel/family saga /whodunit, and two M/M romance novels, The Right to Be and To Thine Own Self. 

You may visit W. D. at his online home, wfostergrahamauthor.comand on Twitter, @WDFosterGraham1.  And, email W. D. at  wfostergraham@wfostergrahamauthor.com.

 

Old School New Kid 4

“REFLECTIONS FROM A BROTHA OF A CERTAIN AGE”

 Guest Writer: W.D. Foster-Graham

     When I hear the word “Reflections,” the old school in me immediately thinks of the hit by Diana Ross and the Supremes in 1967. Of course, that was one of Motown’s go-to songs when your man has dumped you and you make a late-night visit to your kitchen, answering the call of a half-gallon or more of Ben & Jerry’s. This would be followed by another of those go-to songs like Brenda Holloway’s “Every Little Bit Hurts” and the Fifth Dimension’s “One Less Bell to Answer.” In today’s thoughts, however, reflections come from my latest visit to my alma mater as an alumnus of 45 years.

     The weekend in question was Pride weekend, which is held in May because the bulk of the LGBT community in this small town is made up of college students. A huge parade down the main street, rainbow flags all over campus and all over town, celebrations in the park and parties downtown. Such was a foreign concept to me during my freshman year as a college student in the fall of 1970. I was one of the very few openly gay Black students on campus, and the Stonewall riots had only occurred the previous year. Sure, there were other LGBT students there, but they weren’t out, and there was no “safe space” for us. The American Psychiatric Association didn’t remove homosexuality from their list of mental disorders until 1973.

     This go-around, I felt like visiting royalty. The LGBT students had lots of questions for me, and more when they realized I was an author. I represented their history, one that they wanted to know more about. For those who, like myself, stood at the intersection of Black and LGBT, I represented hope. Somewhere along the line, I became the role model I wished I had had at 18, and let me tell you, that experience is humbling.

     When I seek images of Black male couples online, I am reminded that our community is still youth-obsessed to a great degree. Sure, I looked great in my 20s, but I can’t look that way now and I refuse to step into the trap. Experience, character, and wisdom helped me step up my game when my looks started changing, plus the desire to keep learning. Every now and then I see such couples whose marriages have stood the test of time (like mine), something I feel younger brothas need to see.

     That, however, has to begin with us. There was a saying I read once—“the darker you are, the harder it is to come out.” Hopefully, that’s changed to some degree. I also remember losing count of the funerals I attended in the 1980s, at the height of AIDS paranoia; so many potential mentors struck down too soon. In 2019, I acknowledge those of later generations who are speaking up, speaking out, living their truth. This, as well as having a son of my own, inspired me to step up to the plate as an elder. Not everyone can do that; some may have been too wounded in one way or another. But for those who can, I give you your props. You never know when you may come across a young LGBT brotha who’s watching your life—it could make all the difference.

W D Newest Book Cover You Never Know Book

     Being a brotha of a certain age, I have noticed that my conversations have changed. With my contemporaries, subjects of health, nutrition, retirement, and grandchildren are more common (no, I’m not a grandfather yet). Given the life expectancy of African-American men today, I am grateful for every day I am blessed with. I have left the corporate world behind; being my own boss as an independent author is, in a word, gratifying. My creativity has grown. I may have learned about them at a later age, but those LGBT trailblazers of color that paved the way for me hold a special place in my heart. And I can still bust a move when the old-school jams come on.

     Yes, I think of times gone by, like my do-wop childhood, my Motown teenage years, coming out in college, nights under a disco ball, travel to whatever hot spots were in vogue in various cities, life in corporate America, becoming a father and husband. When I’m writing love scenes in my M/M romance novels, I turn on Barry White (now you know he was the maestro). With all that, I am yet an ever-learning, ever-evolving, work in progress, which I give thanks for.

     In conclusion, since this year marks the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, I leave you with this poem. I wish you an excellent day and good success:

1969 teenager living the age of Aquarius hot fun in the summertime

Life impacted by Selma Memphis Huey Newton Viet Nam

Unaware of event halfway across the country altering my life’s course

The voice of Stonewall

© 2018 by W.D. Foster-Graham
All rights reserved.


W.D. Foster-Graham is an independent novelist from Minneapolis, Minnesota.  He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, and he was an original member of the multi-Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness.  He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best Poets of 2003.” 

His tastes in writing run to family sagas and M/M romance, seasoned with his own brand of African-American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits and classic movies of old Hollywood.  He was also inspired by the late novelist E. Lynn Harris, who believed that an author should write the books he/she wants to read.

Current works in development are a continuation of his Christopher Family Novel series: Never Give Up, a blend of historical novel/family saga /whodunit, and two M/M romance novels, The Right to Be and To Thine Own Self. 

You may visit W. D. at his online home, wfostergrahamauthor.comand on Twitter, @WDFosterGraham1.  And, email W. D. at  wfostergraham@wfostergrahamauthor.com.

 

Old School New Kid 3

You Never Know

 Guest Writer: W.D. Foster-Graham

“YOU NEVER KNOW”

“You never know what hand in life you’ll be dealt.” That is a motto of the Edwards family, in the next book of my series, ‘You Never Know: A Christopher Family Novel’. Yes, there were Black folks who came from old money—we simply didn’t hear of them because they didn’t get the bulk of the attention. In recognition of such families and bowing to my Midwestern roots, this novel takes place in Minneapolis. Like its predecessor, expect to find history, humor, romance and LGBT family members in prominence here. That being said, I would like to introduce Elijah Edwards, Sr., and the Edwards branch of the Christopher family in this prologue of “You Never Know:”

Prologue: August 1, 2007

     Elijah Edwards, Jr. headed for the office with a sense of satisfaction and excitement after having heard from his cousin, Vickie. One thing that was a given about working for Christopher Electronics; the company knew how to treat its employees as well as recognize them, guaranteeing happy workers and the best results. The testimonial for his father tomorrow was but one example. When Vickie’s father, Allan Beckley Christopher, opened the regional office for the company in Minneapolis in 1971, Elijah Edwards, Sr. was his first choice to manage it, and it continued to be one of the top revenue-producing offices. Dad had since moved on to a seat on the Board of Directors, but Allan never forgot how invaluable his skills and ethics had been back in those early days.

     Eli’s Lincoln Navigator SUV cruised smoothly along Golden Valley Road, a David Sanborn CD lifting his already positive mood. Having been a regional manager for the past ten years, he was grateful to Dad for grooming him so well to assume the position of regional vice president. It had not been an easy task to fill his shoes, given the fast pace of the Information Age and technology. However, the core values and work ethic Dad had instilled in him had encouraged him to stay on the cutting edge, as headquarters expected.

     Sandra had already finalized their travel plans for their trip to Lisbon next week. With the plans for Dad’s testimonial tomorrow that had been keeping him and his staff busy, his wife’s birthday gift to him of this extended holiday was a blessing, and he hoped the Portuguese he learned would hold him in good stead. His soon-to-be fifty-five years had shown up in his salt-and-pepper hair and the laugh lines on his face, the sun deepening his mocha complexion. He was happy to hear his daughter, Veronica, and her family had arrived from London for the festivities. She had been married for eleven years and now a mother to two children, but only in the past few years had he gotten accustomed to her being Lady Moriarty, Viscountess of Rothmere. He still saw her in his mind as the little girl who could get just as down and dirty in the mud and sand as her brothers and cousins. On the other hand, his Auntie Debbi relished every opportunity to tell any new person she met that she had a grandniece who was part of English nobility. She savored the gaping mouths of skeptics after she pulled out clippings from the London Times’ society pages to confirm she was telling the truth.

     The Minneapolis Convention Center had been more than happy to handle the accommodations for Dad’s dinner. It had been gratifying to know that so many of the family would be in attendance. All the Edwardses were preparing for the festivities, not to mention the steady arrivals of Allan’s extended family at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Limousines and personal vehicles had been coordinated by his staff for pickup and delivery, which were transporting his relatives from Chicago and employees from the main office in Evanston to various hotels downtown.

     Eli’s mouth broke into a knowing smile as he pictured his mother, Donna Gray Edwards, wielding her scepter of organization over the social activities during the past few days, with Aunt Xenobia and Auntie Debbi as her stalwart ladies of the court. She would have given Gen. Colin Powell a run for his money in military precision. Auntie Debbi loved this sort of thing as well. She plunged into it with the inquiring mind that wanted to know everything. He grimaced slightly as he pictured Aunt Xenobia’s part in the process. She would grumble, bitch, moan, whine and complain while she was getting things done. Though he felt guilty for thinking it, he sometimes wondered if Uncle Jeremiah’s death was his way of escaping her. Maybe that was why his cousin Douglass never married. Fortunately, Ma had a way of keeping Aunt Xenobia in line most of the time.

     Eli had to give Vickie her props, and not only because of the news she shared with him. When she went into the business with her father, Christopher Electronics was already a Fortune 500 company. Since Allan appointed her CEO, she had taken the company into the ranks of the Fortune 100 and kept it there. She had been profiled in all the major business magazines, interviewed by Oprah, and recognized by such publications as Essence, Ebony and Black Enterprise as one of the most powerful African-American businesswomen in the nation. At fifty-three, Victoria Christopher Mitchell was still so beautiful she had younger men falling all over themselves when she entered a room. However, she always made it clear by word and deed that the only man for her was her husband Travis, and Eli respected and admired their successful marriage and family.

W D Newest Book Cover You Never Know Book

     As for her father Allan, he was already a legend in his own time, standing in the ranks with A.G. Gaston, Madame C.J. Walker, Henry Parks Jr. and John H. Johnson. His was a family success story that had inspired and helped so many people in his lifetime. Who knew that Allan Beckley Christopher, “Little Mr. Fixit,” who came from such humble beginnings in Kansas City, Missouri, would become one of only three African-American billionaires in this country?

     Eli turned onto Theodore Wirth Parkway, appreciating the scenic beauty of its trees and well-tended foliage, a pleasing alternative to the gridlocked freeways of rush hour. He had always loved the summer days when he took his family for Sunday drives around the city’s notable lake and parkway system. Darrell and Veronica looked forward to them when they were little; they always seemed to discover something new along the way. Nowadays Darrell was often busy with his family and his duties as an associate pastor, but not so busy that he didn’t take time out to touch base with his father and his grandparents.

     Even now, every once in a while Eli and his oldest son would take a drive just to “shoot the breeze,” occasionally accompanied by his youngest son Bradley. A recent college graduate, Bradley was enjoying the summer break before he started his position in the graphics department at Christopher Electronics, and Rico, his boyfriend, was a frequent guest at Sunday dinner.

     It didn’t seem so long ago when the men of the Edwards family had their first fishing trip up in northern Minnesota. As the family patriarch his grandfather, Melvin Edwards, was in charge, with Dad, Uncle Jeremiah and Auntie Debbi’s husband Uncle Woody as his assistants. Being allowed to accompany them for the weekend was exciting.

     Eli was nine at the time, and his brothers John and Mel, along with cousins Wayne and Kevin, had been included. His brother Julian and his cousin Douglass were too young to go, and Cousin Darius hadn’t even been born yet. His grandfather owned the cabin, but the family still considered it camping because they all brought sleeping bags along with their fishing gear.

     As difficult as it was to stay still, his vigilance paid off when he caught his first fish. Their most recent trip required three cabins to accommodate everyone, but the spirit of the weekend was, as always, infectious. The men returned loaded with fish and good cheer, and seeing Dad laughing and dispensing his words of wisdom always touched his heart.

     What a day it’s going to be, he thought as he turned off the CD player to catch the latest weather and traffic reports on the radio. Instead, he heard the following: “We interrupt our scheduled broadcast for a breaking news story. The Interstate 35W Bridge across the Mississippi River has collapsed…”

     Will a “gift” that Eli has help him or hurt him when he needs it most? Well, you’ll have to find out. In the meantime, here’s to your excellent day and good success.

© 2018 by W.D. Foster-Graham
All rights reserved.


W.D. Foster-Graham is an independent novelist from Minneapolis, Minnesota.  He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, and he was an original member of the multi-Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness.  He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best Poets of 2003.” 

His tastes in writing run to family sagas and M/M romance, seasoned with his own brand of African-American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits and classic movies of old Hollywood.  He was also inspired by the late novelist E. Lynn Harris, who believed that an author should write the books he/she wants to read.

Current works in development are a continuation of his Christopher Family Novel series: Never Give Up, a blend of historical novel/family saga /whodunit, and two M/M romance novels, The Right to Be and To Thine Own Self. 

You may visit W. D. at his online home, wfostergrahamauthor.comand on Twitter, @WDFosterGraham1.  And, email W. D. at  wfostergraham@wfostergrahamauthor.com.

 

Old School New Kid 2

Self-Determination

 Guest Writer: W.D. Foster-Graham

     In my first column, this Old School New Kid mentioned the learning curve as an independent author. When it comes to writing, some see it as a hobby, others their passion, still others a business, and a very few regard it as all of the above. I am one of those few individuals, and I give thanks for this ongoing process.

     Back in the day, before I even considered having my work published, there was only one game in town, and it loomed large: traditional publishing. For those who choose that route, I wish you good success; over time I learned, as a Black gay author, that it simply wasn’t for me. These days, there are so many options for a writer/author to achieve publication, as well as readers who are waiting to read your stories.

     I’m my own boss, and I love it. I remember well the second principle of Kwanzaa, Kujichagulia (Self-Determination), and the call of my community to build our own businesses and support other minority-owned businesses in the fourth principle,Ujamaa (Cooperative Economics). Of course, my writing also embraces the sixth principle, Kuumba (Creativity). I applaud such men as E. Lynn Harris, Essex Hemphill, Mike Warren, and Wyatt O’Brian Evans, who refused to sit around waiting for publishers to come around. They chose instead to build their own businesses and publish their own work, to their good success. Romance novelist Brenda Jackson, ignoring the naysayers in the publishing world who claimed there was no market for romance novels featuring Black couples, proved them wrong with the incredible response she received when she self-published her first nine novels.

     Granted, it’s work. It’s not for everyone. And it doesn’t happen overnight. I’ve learned the necessity of developing a marketing plan and stepping out there. I soon found that if my father could teach himself how to program a computer and implement that system in his place of work, I could learn new skills like creating my own website, designing my own covers, etc. I also am responsible for budgeting the costs of editing, advertising, publishing the hard copies, tracking royalties, etc., contrary to the naïve notions I had years ago of just putting my book out there and waiting for the sales to come in.

     RewardsCreative control. Shorter turnaround time to publish my books. Meeting and engaging with amazing authors, poets, and readers. The joy and freedom of writing the books I want to read. Learning and developing new skills, something it’s never too late to do. In the present day, there is no one-size-fits-all for authors. It’s about doing the research to determine what is a good fit for you, and above all, to never give up.        

The Book: Mark my words.

     One of the components of a marketing plan for today is (gasp!) social media presence. The old-school part of me moans, “How did we survive without it?” It has, however, yielded some unexpected benefits—a connection with a wonderful writer’s community, and a fun writing exercise called “Very Short Stories 365,” where one creates a story/poem within the confines of a tweet, using a daily prompt word. That being said, here are some of my very short stories, seasoned with my own brand of romance:

      Demetrius’ deep brown skin burned from a molten heart when he beheld Tevin by the pool. Tevin was the personification of the take-charge, take-no-prisoners, hyper-masculine brotha. Nothing prepared Demetrius for his dreams to manifest and his world to be rocked when Tevin kissed him softly and whispered unexpectedly, “Please take me.”

———- 

     There was no mistaking the set in Shauntik’s 9-year-old shoulders as we left the community center. When he made up his mind on something, he’d stick to it. With a conspiratorial glint, he told me, “Daddy, I’m going to find you a husband.”

———-         

     Jalen has the build of The Rock. He can twerk like Beyonce. Man, how he makes me laugh when he reads his critics. I was grinning, watching him strut onstage to receive his Ph.D. Of course, I already put a ring on it.

———- 

     I heard the Isley Brothers, and read on his face what he was telling me—he needed it again. My Kwasi, Fortune 500 CEO, took my hand, placed it on the phatness of his 3-piece, suit-clad backside. Yeah Kwasi, I’ll take you to the next phase.

———- 

     When the Motown revue came to town in the ‘60s its male vocalists sending screaming sistahs into orgasm with their voices

———- 

     Did anyone notice a brotha like me heart throbbing just as bad for those phyne men? Laron  deliberately did Something about him made me keep lovin’ him ever since 

———-

     I wish you an excellent day and good success!


     W.D. Foster-Graham is an independent novelist from Minneapolis, Minnesota.  He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, and he was an original member of the multi-Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness.  He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best Poets of 2003.” 

  His tastes in writing run to family sagas and M/M romance, seasoned with his own brand of African-American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits and classic movies of old Hollywood.  He was also inspired by the late novelist E. Lynn Harris, who believed that an author should write the books he/she wants to read.

     Current works in development are a continuation of his Christopher Family Novel series: Never Give Up, a blend of historical novel/family saga /whodunit, and two M/M romance novels, The Right to Be and To Thine Own Self. 

     You may visit W. D. at his online home, wfostergrahamauthor.comand on Twitter, @WDFosterGraham1.  And, email W. D. at  wfostergraham@wfostergrahamauthor.com.

 

Old School New Kid

I’m an ‘Old School New Kid’–and I Own It.

 Guest Writer: W.D. Foster-Graham

     Yes, that’s what my teenage Millennial son would call me in this age of social media, iPhones and Internet branding.  How did I, that 21-year-old version of myself, survive without the bells and whistles of 21st century technology?  But hey, I’m a Baby Boomer and I own it.

     I am always fascinated and intrigued when other authors share their stories; every path to becoming a novelist is different.  For me, it started early on, with countless trips to the library as soon as I could get a library card.  Vivid imagination spurred short stories about animals and their families, where I actually wrote a series of short stories about a family of mischievous seals (go figure).

     As an African American/Native American/LGBTQ man, those stories changed over the years, but my passion for writing didn’t.  How many people have written short stories based on dreams they had–better yet, remembered? I have. Still, life went lifing along, and in the timeless words of Gwen Guthrie, “Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on but the rent.”

     I am so grateful for that psych degree I received, for it was a major boost on my road to writing my first novel.  I made up psychological profiles of characters for fun, and a pastor friend of mine read them and said, “Why don’t you put them all together in a book?”  Seed planted!

     Now, the million-dollar question:  what to write about?  One never knows where inspiration comes from, and mine sprang from a need.  Being a man of color in the 1970s and 1980s, I was ever on the search for fiction novels featuring characters who looked like me and came up short.  I was dying to read novels of successful African American men as entrepreneurs in areas other than sports and entertainment.  I knew such men existed in real life, like John H. Johnson, A.G. Gaston, and H.G. Parks, Jr.  However, it wasn’t reflected in fiction.  And as for characters who were also LGBTQ.

The Book: Mark my words.

     Faced with the choice of complaining about this challenge or writing a novel on it myself, I did what my dad would do and chose the latter.  Thus, my concept for Mark My Words and the character of Allan Beckley Christopher.  Thanks, Dad, for being my No. 1 fan and my greatest critic.  Your stamp of approval on this character as representative of your generation meant everything to me.

     Trust and believe, Mark My Words was a novel 17 years in the making.  Between written pages, typewritten pages and what was then a state-of-the-art laptop (oh, those days of floppy disks), it was written in 5 years. The new challenge was the next umpteen years getting it published, and everything that goes with being a new author.  Fortunately, I was blessed with 1) the mantra “Never give up” and 2) a great support system.

     Today, this “old school new kid” has embraced a new learning curve in marketing and social media as a self-published author.  Believe in dreams and never give up.


     W.D. Foster-Graham is an independent novelist from Minneapolis, Minnesota.  He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, and he was an original member of the multi-Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness.  He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best Poets of 2003.” 

  His tastes in writing run to family sagas and M/M romance, seasoned with his own brand of African-American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits and classic movies of old Hollywood.  He was also inspired by the late novelist E. Lynn Harris, who believed that an author should write the books he/she wants to read.

     Current works in development are a continuation of his Christopher Family Novel series: Never Give Up, a blend of historical novel/family saga /whodunit, and two M/M romance novels, The Right to Be and To Thine Own Self. 

     You may visit W. D. at his online home, wfostergrahamauthor.comand on Twitter, @WDFosterGraham1.  And, email W. D. at  wfostergraham@wfostergrahamauthor.com.