i venue i chose for publication is upstreet. it is a very open publication to poetry, nonfiction, essay and prose. As i navigated the sight, i realized that half of their publications, past to current issues were nonfiction. this resognates well with me considering that my desire piece is nonfiction, specifically creative nonfiction.
I read some of the nonfiction pieces to weight the magnitude or scale of writing being excepted. from what i gathered, they aren't to literate and sophistaceted or for that matter upscale than what i have written. with some fine touches her and there, i can be able to resourcefully present something that will be read and considered.
they are asking for not less than a thousand words. submission is free entry and im with the deadly for the next publication.
they have many postings, past and present that interested parties can read. listed is a contact info which i tried and succesfully went through but couldn't really talk because i was at work.
for all of those reason i decided to go with upstreet publication as my desired publication venue.
A Moment in Time
4 Is the magic Number
Monday, November 22, 2010
bringing in the new year (essay 2 - revised for submission)
Hamilton Marks, Jr.
Creative Nonfiction
Revised version (Essay # 2)
Dr. Chandler
November 22, 2010
Bringing In The New Year
Last New Year, I spend almost three hundred dollars in singles ($1) putting
money on the bodies of exotic dancers and drinking bottles upon bottles of well
refrigerated Heineken. I was young and unattached with little, almost no care in world,
except for the waves in my hair and being around women. A typical young adult. Though
thinking of those days makes me want to extract the word adult; something which my
behavior completely contrasted. I had my hands in places were I dare not mention in the
presence of my parents. At twelve, confetti came falling from the ceiling while naked
women were yelling HAPPY NEW YEAR! Over the years I made many resolutions to
quit going to such arenas, yet I realized I was too easily distracted and convinced when I
saw myself sitting on a stool drinking Heineken and receiving dollar pleasures.
My best friend, Solomon and I had plans to celebrate the New Year with a bang.
I spent almost the entire day at his house as we were discussing things to do for the night.
We talked about going to the strip club, a bar, then a regular club, before spending the
night at two of his female friends’ house. We had it all figure out for what would become
a fun filled and remembered New Year. As we were discussing, his mother came in
haven overheard our conversation. She began talking about how time and traveling to
America has changed everything.
“On New Year’s Day, we awoke to the dances of the masquerades and the loud beating of Djembes (African tradition drums). We spent time working together, preparing a befitting meal for the family. Later we wine and dine as a family and give thanks to God for the OLD and the NEW”. Before the rise of the moon, we would have celebrated to at least three traditional masquerades. The cultural dances were always a sight to see. Traditional dancers wearing thatch and necklace made of ivory dance along with the masquerade as the Djembe player collects money from the audience. It is said that the dances have meaning, but I’ve never been able to interpret them. Anyway, this is how we celebrate the New Year. Upon her comment, I began to recollect and reflect on what I remember about New Year’s Day in Liberia, and my experience with a masquerade as a child.
“ONCE UPON A TIME. Far away in the forest lived a child who was so ugly that children would run away from him as adults would stare curiously. He bared scars and soars all over his body that brought out a foul smell. He had freakishly large eyeball that size up with a crystal ball. Also, on his repulsive face were two enormous wax filled ear that left dripping remains of ear wax. It was said that the child had no parents. He came to being form the spirits of the land, feeding only on children and drinking only palm oil. He spent many years isolated in the forest to avoid laughter and mockery because of his looks. As time went by, already a man, he decided to get a bit braver by entering the city but things were still the same. Children would still run in fear as adults would stare peculiarly. Thus, he decided to wear a mask to hide his identity, subsequently stopping the running and staring by the town’s people. He would come to the city and dance for any audience to get him some money to feed and clothed. People enjoyed his dancing very much not knowing who he was. Children loved him as they would come to play with him (touching his gourmets so he could run after them). The dancing and the child’s play became quite a familiar scene. Not knowing his name or who he was, he soon became known as The Masquerade, a figure of excitement and festivity, tied down to the tradition of the New Year.
I woke to the smell of the delicious African Style beans and rice. The smell led me directly to the kitchen where I saw my mother preparing our New Year’s Day meal. I was annoyed realizing that I wasn’t the first person awake, but happy because it was New Year’s Day. New Year’s Day has always been one of my favorite times of the year next to Christmas. I wanted to indulge in the pleasure of waking up everyone. Thinking that six (6) was early enough, I was baffled and astonished to meet mother up before then. Looking at how far she’d gone in the meal preparation, she must have been up for hours. I said my good morning before visiting the rooms, waking up everyone in the house. Daddy was the first, then Ephraim, Rufus, Patience, Calvin, Goode, Kpene, and Uncle Mark (who would come over every New Year’s Eve to spend the holiday with us. They all woke with a fierce frown on their faces; exclaiming-“it’s too early”! Awoken with displeasure and exasperation they individually headed to the bathroom to freshen up. After taking their morning showers, the women joined mother in the kitchen as the men sat around watching soccer and drinking beer and soft drinks. I took Goode (my younger brother) outside the house where we went to pick up whipping stick for the masquerade. Goode is the closest to me in age and companionship. I called him my little sidekick.
About nine (9) in the morning, mother was done with the meal which was placed on the dining table. Drenched in sweat from the heat and smoke of the firewood, she went upstairs to freshen up. Shortly after, I began to hear the beating of Djembes which preceded loud singing and chanting. Recognizing the approaching sound, I quickly ran outside with my whipping stick. There I saw the tallest masquerade ever! It was about twelve (12) feet tall, attired in a gourmet made from the thatch of the palm. It wore wooden, rectangular shaped shoes with a chain of fish-bones tied around its mask. As it came even closer, I saw a crowd of about thirty (30) people behind the masquerade. Most of them were children ranging from eight (8) to eighteen (18). In Africa, even a twenty-one (31) years old man is still a child; especially if he is still living with his parents.
I joined the crowd, chasing after the masquerade and whipping it with my stick. Being the only one with a stick, I became the center of its diverse attention. As I approach closer to deliver another hit, amongst the midst of dancers it turned toward me and started running after me. It was relentless in its pursuit, chasing me everywhere I went. It must have followed me for about three (3) minutes around every corner and between every house. When it finally cut up to me, I had stubbed my toe on an old mango tree branch that lied in the middle of the road. There, I lied flat on the ground over crusted leaves and snail-shells. My hands, knees, and eye were bleeding from the impact of the fall and the strong contact to the branch and snail-shells. The masquerade stood over me in a conquest posture, before dancing around me and pouring white dust from his hands on my injured and tired body like a chef seasoning a meal. As I lied helplessly, I could only ponder on what it was going to do to me. Then I recall father telling us the story about the masquerade that was birthed by the spirits of the land and fed only on children and palm oil. I was frightened out of my senses, only thinking that I was going to ferociously killed or devoured. I attempted rising in order to run away but it grabbed me and stood me up. It held me high, walking through the gasped and anticipated crowd before dancing at the performance square with me up high. It was looking for my parents who somehow managed to be at the scene despite all the festivities at home. It found them by their thunderous screaming and calling out. I was gently left before their feet as it continued the masquerade’s dance.
While still frightened, I was astonished that I wasn’t devoured or harmed by the masquerade. Was it a different masquerade from that of the story told by father? Is the story at all true? I began to question the occurrence in conjunction to father’s story. Nevertheless, with my condition being one not to be disregarded, I was Immediately taken to hospital where I was sought after. Later, I returned home to join the New Year’s Day dining and festivities with many questions.
As I had been quite for quite a while and obviously distant, I became alerted by Solomon tapping the right shoulder. It was time to head out to celebrate the New Year.
Creative Nonfiction
Revised version (Essay # 2)
Dr. Chandler
November 22, 2010
Bringing In The New Year
Last New Year, I spend almost three hundred dollars in singles ($1) putting
money on the bodies of exotic dancers and drinking bottles upon bottles of well
refrigerated Heineken. I was young and unattached with little, almost no care in world,
except for the waves in my hair and being around women. A typical young adult. Though
thinking of those days makes me want to extract the word adult; something which my
behavior completely contrasted. I had my hands in places were I dare not mention in the
presence of my parents. At twelve, confetti came falling from the ceiling while naked
women were yelling HAPPY NEW YEAR! Over the years I made many resolutions to
quit going to such arenas, yet I realized I was too easily distracted and convinced when I
saw myself sitting on a stool drinking Heineken and receiving dollar pleasures.
My best friend, Solomon and I had plans to celebrate the New Year with a bang.
I spent almost the entire day at his house as we were discussing things to do for the night.
We talked about going to the strip club, a bar, then a regular club, before spending the
night at two of his female friends’ house. We had it all figure out for what would become
a fun filled and remembered New Year. As we were discussing, his mother came in
haven overheard our conversation. She began talking about how time and traveling to
America has changed everything.
“On New Year’s Day, we awoke to the dances of the masquerades and the loud beating of Djembes (African tradition drums). We spent time working together, preparing a befitting meal for the family. Later we wine and dine as a family and give thanks to God for the OLD and the NEW”. Before the rise of the moon, we would have celebrated to at least three traditional masquerades. The cultural dances were always a sight to see. Traditional dancers wearing thatch and necklace made of ivory dance along with the masquerade as the Djembe player collects money from the audience. It is said that the dances have meaning, but I’ve never been able to interpret them. Anyway, this is how we celebrate the New Year. Upon her comment, I began to recollect and reflect on what I remember about New Year’s Day in Liberia, and my experience with a masquerade as a child.
“ONCE UPON A TIME. Far away in the forest lived a child who was so ugly that children would run away from him as adults would stare curiously. He bared scars and soars all over his body that brought out a foul smell. He had freakishly large eyeball that size up with a crystal ball. Also, on his repulsive face were two enormous wax filled ear that left dripping remains of ear wax. It was said that the child had no parents. He came to being form the spirits of the land, feeding only on children and drinking only palm oil. He spent many years isolated in the forest to avoid laughter and mockery because of his looks. As time went by, already a man, he decided to get a bit braver by entering the city but things were still the same. Children would still run in fear as adults would stare peculiarly. Thus, he decided to wear a mask to hide his identity, subsequently stopping the running and staring by the town’s people. He would come to the city and dance for any audience to get him some money to feed and clothed. People enjoyed his dancing very much not knowing who he was. Children loved him as they would come to play with him (touching his gourmets so he could run after them). The dancing and the child’s play became quite a familiar scene. Not knowing his name or who he was, he soon became known as The Masquerade, a figure of excitement and festivity, tied down to the tradition of the New Year.
I woke to the smell of the delicious African Style beans and rice. The smell led me directly to the kitchen where I saw my mother preparing our New Year’s Day meal. I was annoyed realizing that I wasn’t the first person awake, but happy because it was New Year’s Day. New Year’s Day has always been one of my favorite times of the year next to Christmas. I wanted to indulge in the pleasure of waking up everyone. Thinking that six (6) was early enough, I was baffled and astonished to meet mother up before then. Looking at how far she’d gone in the meal preparation, she must have been up for hours. I said my good morning before visiting the rooms, waking up everyone in the house. Daddy was the first, then Ephraim, Rufus, Patience, Calvin, Goode, Kpene, and Uncle Mark (who would come over every New Year’s Eve to spend the holiday with us. They all woke with a fierce frown on their faces; exclaiming-“it’s too early”! Awoken with displeasure and exasperation they individually headed to the bathroom to freshen up. After taking their morning showers, the women joined mother in the kitchen as the men sat around watching soccer and drinking beer and soft drinks. I took Goode (my younger brother) outside the house where we went to pick up whipping stick for the masquerade. Goode is the closest to me in age and companionship. I called him my little sidekick.
About nine (9) in the morning, mother was done with the meal which was placed on the dining table. Drenched in sweat from the heat and smoke of the firewood, she went upstairs to freshen up. Shortly after, I began to hear the beating of Djembes which preceded loud singing and chanting. Recognizing the approaching sound, I quickly ran outside with my whipping stick. There I saw the tallest masquerade ever! It was about twelve (12) feet tall, attired in a gourmet made from the thatch of the palm. It wore wooden, rectangular shaped shoes with a chain of fish-bones tied around its mask. As it came even closer, I saw a crowd of about thirty (30) people behind the masquerade. Most of them were children ranging from eight (8) to eighteen (18). In Africa, even a twenty-one (31) years old man is still a child; especially if he is still living with his parents.
I joined the crowd, chasing after the masquerade and whipping it with my stick. Being the only one with a stick, I became the center of its diverse attention. As I approach closer to deliver another hit, amongst the midst of dancers it turned toward me and started running after me. It was relentless in its pursuit, chasing me everywhere I went. It must have followed me for about three (3) minutes around every corner and between every house. When it finally cut up to me, I had stubbed my toe on an old mango tree branch that lied in the middle of the road. There, I lied flat on the ground over crusted leaves and snail-shells. My hands, knees, and eye were bleeding from the impact of the fall and the strong contact to the branch and snail-shells. The masquerade stood over me in a conquest posture, before dancing around me and pouring white dust from his hands on my injured and tired body like a chef seasoning a meal. As I lied helplessly, I could only ponder on what it was going to do to me. Then I recall father telling us the story about the masquerade that was birthed by the spirits of the land and fed only on children and palm oil. I was frightened out of my senses, only thinking that I was going to ferociously killed or devoured. I attempted rising in order to run away but it grabbed me and stood me up. It held me high, walking through the gasped and anticipated crowd before dancing at the performance square with me up high. It was looking for my parents who somehow managed to be at the scene despite all the festivities at home. It found them by their thunderous screaming and calling out. I was gently left before their feet as it continued the masquerade’s dance.
While still frightened, I was astonished that I wasn’t devoured or harmed by the masquerade. Was it a different masquerade from that of the story told by father? Is the story at all true? I began to question the occurrence in conjunction to father’s story. Nevertheless, with my condition being one not to be disregarded, I was Immediately taken to hospital where I was sought after. Later, I returned home to join the New Year’s Day dining and festivities with many questions.
As I had been quite for quite a while and obviously distant, I became alerted by Solomon tapping the right shoulder. It was time to head out to celebrate the New Year.
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