Black People doing Black Things
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Many people who read this blog know me only as the Angry Black Woman or ABW. Some know the name I go by in SF circles. Some of you even know my ‘real’ name. (scary) I say somewhere on this site that I go by ABW and not my other names because I separate my blog-self into many distinct parts. Those who care about my SF writing read my LJ, and those who only care about my rants against The Man come here. However, sometimes my angry black side collides with my SF writer side.
The other day I realized that two of the three stories I’ve had published in the past 12 months have black protagonists. And yet they’re not in stories about ‘being black’. So, if you’re interested in reading such things, I’ll provide book titles and snippets. You can determine my name on your own.
from Thou Shalt Not… (horror anthology)
Clia stood before the large, oval mirror in her room and stared at the reflection. Bone-straight hair–long, shiny and black–a heart-shaped face, perfect button nose, sensual mouth, and wide green eyes. The skin held no blemish and no imperfection–not too dark, but not too light. An elegant neck; firm, round breasts; smooth, flat stomach; curvy hips; long, muscular legs tapering toward the floor and ending at the bottom of the mirror.
“Yes, this is what I want,” Clia said. Her mouth moved. The reflection’s did not.
Are you ready to gather what I need?
“Yes. It’ll take a few days, though.”
I have nothing but time. The reflection shimmered away, replaced by an image of what Clia looked like in every other mirror.
She did not often look at mirrors.
As a child Brenna had desperately wanted a brother. She would try to adopt the neighborhood boys into her family. She would try to walk away with babies at the mall. Other girls her age had crushes and pretend boyfriends. Brenna had pretend big brothers.
When she was nine Brenna’s mother told her that she was a twin. She had had a brother in the womb with her and on the ultrasound pictures she seemed to be hugging him. But in the eighth month only one of their hearts was beating. They were delivered by emergency C-section. Brenna held on to her brother until the end–he was born first, though born dead.
Her parents had named him Benjamin. When she was twelve, her mother finally took her to see his grave. Beloved Son and Brother. After that, the thought of a brother only made her incredibly sad. She no longer wished for one. She pushed it out of her mind and forgot about it entirely. Until now.