Girls of Riyadh

Book jacket from Girls of Riyadh

Picked up this book called “Girls of Riyadh” on my way back from NYC a few months ago and just got around to reading it. It’s been described as an Islamic “Sex and the City,” but that’s not quite accurate.

The author, Rajaa Alsanea seems to have more gravitas in mind than just having her characters be fashionistas that dish about sex. There’s desire and vice, but it’s not necessarily graphic. And it doesn’t seem like the focal point. It’s more about how they feel, and how they’re grappling with being religious and secular, Middle Eastern and Western at the same time.

It feels like a sneak peek “behind the veil” (sounds sterotypical and cliched, I know) because these women actually do cover themselves up. It feels voyeuristic and forbidden to read about what they do in their all-girls universities, at their “bachelorette parties,” and even in the house with their husbands. There are details on arranged marriages, gay sons and lesbian bullies, and even on the lengths they go to to make themselves beautiful (clearly all women have this insane need for hair removal and soft skin — and will subject themselves to lots of pain in the pursuit of both!).

I’m about halfway through, and I got enraged / impassioned / worked up about a few scenes. I put myself in these women’s shoes and was like: I’d tell my father off if he tried to force me to marry some guy I hated, or I’d balk if someone tried to make me study something I didn’t want to … and then I thought about it.

I’d probably be a very different person if I’d grown up in Saudi Arabia, as an Islamic girl. The things I take for granted now — like being able to wear jeans, and drive my car, and fall in love with who I want, and date … would probably seem rebellious and wanton, and even sacrilegious. Crossing those lines would probably mean disgracing my family, and I’m not sure if I could do that. Maybe I wouldn’t even want to …

Of course, not every Middle Eastern country is as religious as Saudi Arabia. Not every Muslim adheres to every tenet of the faith. Alsanea makes sure that these characters don’t come off as stereotypical — at least not from my limited knowledge of Islamic culture — but they’re “other” enough to make me imagine how different my life would be. They’re strange enough to transport me into their world. And that’s definitely one of the main characteristics of a good book. Maybe it will give me some guidance for how to keep my characters from turning into caricatures …

Research and Keep Writing

So I’ve been stuck for a few days on this one scene — it’s a rather intricate one involving a choreographed dance sequence — because I can’t really see the scene in my head. It feels like pulling teeth to write. Like every sentence is disjointed and forced.

I skipped it and ended up getting some scenes done from a bit further in to the story (tons of drama and suspense!) but still have to bridge the gap between the chapters. So I took a step back and realized that I was stuck because I needed to do some research.

The main plot point of Blackberry Crush is that Kamar, the protagonist, (who uses words like that, really?) gets an offer to be part of a burlesque show for a new hotel that’s set to open in Vegas. Of course I was influenced by the elaborate scenes in the movie Showgirls and some Broadway plays I’d seen, but I’ve never actually been to Vegas, and have never seen a Vegas show. And even though I had no reference point to work from, that’s partly why my dance scene felt badly written. It wasn’t flowing right because it wasn’t realistic.

Thankfully, there’s YouTube! I searched for “Vegas showgirls,” “Vegas shows” and other terms and could actually see what some of the dancers, sets and choreography from past and present Vegas productions looked like. Of course, that’s a clip of the old-school glamour girls with their extravagant headdresses, but it gave me the right idea. So now it’s time to write. What kinds of tools do you use for research? And has the Internet changed the way you dig up inspiration, facts, etc., for your writing?

Novel Excerpt: Prologue

December 31st, 2003
Miami, Florida

I couldn’t stop shaking.

The cop had pulled me over. The flashing lights and the siren weren’t figments of my imagination. This is real. He walked up to the car.

“License and registration, please.”

I reached into my bag. Couldn’t find my wallet. My fingers were filthy. I tried not to let him see. “Can I ask what the problem was, officer?” I used my bourgeois voice. My calm, educated in a private school voice.

“Well, Miss … “

I handed him my license.

“Miss Kamar Bradley, you ran a stop sign two blocks back. And you seem to be driving aggressively. Seeing as how you’re from New York, I’m not surprised.”

“Oh no,” I said. It actually came out before I thought about it. “I’m not aggressive at all. I’m just, I’m kind of tired.” My hand went to the glove box so I could grab the registration.  I squeezed the little lock and the door popped open. My hand froze. I didn’t care if he saw the condoms. I did care if he saw the handle of the gun. Maybe … we should have just shot him. I tried to ease the gun back deeper inside and closed the hatch before he shined his flashlight in the car. “I’ve been at work all night.” It was early in the morning, three-fifteen or so. The sky was pitch black.

“What do you do?” he asked, shining the flashlight in my face.

I squinted. My eyes were already sore from the blast. Was there soot on my cheekbones? Ashes on my chin? I probably looked like a dirty deer in some headlights. “I’m a dancer.”

The pause. It always came. No matter what situation I was in, there was always this awkward moment of silence. A sliver of time when whomever I was talking to passed judgment, imagined what it was like, or fell deep into lust.

“Yeah?” He shut the light off. “So what’s your stage name, Kamar Bradley? And what club were you at?”

It was lust, which worked in my favor. “It’s Madison. Madison Kane. I’m working at Exotica.”

I smelled like fire. Smoke. But if I could just keep up the conversation, I would be home free. I knew his type–and I was a pro at working men like him.

“Kind of early to be off shift, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, taking a big yawn. “But, like I told you, I’m tired. I’m sorry I ran the stop sign. I just need some rest.”

He frowned at me. “How long are you in town for?”

Good question.

“Just for a few weeks to make some money.”

“Where’s your hotel?”

“Down in Coconut Grove,” I lied.

“Well if you’re going to make it there, you need to go get some coffee.”

“Yes officer.” I closed my eyes and gave my most grateful face. Inside I was thanking God, Allah, Jehovah and every other spirit I could think of.

“So Kamar, pull ahead into that gas station and get some. Sit there for a few minutes, let it kick in, and then go straight to your hotel.”

“Thank you.”

He handed me my license and the rental car registration. I watched him walk back to his car. I hit the key, flicked on my signal and slowly pulled back into the street. He actually drove up until his car was parallel to mine and shook his finger at me. He pointed toward the gas station, and then sped ahead.

I took the deepest breath I’d taken in my life. I breathed so hard that my chest started to shudder. My hands trembled as I held the wheel. But I didn’t take his advice. Instead, I waited until I couldn’t see his taillights anymore, and I drove away from the strip.  I rolled the windows all the way down and let the wind whip at my face. I pushed the speed to seventy-five miles an hour and sped onto I-95.

I still couldn’t stop shaking. Was it because I had just helped burn a man to death? I guess … we got away with it. But my whole life was destroyed. And the madness had really only just begun.

Copyright © 2008 by Tameka Kee

Inconsistency

See? This is why I thought I shouldn’t start a blog. Inconsistency. Haven’t posted since I got all gung ho about it two weeks ago week. But such is the way of life … at least for Sagittarians like me. I love the beginnings of things. Like new jobs. New relationships. New cars! (Lord, I want one). But when it comes to settling in, digging deep and pushing for that consistency, that’s when I want to bail.

This has become so much more obvious in the past few weeks with my job. It’s been almost two months, and the dazed glow of being “the rookie” has cleared, and I want to bail. I feel like I’m not good enough, like it’s too tough, and like everything was better back with my old gig. The hours are too long. There’s too much ambiguity. Blah, blah. Whine. Whine.

Sticking with the discomfort is what’s tough. But isn’t growth about being uncomfortable sometimes? How else do you learn — especially as a writer — if you’re not thrust into odd, new situations so that you can figure out how to make them your own? More on this later. Thanks @ Duane Harris for inspiring this post. I’m gonna post an excerpt from the opening chapter of Blackberry Crush later tonight.

Birth. Day.

Today’s my birthday. I’m lucky enough to share it with the late, great Richard Pryor, the divine miss M (Bette Midler), kooky (but brilliant) Woody Allen, among others. It’s also World AIDS Day.

I’m 28 today. Twenty-eight. Almost 30, but not quite there yet. Still in my “twenties,” but very different than my 20-year-old baby brother.

I spent 90 minutes in a deep, slow yoga class last night, pondering the end of my 27th year. How did I feel about my accomplishments? About my spiritual and mental growth? About the person I’d become?

-I moved to LA this year. It had been a dream of mine since my first visit back in 2006, but it became reality in April.

-I got a new job. Mediapost had been stressing me out, and I felt like it was time to grow.

Of course I’d achieved other goals, but those two were the biggest and brightest ones in my mind. As I breathed in and out, I tried to rid my mind of my transgressions, forgive myself for my mistakes, and let go of any hurts I’d incurred over the past year. I wanted to make room for the newness that comes from a birthday (or birth day, as I’ve begun calling it) …

I also set some new goals for myself — the first one being to finish and publish Blackberry Crush before my 29th birthday. And of course, once I did, the desire to write and all creativity seemed to flush right out of my head. But I’m dedicated to this, so I plan on devoting at least an hour to solid writing on the novel every night. Not editing. Not scanning through, but actual writing. I mean, I’ve got 163 pages and more than 51K words already … might as well just add to that total.

How do you celebrate your birthday? Has it changed since you were younger? Do you look forward to it? Do you dread it? Are you introspective and new-agey? (Like I’ve become) Or do you still have wild, crazy parties?

What’s a Blackberry Crush?

Summer sky in LA

Right after I wrote a long, detailed comment about why I wasn’t going to start a blog, I’ve started a blog. Finally. Thanks to Mitch Joel at Twist Image for writing the post that inspired this. Not so sure what I’ll be blogging about here. I think it will be about the novel-writing process, but I’m sure there will be some advertising-related posts (I’m a media junkie), and likely some personal stuff too.

The book is called Blackberry Crush. It’s a story about the rise (and possibly fall) of a Black showgirl. I’ve been working on it off- and on since about 2003. I’ve actually been working on a number of books/novellas/whatever you want to call them, since I was in high school. I guess I’ve always been a writer — I only turned it into my career about two years ago.

I started as a reporter with Mediapost in 2007, covering online advertising and marketing, with a specific focus on search. I’d been doing freelance (meaning FREE) writing for a few music Websites (BallerStatus.com and puckNation), but I’ve been letting my friends and coworkers read my fiction for as long as I can remember.

Right now, Blackberry Crush is the main priority, but there’s also a novel called Powder White Paradise that I’ve been toying with since high school. (That’s more than a decade ago, btw). Guess it shows how much time I’ve devoted to procrastination along the way.

So, just a few days in advance of my 28th birthday, I’ve decided to get serious about finishing it. I’m scared because the media and publishing industries have been decimated by layoffs and cutbacks lately, our economy is a mess, and well, not everyone that wants to write a book gets published. And not every book that gets published becomes a best seller.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want my book to shoot to the top of the NYT’s best seller list, and to have Oprah bring me on her show, to make a ton of money, and to have people tell me they love what I’ve written. That my characters remained with them after the last page … or that they helped change their life … or that my book made them laugh and cry. But all the advice I’ve gotten has been to not worry about those things. To write and put it out there. To get it done.

So that’s what I’m going to try to do …