RGN visits the Southern Pen Book Shop at Monroe Mercantile Co.

Brave New World:

Fellow indie authors’ advocate, The Southern Pen Bookshop, 

reaches towards the future

YOU’VE GOT A BRAIN.  That’s the foregone, natural assumption at work each time I sit down in preparation of composing one of these blog posts.  In reality, you could possibly be just a web robot, trolling countless such posts and web pages in an endless phishing expedition for phone numbers or other personal data left blowing loosely through our world’s digital weather system.  And if you were, the thing is you’d probably never know it.  You will have just perused your own life story with nary a spark of awareness or recognition.  So if you do recognize this is not you, chances are you are one of our readers of the sentient and intelligent variety; ergo my intro: you have a brain.  And inside there, you’ve got things happening: Thoughts, feelings; reactions to The News; responses to imagined questions; deceased conversations still zombying along, slowly winning validation for the never spoken point of view.  This is all and any of us, at some point; and the reason we were always advised growing up, over and over, to use our words.  Words, language: The interstate connectors between the inner-cities of our souls and the suburbs of our social lives.  It’s the life blood of our goals and intentions; no one is an island, after all.

For some of us, however, this takes on a dramatic gravity, an urge, a compulsion, a need.  For a writer, a world waits in the wings, biding its term of carriage.  Its labor is concentration, focus and the risk of ridicule.  Its delivery is realization and with that, the infinite vulnerability and exposure of sharing.  Inspiration approaches in so many variegated forms, the words we have read, the words we hear, the things we see.  

A hunger exists to allow the creative muses within us to chop, shave, slice these things; to mix them, blend them; fry them, broil them, toss them in a pot and boil them ruthlessly, until the alchemy of creation changes them into a new thing, aromatic, flavorful, satisfying.  But at every step, every single one, we face the question of greatest importance:  Will anyone even partake?  Is there an audience?  Will anyone even care at all?  Creation only ever happens because at some point in the process, probably even at every point, the creator remembers the feeling of something of which they had partaken: read, seen, listened to and says, “I did.  I cared; it meant something to me.”  And then, “If this was in my hands, I’d read it; I’d listen; I’d watch.”  And step by step, the process happens: heart, soul, focus, concentration, the fear of ridicule and the vulnerability of sharing.  That’s life as a writer, or the first half of life, anyway.  The second act brings the struggle to get heard, to be seen, to hitchhike that interstate from the churning inner-city of creation to the readers out there in the wide world.

In today’s world, if ever, it’s not an easy task to be that seen, heard and read artist.  Every little bit of help is important.  If you’ve visited us here before, you know that is the mission of the Georgia Nutts is to become better writers and open a pathway to the world for writers and artists with their thumbs out along the side of the highway.  That being the case, it is always a pleasure to meet friends out here with the same drive and purpose.  Individuals and business owners in love with, or in awe of, the creative, like we are, and with the desire to push these expressed forms out into the view of the world.

It was under a fading evening sun that I left home Thursday, December 12, on my one hour-plus drive to Monroe, Georgia to visit the Southern Pen Bookshop.  This was, in fact, my second attempt at a visit.  The first had been a fail, due mostly to the fact that I had no idea the bookshop is located inside the Monroe Mercantile Co.  

Armed with this new insight, I was ready to make good on this second promise to appear in person; my reputation was on the line, for goodness’ sake.  My drive ended up being more like two hours, thanks to the onset of non-stop rain and some good ol’ country road, rainy day traffic.  At one point, I sat in a row of cars almost forty minutes behind an accident.  At this point, I was now missing the book signing event for Georgia author Christy Breedlove’s When Bees Buzz, A Dixie Days Cozy Mystery, 

I knew.  The silver of my reputation was again gaining some tarnish.  As it turned out, I made it there almost too late to see anyone.  Wipers still shedding the misty rain from my wind shield, I parked in a place I probably shouldn’t have, but risked it anyway and got to the shop just as proprietor Vickie Bley and author Christy Breedlove were packing up to leave.  Breedlove’snovel, When Bees Buzz, is part of her Dixie Days Cozy Mystery series, a direction in storytelling she decided to explore in the quest for tales aimed at young adult readers but without the needless forays into make-out sessions, raging hormones and diatribes filled with edgy language.  Her characters solve mysteries in coming-of-age stories set in small-town Georgia locations, discovering clues and friendships along the way.

Vickie Bley herself, founder and owner of the Southern Pen Bookshop, offered me her hand warmly.  Not unlike an unopened bottle of club soda, she seemed bubbly, yet contained; an eager energy fizzing just beneath the surface.  In a brief oral history of the bookshop, she revealed how, inspired by an acquaintance from Florida, she started Southern Pen with a single bookshelf tucked into the back corner of the Monroe Mercantile Co.  

She now occupies the entire rear quadrant of the emporium, alongside business ally Cheely’s Deli.  Vickie’s mission for the Southern Pen is simple: provide a retail space exclusively for Indie authors to make their books available to the reading public, as well as attract readers through publicity generated in live events and through the shop’s online presence.  

The Southern Pen is designed not only to be a retail space, but also a resource and advocate for the independent author.  For a fee, authors can shelve their books in the shop.  Along with this, the books will be marketed on the Southern Pen Bookshop website, where book sales turn over 80% earnings for the authors.  If you’ve ever tried setting up sales opportunities at other book stores as an independent author, you know this rate of return is basically unprecedented.  It is an extremely high-value deal for the author.

The Southern Pen conducts an outreach program to engage the community and attract writers and readers alike.  On March 21, 2020, the SecondAnnual Writer’s Conference will be held with discussion panels, guest speakers and other relevant offerings focusing on the craft, as well as the business side, of writing.  There will even be a mini photo shoot op for author rear-cover/leaf photos.  This past May, they presented the GeorgiaIndependent Author of the Year Award. Applications for the award for 2020 are now being accepted.

If I haven’t stressed it enough already in this post, let me just reiterate that independent authorship and publication can be a hard grind.  The world feels increasingly filled with lights, noises and animated GIF’s and decreasingly populated by people who want to spend time reading.  Competition for attention can become a piranha pool or, by contrast, a lonely desert rolling endlessly with empty dunes.  As Georgia Nutts, we are doing our best to be part of the small crowd helping to bridge that divide between the artist and the patron.  It is reaffirming and encouraging to meet allies and friends in the Mission, like Vickie.  So by all means, keep reading these blogs; tell your friends.  And visit the Southern Pen Bookshop and pick up something to read.  You know, do something good for that brain of yours.

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About al-Falaq (a.k.a. Phil Bates):

al-Falaq is a writer and illustrator living in Atlanta, Georgia. He loves cats and shares his home with an ornery fur ball with nine tales, at least!  His collection of poetry and short stories, Threadbare is available on Amazon. al-Falaq is also our resident blogger for our RGN on Location Blog.

RGN at CONTRAPUNTO

CONTRAPUNTO:

Latin-x Fine Artists stun at Gallery 72

Counterpoint, when used as a tool in conversation, is the practice of bringing clarity to an idea or statement by offering contrasting views; using the distinctions between them to highlight the essential importance of the original assertion.  Contrapunto, aside from being Spanish for counterpoint, is also the name of a fine arts collective operating here in the Metro Atlanta area.  Its members are Latin-x, hailing from several countries throughout Latin America.  As opposed to Latina or Latino, Latin-x eschews emphasis on gender, orientation or ethnicity while still recognizing an individual’s identity among a broadly diverse cultural and geographic palette stretching from the 32^nd parallel all the way to Antarctica. 

Offered by Contrapunto founder and GeorgiaNutts Guild friend Carlos Solis, Contrapunto’s most recent exhibit is what brought DAP Tales and I (alFalaq) out into the evening chill on Thursday, December 5^th to Gallery 72 on Marietta Street in downtown Atlanta.  Gallery 72 is the youngest in the lineage of public exhibition spaces curated by the Mayor of Atlanta’s Office of Cultural Affairs.  It is a warm space, inviting and intimate and best of all, free to the public.

Inside the gallery space, the walls were adorned with canvases of varying sizes, visual expressions ranging from the surreal to the abstract, colors from the bold to the demure, emotions from the urgent to the serene, each artist’s statement patiently awaiting the eyes of the beholders. 

A couple of things happened here that have never happened to me before at any art exhibit:  Firstly, I had never attended an exhibit where I had the chance to speak directly with the artist.  This Thursday night, we met five and I had the chance to speak in depth with three, so this was uniquely exciting.  We fell into conversation with Carlos upon our arrival. 

A genteel and immediately approachable man, his passion is evident and persuasive, despite his soft-spoken demeanor.  Speaking, we loitered a while by some of his surrealistic canvases where his stylistic parlance, so reminiscent of Dali, belies the powerfully probing commitment of his art to the discovery of truth, often born in his dreams.  As example:  In one painting, a muzzled camel lopes through the desert beneath a glowering pinkish sky.  The human spirit, represented by doves, struggles uselessly in a cage, tethered to a cell phone.  

In the lower corner, an angel arrests the arm of a monkey, belaying him from tossing his excrement toward the haloed silhouette of the Madonna and child.  

“It is the noise,” he is encouraging us to see, “of the modern world, distracting us from the voices of our inner selves, the potency of memory and self-awareness.”  While discussing the exhibit in the context of the collective itself and why it was founded, he sweeps his hand broadly, including the entire exhibition space within the gesture.  

“Look around,” he says.  The walls are replete with images; some realistic and personal, some geometric and playful, some soft, some severe, all masterfully rendered and real.  

He continues, “You see the expressions.  You don’t see ‘Peru’”, indicating works by Graciela Nunez Bedoya, 

“Or ‘Mexico’”, pointing to canvases by Jorge Arcos, 

“Or ‘Venezuela’”, his own work.  “There is so much diversity throughout the Latin-American experience”, he tells us, "but in most people’s minds; we are all still just one thing.”  Each artist’s work projected quietly out from its home along the wall, resonating distinctly.

I personally also got to spend time with two other Contrapunto artists: Dora Lopez and Pedro Fuertes, and it was with each of them that the second unexpected thing happened to me at an art exhibit: I was invited to touch their paintings; feel the texture; allow my fingertips to engage the canvas, much as my eyes had already.  

Both abstract painters, I had no idea, at first, that they are wife and husband.  Their works are at once similar and yet, so divergent.  Dora’s mixed media forms are full of gentle, blended hues, impressionistic overtones, like something remembered nostalgically.  Pedro’s expressionistic colors blast from the canvas with high definition, high contrast energy, with swirling masses of shade, punctuated suddenly with bright, semi-metallic edges and folds.  Texture, both visual and physical, plays an important role in both their expressions.  

On the wall space opposite Pedro, lush, dreamlike portraits by Catalina Gomez depict calm faces and candid poses.  

Across the hall, Graciela Bedoya’s surrealistic portraits harness a more desperate energy, depicting beautifully realized figures in the grip of menace or tribulation.  Next to her, Jorge Arcos’s geometric abstraction leads the eye around and round, chasing form and color.

(Yes, snacks were served)

I felt privileged to meet so many of the artists alongside their wonderful works; to be invited so openly to explore, even to touch (I’m not telling you to touch the paintings at Gallery72!  I’m pretty sure that will not be smiled upon most of the time, but like I said, it was a moment of privilege, in its fullest sense.  Okay?)  But please, do yourself the favor of sampling these diverse voices ringing out from the broad, bright spectrum that is the Latin-x community.

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Carlos Solis and his wonderful, wife and clothing designer, Chela suggested a wonderful Venezuelan restaurant to us, since DAP Tales was missing Venezuelan food. We were so glad we took his advice.

About alFalaq and DAP Tales

al-Falaq (a.k.a. P Bates) is a writer and illustrator living in Atlanta, Georgia. He loves cats and shares his home with an ornery fur ball with nine tales, at least!  His collection of poetry and short stories, Threadbare is available on Amazon. al-Falaq is also our resident blogger for our RGN on Location Blog.

Dap Tales (a.k.a. D P Bates)  is a writer/illustrator/graphic designer, living in Atlanta, Georgia. She is the illustrator and writer of a gorgeous book, PRIMARY COLORS AND ME, that introduces children ages 6 and under to color and design theory through the use of fun poems and beautiful color illustrations. (Click here, to check out the book trailer) This new material has led her to continue to explore primary colors and rubbings as a medium in her current artistic work. DAP is also the founding member of the RGN and Georgia Nutts Guild -- a support group for local authors who want to continue to practice and advance their writing skills and goals. 

2019 ChalkFest Marietta Georgia

TAKE IT TO THE STREETS

Sidewalk chalk takes over Marietta Square

Dap Tales and I have a daughter.  We call her The Bean, ‘cuz when she was born, that’s all she was; a tiny little bean, wrapped in a swaddling blanket in our arms.  She has her mother’s radiant smile and shimmering eyes.  Lingering there, behind that bright countenance, was a world full of curious questions and big ideas.  Even when she was little, the ideas were big, super-sized in fact.  Case-in-point:  Barely old enough to have started drawing, her mind would float from idea to idea like a butterfly from flower to flower, and her hand, from surface to surface, until her tags were everywhere; multiplying like locusts throughout our home. 

I know, every kid eventually earns their stint in solidarity for drawing on the walls, but this kid; the level or immediacy of the punishment couldn’t dam the flow; redundancy of punishment was a wasted effort.  It soon became evident that we were dealing with a brain experiencing ideas that simply were too big to fit on any page.  It seemed the way the world was around her, immersive and encompassing, so it was with her interior world as well.  Ideas were everywhere and when she wanted to express them, that’s how they appeared, from her big little brain onto our walls.  Then… it came into our lives; the magic that is Sidewalk Chalk.  Genius!  Finally, a medium that could match the size of our Beanie’s big dreams and didn’t require a home remodel afterwards.  So, you could say we have a personal connection with “street art” of this nature.  It was from this perspective that we planned a family day excursion to Marietta Square to witness artists, from Georgia and afar, dressing up the asphalt with splashes and dashes of colorful chalk creations of all kinds.

The entire event was a two day affair, with artists setting up and drawing all day Saturday, finishing and presenting to a panel of judges Sunday.  We went Saturday, so saw the works of art in their early stages.  Even at that stage of the game, there were some truly impressive things to see:  Concepts ranging from the realistic to the whimsical and art styles as varied as the artists themselves.

  

There was everything from art deco and graphic styles, to lush realistic portraits to glowing fantasy mélanges.  With techniques featuring striking sharp contrasts in edgy designs and soft, blended hues and shading bringing human faces richly to life.  And this smorgasbord was while the pieces themselves were still mostly incomplete. 

We stopped in at an ice cream shop there on the Square for some refreshment, which did not disappoint, and found some chairs out on the sidewalk to chill.  A live band started cranking out hits from the seventies, the sound rebounding throughout the Square over our heads and those of milling spectators.

Band: Brother Whitlock. They sang some Southern Rock Hits. (Photo)

We strolled.  Just in front of the bandstand was a park, littered with rambling, chattering children.  DAP and I perched atop a brick wall and watched Beanie frolic among the laughing throng of kids as the music played, until it was time to get outta Dodge.  We were not able to return Sunday for the finished works and the judgment of awards but we still had the chance to be wowed, as we invariably are, by the craft and dexterity of brilliant minds expressing the ideas that just won’t stay confined within the walls of their brains.

******

About al-Falaq (a.k.a. Phil Bates):
al-Falaq is a writer and illustrator living in Atlanta, Georgia. He loves cats and shares his home with an ornery fur ball with nine tales, at least!  His collection of poetry and short stories, Threadbare is available on Amazon. al-Falaq is also our resident blogger for our RGN on Location Blog.

The RGN visit the Black dolls and other artist event at the Omenala Griot Museum

Omenala Griot Afrocentric Museum & Event Center

Black Dolls, Black Art, Black Healthy Stuff & More…

Marketplace and Outreach at Omenala Griot Afrocentric Museum

A day is not formed, until it is lived.  Sometimes you’ve got to separate yourself from your notion of a day, unformed as it is, in favor of what is being offered to you, and let the day form itself while you, having bought the ticket, faithfully take the ride.  This kind of happened to me on the beautiful Saturday of September 8.  The Georgia Nutts Guild, consisting of our founder, DAP Tales, myself (alFalaq), Mia Maine and Yvonne Walker were booked to do some vending and outreach at the Black Dolls, Black Art, Black Healthy Stuff & More Marketplace being held at Omenala Griot Afrocentric Museum in west Atlanta.  Knowing that I would need to be ready to work all Saturday night, there was a part of me devoted to the idea of chilling at home in my jammies and having a nap; at least that could have been hatched as the plan, or like I mentioned before, my notion of the day.  I considered making a case out of it.  But it was early and the day was not yet formed, you see; just my notion of it.  And that’s how easy it would have been to miss out on, what turned out to be, one of the nicest Saturday afternoons of the whole summer.

We got to the place amid a bustle of vendors setting about getting their tables and wares in order, and proceeded to do the same.  Old School soul music was bobbing along through the air around us:  Maze andFrankie Beverly, Earth, Wind & Fire, Prince.  Bright sounds like traces of the late morning sun following us into the warmly welcoming interior of the museum space.  

Flags of African nations quilted together were hung in one area of the ceiling like a parlor canopy.  

Various ritual masks and carvings stared out tacitly from their homes adorning wall spaces and corners, observing the action noncommittally.  

A separate room lined with shelves of books pertinent to African and African American history and the diaspora housed a chair basking in the glow of sun-soaked windows, lacking only a reader to fulfill its promise of shared knowledge. 

Backed by a brightly painted, thematic mural, an empty storyteller’s stage issued its silent address to a waiting array of folding chairs.  People chattered and muttered busily around their tables.  Lisa Stansfield was bemoaning her love, which she still hadn’t found, despite having been all around the world.

We were just finishing our table setup but already I was feeling a homey vibe about this place.  Something about it just felt like it was a good time to be there; I decided to wander about and mingle a little in what I would soon come to regard as a garden of talents and tastes, with some true gems tucked away among its varied offerings. 

At the GNG table, DAP’s clear bell of a voice and glimmering smile were introducing people to the concept of our writer’s guild.  At least, that’s when people were around… more on that in a minute.  

Displaying each of their own lines of uniquely crafted, hand-made jewelry, Yvonne Walker’sArtistic Kitten and Mia Maine’s Elegantly Twisted labels adorned that mesa as well.  Other vendors, like PaparazziAccessories and Tiana’s Jewels, had partnered with wholesalers as a point of sale retailing operation of their own. 

Each table had a mother and daughter tag team, not just businesses for the moms but setting the stage for the young ladies, as well.

Making my circuit, there were a few gravitational hot spots for me; one of the first was House of Enchantment.  

This vending station was swaddled in an invisible cloud of aromatic diffusion.  The brisk, refreshing scent was emanating from one of the many hand-made candles on display.  Natural crystals, chakra balancing kits and smudging sage were also available. 

I couldn’t help being drawn in also, due to their beautiful designs and craftsmanship, to the hand-sewn dolls of Paddlefoot Dolls andCrafts.  

The dolls’ tiny clothes were all so well made, but here’s the thing:  the dolls themselves, though all representative of African American lineage, displayed a wide diversity of complexions and hair styles.  In some ways, Paddlefoot’s doll collection is a quiet comment on the diaspora as can be seen today in the community, which is one of the central themes of the Omenala Griot museum itself and one of its essential educational ideals.  I thought for a second how easily the issues of the present day can gloss over our days past, if the conversation is not kept alive, which I think is part of the whole reason for this beautiful museum.

There was so much more to see, but it would be remiss of me to mentally walk us out of the vending space without calling out one of the true gems of the day:  the young gentleman at the table next to us, Anthony Badila. 

He was selling small charms he had made by hand, sculpting them in clay, then molding them in a plastic or ceramic.  Food items, like donuts or slices of cake, transformed into friendly characters by the addition of happy little faces.  Prototype dolls he had designed and sculpted and was seeking to bring to market ready production, were on display.  All African American, but all different, the fine quality of them was obvious and marked this young man as a real talent in development.

I spoke with Gina-Rey, from New York on my way outside; there was no way around it, actually; she had populated the entire patio with her lovely crocheted apparel items. 

She was a bright, fun personality, who had come along way.  A lot of the vendors had, in fact.  There were folks from NY, Florida, even from waaaaay over in California, here to vend.  This is what they do. 

Unfortunately, the ratio of vendors to customers was far out of proportion.  I don’t know the full extent of the promotion for this event, but it seemed such a shame to have so few customers for these business operators and so few visitors to this fantastic cultural center.  

I haven’t even taken you outside with me yet, into the wonderful vegetable garden cultivated alongside the museum. 

Or to the outdoor storytelling space, with its carved tree stumps surrounding the old oak trunk, where I planted myself on a bench in the early afternoon sun and smelled the vines all around me and heard the whisper of the breeze-blown leaves above. 

I considered my feelings about this place, with which I had kind of fallen in love, as I made my way back through the tomatoes, peppers, melons and flowers planted in rows and down into the grassy parking area.  

I stopped to shoot a couple of photos of the giant Kwanzaa kinara there, seven street lamps dressed as candles, painted in the traditional red, black and green.  

I imagined them lighting in the evenings, one by one, in the days after Christmas.  I felt a sort of gratitude as I left, that good fortune had allowed us to stumble onto this gem, hidden away in a west Atlanta neighborhood.  And an accompanying sense of surprise when I discovered it wasn’t the only one.  I saw from banners around the area that this community is called AshviewHeights.  

It seems they’ve got a lot going on, progressively speaking.  Not only is it the home of the Omenala Griot Museum, just up the street is the Truly Living Well Collegetown Farm Center for Natural Urban Agriculture. 

I ran into this place just as a fluke while leaving the neighborhood.  It’s a huge space, growing just about everything; vegetables, fruit trees and decorative flora. 

There is a play area for children inside.  They conduct community outreach and educational programs on urban farming and self-subsistence. 

A broad space, full of sun and nature and fresh growing natural foods right there, in the middle of the city.  And I had no idea.

See?  Sometimes you just gotta go with it.  You never know which day is just ready and waiting to blossom into something special.  You might have plans, or notions but when life extends the invitation, leave your jammies behind and say “Yes”.