Tonight I Write

I'm attempting a new writing exercise tonight. I will listen to a song and write whatever comes to mind. It's my "literary freestyle" I should say. Even if I can get no more than a paragraph down, a few lines, I would have accomplished more than I have all month. I'm ashamed to say that I've kept the voices at bay for longer than I should have. Work, community service, and just regular living should never take precedence over your only means of escape, remember that.
Tonight's song is "I Who Have Nothing." It's been covered by many greats, but my absolute favorite is the one by my beloved Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack. For those of you unfamiliar with with this classic, the lyrics are below. Feel free to join in.

Share with the world one or two sentences that visit you as you read the words. Here goes:

I, I who have nothing
And I, I who have no one
Adore you, and want you so
I'm just a no one,
With nothing to give you, but ohhhhh
I love you

He, he buys you diamonds
Bright, sparkling diamonds
But believe me, dear
Believe me when I say
He can give you the world,
But he'll never love you the way
I love you

You can go any place you want
To fancy clubs and restaurants
But I can only watch you with
My nose pressed up against the window pane

Ohhhh I, I who have nothing
I, I who have no one
Must watch you, go passing by
Wrapped in the arms of someone else
When darling, it is I
Who loves you

I love you
I love you
I love you

(Yes, this drawing is another Jennifer Singleton original. Copyright 2009)

"I sit alone in my four cornered room staring at candles"

I'm back after an extending break from my blog. I've been busy in my offline life, which is very surprising for me. But that's not the only reason I've been MIA. I started a new post over a week ago, and it's still in a draft state. As I've written before, when I attempt to write in an "uninspired" state of mind, the process only proves to be a frustrating exercise in futility. I'm planning to publish that post one day. It's about a confusing sign I encountered recently in a creepy parking garage. It's pretty funny actually, and reminiscent of the posts that landed me a "Best Humor Blog" nomination.

So now you may be wondering If you published this one, something has inspired you, right?

You know me so well. I was listening to my favorites on YouTube this evening when I noticed a video under Related Videos that I hadn't seen in a long time. "My Mind Is Playin Tricks On Me" by the Geto Boyz came out when I was in the 8th grade. My post title "I sit alone in my four cornered room staring at candles" is the song's introductory line. Like many songs, movies, and books that I ran across back then, I really didn't get what Scarface, Willie D, and Bushwick Bill were rapping about. It was just a cool sounding sound, with a cheesy video that I liked. But now that I'm older, songs like this that speak on the human condition draw me in and beg me to analyze their lyrics.

There is more than one interpretation of the song's meaning. As a writer, the lines that stands out to me deal with the ability to sit alone while thoughts take over your entire body, rendering it motionless, sometimes for hours; and the ones describing the effects of having visions. What I take from this song is a confirmation of my belief that people who are able to experience this and dare to entertain it, open their minds to receive raw emotions and feelings that can then be transferred to a form for others to receive.

I've often wondered about the inspiration behind the literary, musical, and theatrical works that are hailed as the greatest ever produced. If you'll notice, these works touch us deeply and affect our spirit; some are very haunting in their replication of what we have felt or have heard of others experiencing. And interestingly, the creators have led remarkably different lives from what they've produced. Never set foot in the environments of which they speak.

So how are they able to share things they've never experienced?

This may sound incredibly weird, but I believe these creations are possible through special portals that exist in the minds of creative people.The portals attract special signals in the universe. Again, this is my belief, I have no findings to back up anything. But it simply must exist. The wonder of Stevie Wonder comes to mind. I feel that his blindness has allowed him to see a beauty in the world that those of us with sight are not privy. He has those portals. Concentrated and powerful input enters his spirit, where his special ability allows him to put it into a form that communicates to the rest of us. And boy has it affected us.

I sit alone in my four cornered room staring at candles.

"That Bird Has My Wings"

"I wonder what products we’re using that were stolen from people who died penniless because they couldn’t fight the powers that be."
--J. Singleton

I expressed this sentiment the other day after learning of two men who, after two decades of litigation, finally won their lawsuit against a mega corporation accused of stealing their bottled water idea. I began to imagine how it would feel if one of my literary ideas were stolen; what if someone else received the praise; what if someone else paid off their debt; what if someone else used my wings to fly high in the clouds.

The artwork of this book's cover, and more importantly, the title, simply astounded me. I skimmed through the book and learned that it tells the story of Jarvis Jay Masters, a man on death row struggling to win his freedom. The words he needs the powers that be to understand: I'm an innocent man.

If you’re a Seinfeld episode connoisseur, you probably know the story behind the words "the beach." You see, Kramer met with a Calvin Klein exec to discuss his idea to create a cologne that would make the wearer smell like he or she just returned from the beach. Kramer suggested it be called The Ocean. The exec laughed at the ridiculous idea and sent him on his way. Fast forward a few years and Jerry is dating a Calvin Klein model. Jerry tells her one day that he likes the smell of her perfume. She replies that it’s a new CK perfume called The Beach. Jerry puts two and two together and realizes that his buddy’s idea was stolen. Of course, you know that this only begins the hilarity.

Though funny, in real life, beginning a battle of this magnitude is so daunting that many are able to only send threatening letters or spend all they have rallying a few troops to help them go up against Goliath. Others simply give up.

The mere thought of this happening to my intellectual property is devastating. While technically a work is under copyright protection the moment it is placed in a fixed, tangible form, the essence of it knows no owner and can be "borrowed" against the creator’s will. My mother tells me that ideas belong to the universe, not to an individual. What belongs to an individual is his or her expression of that idea. Let's say you originate an idea, a bike that says "hello." If I take this idea and express it in my own way by designing a bike that speaks three languages and sings Sinatra's greatest hits, the burden of proof lies with you that my great new bike, with all of its fancy trimmings, actually started with your idea of a simple "hello."

I have my work (mostly ramblings) scattered about on this blog, all my own creation. I knew when I put it out there that I was taking a chance, but convinced myself that I’d be okay if got away, because I was saving the good stuff for later. I lied. Every word I write is my precious offspring. I only want to share it under my name, though there are exceptions of course. My character Sweety, who lives in several postings, is someone whose story "The Gift" summoned me to tell. The Gift visits all of us creative expressionists, and serves as the switch our imaginations need to turn on. What results is our special creation, a miracle. When someone comes behind and steals that miracle, either completely or partially, without so much as an acknowledgement to its origin, I would imagine that it feels as though a piece of your spirit has left as well.

With recent and old stories of copyright infringement allegations on my mind, along with the uncertainty of submitting work to contests and start up magazines, and the hazards of posting work on blogs and messageboards, I often feel confused about how to balance being an ambitious and spontaneous writer who wants the world to know my name, and a paranoid word processor with delusions of grandeur of the world waiting in anticipation to nab my non-Library of Congress recognized offerings.

This past weekend when I spotted the words that bird has my wings, I unintentionally fed my weakening fear a very nourishing meal.

What do the words of this book title mean to you?

I Think I Was Supposed to Be a Counselor Too

"the latter part of your comment blessed my soul. I was praying about something and you said exactly what I needed 2 hear. You never know where encouraging words will come from! be blessed!"


This is what someone PM'd me on a messageboard in response to one of my posts. My "fonts" (a slang term for the types of things I write about) are based on my observations of myself and others. That's what my mind spends its time doing, analyzing the world around me. This hasn't always been a good thing, I used to get in trouble at school for it. My mother still has a note that my 2nd or 3rd grade teacher gave her that read something like "I'm concerned because Jennifer often daydreams in class." Not much has changed. I miss out on important things in meetings, classes, and even face to face conversations, because try as I might, my mind, much like an excited toddler aware of that her legs can go go go, escapes and runs away to conjure up things to entertain me. Other times it escapes to find deeper meanings for people and situations that arouse my curiosity.

I get a lot of positive feedback from my replies on this messageboard. They are lengthy in nature and are, hopefully, therapeutic to the thread starters. The e-counseling has resulted in nearly 2000 "thanks" of my posts. I'm on there everyday, offering my opinions and viewpoints on relationships, politics, news events, and celebrity gossip. So what could this mean? I love science...and volunteer in an insect zoo. I love to write and edit...and do that professionally and as a hobby. I love to travel...and do that whenever I can. I have an ability to understand what people are going through and configure my words to where they manage to make people happy. Wait a minute, is it possible that I've discovered the focus of my freelance writing career?

Should I go ahead and get certified in something that sounds impressive and makes me look "worthy," and use that to start an advice column? Well I'll be a blue dot on white cotton ball, how obvious. Perhaps I should ponder this further. I will keep you posted of course.