tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-181411252011-07-28T10:58:34.113-05:00Princess was a renegade. Princess was a fourteen year old outlaw.Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.comBlogger581100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-12872022690598824552009-08-16T17:25:00.011-05:002009-09-05T22:17:56.794-05:00

A massive vehicle chokes its way up the narrow, curving path to the clinic. Lieu hears churning gears and rattling windowpanes. Lieu doesn’t have a weapon on him. He knows some karate and some capoeira, but since he hasn’t the strength to roll out of the bed, he plays dead. After ten infinite minutes, the front door bangs open. As a statue, Lieu had practiced well for this performance

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-82488620153146635012009-08-16T16:14:00.019-05:002009-09-05T22:17:42.932-05:00

2119—1st Day—52nd weekMutafarrik! This is Grace AKA Queen AKA Stank Tail. I will be leaving St. Lucia, temporarily (never permanently), to do some work in Northern Mid America: Detroit. I’ll be there no fewer than 6 months. Ya’ll know anybody I can stay with, have that person meet me on the last day of the year, between five and six, underneath Joe Louis’ fist. Otherwise, I gotta stay

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-86510531328154219122009-08-16T14:46:00.016-05:002009-08-20T10:28:49.800-05:00

2125 Grace didn’t have to ask where the JAMP was taking her. She had imagined Alltown Central Holding, but when they passed downtown Northtown and kept heading north, she knew that he was taking her to the Johnstontine mansion. She’d have rather been in Holding. She hadn’t seen the Johnstontines since she ran away from Huntley, but she remembered how vengeful and murderous they were. Grace’s

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-28925979660141377302009-08-16T13:11:00.016-05:002009-08-20T10:28:36.094-05:00

2118 Each heist was unique. The Little Rock job was high profile. First and foremost, it was in the downtown capitol. The gallery stood beneath the rotunda, and every wall of the kiosquon was glass. IM and Lieu had planned a sophisticated scheme for this one, repelling from a glass in the ceiling of the rotunda, and lifting the work on a pulley from the gallery and lowering it on another

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-67328670085729511912009-08-16T11:16:00.018-05:002009-08-16T13:08:30.813-05:00

18 Years Old The Mutafarrik had been camping at an old rest stop a few miles away from the old Arkansas/Mississippi border. These parts had been returned to original native people. Much of it was resort-like—expansive, single story homes with astounding views of renaturalized land. A house out here cost millions, but in this community, the elite were the most traditional, and they fought

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-59636696122231644722009-08-15T22:16:00.015-05:002009-08-16T11:16:17.943-05:00

17 Years Old Karin spoke four languages, could shoot and liked leather. No wonder her daddy wasn’t worried about her. The lady had an eye for art. Eights and Doc swelled watching her finger a catalogue. An irresistible seductress, she conspired enthusiastically. Karin introduced the Mutafarrik to private gallery thefts. She dubbed these the quarter capers. A Mutafarrik could speedball

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-10647731139508498912009-08-07T15:22:00.013-05:002009-08-07T21:07:45.215-05:00

16 Years Old When Grace was Princess, the Johnstontines had demolished every corner of her foundation: Southtown, the Jamaican Spot, the library, and her family. The Johnstontines still wanted to destroy Princess, and didn’t care if, in the process, they had to destroy what good and warm existed in Grace. Once it became clear that whoever had raised the child had sharpened her weakest

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-54347165886140124892009-08-07T13:13:00.014-05:002009-08-07T14:47:02.917-05:00

15 1/2 Years Old “I know my baby. I would know my baby anywhere.” “Mrs. Johnstontine.” “Mr. Johnstontine. Excuse me. Mother Sidney. Where did that young girl come from?” “Princess? Well, we don’t exactly know where she came from. She appeared on our doorstep about a month ago. However, we know via Mrs. Whitley that the young girl is the relation of some sort of touring band. The child

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-82715327934811184152009-07-08T14:24:00.014-05:002009-08-07T13:12:21.220-05:00

16 Years Old “Damn, she fine.” Eights spotted Karin flaunting her ripe cleavage and twisting her waist hard across the patio. The way she pulled her cigarette slightly intimidated Eights and that excited him. “Nigger, them some little girls.” Karin smiled in Eights’ direction and beckoned with her batting lashes. The other girls at the table giggled at the prospect of the ensuing interaction

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-47350306302934942162009-07-06T23:53:00.011-05:002009-08-07T13:11:55.210-05:00

15 Years Old The whole thing could have been funny before Drum started to cry. Princess didn’t mean to cause that reaction. She didn’t believe she’d see it, and somehow never imagined the boys would care so much. Princess believed it was a sign that she and Karin were almost the same age, had birthdays a day apart, and both were hiding in the bathroom of Northtown Suites—Karin to smoke;

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-32440592903928667452009-07-06T12:30:00.018-05:002009-07-06T23:52:59.897-05:00

14 Years Old "Darling. How exquisite! Why it looks perfectly real." "Ma'am! Please do not touch the statues." "Well, excuse me. I was only going to--it blinked. Hon. Did you see that? That statue just blinked.” "Don't be silly, Rosebud, you're imagining things," her escort dismissed. "I guess I must be." The leggy, blonde licked the old man's ear. He pushed her a little roughly, but she

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-23906730058401686242009-06-28T10:05:00.009-05:002009-06-28T10:15:05.165-05:00

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-69738471548221219552009-06-26T08:36:00.017-05:002009-06-26T10:10:32.970-05:00

12 Years Old “Princess!” “Princess!” Princess shivered in the moonlight as, sitting upright and stock still, she eyed the snake slowly, slithering towards her.  If she moved, Eights would find her.  Maybe it was just a garden snake?  It wasn’t.  Princess knew it wasn’t but she posited, biding for the moment of no return.  Closer, it slid.  It didn’t want Princess, but it was on course for her.  

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-31281723786713926052009-06-21T14:57:00.013-05:002009-06-21T16:29:15.900-05:00

11 Years Old When the first bomb hit the street outside the library, IM and Drum thought the Alltown MP were coming for the Mutafarrik.  They had hit a dozen shipping yards, a dozen galleries, and a grip of trucks.  It had been a few months since an extended stay in…well, civilization seemed an odd way to describe Southtown, but the ruins of Southtown were less wild than camping, which was mostly

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-30067193505448929652009-04-07T19:21:00.027-05:002009-04-23T23:21:01.249-05:00

2100. The Johnstontine’s had given up on babies and had pretty much given up on sex.  Neither Mr. nor Mrs. believed she could conceive.  When she lost that baby during the attack at Hiram Revels library, she had been 36.  Now, she was 57.  Both Johnstontines were shocked to find that their annual coitus had resulted in a pregnancy, and Mrs. Johnstontine was nearly seven months when the doctor

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-31623839493406223392009-04-06T19:54:00.016-05:002009-04-06T21:26:14.176-05:00

Day four of fatherhood was even harder. That was the day that Corduroy earned the nickname: Ill Militant. Wisdom and Knowledge were building on the AIDS crisis when Corduroy entered, and Drum slammed the door hard enough to make paint fall off the walls. “I ain’t never going back to Uncle Tom Elementary.” “Never,” cosigned Drum. “Uncle Tom Elementary? Where you get that from?” “Eights.” “Crabs

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-11374019014696404612009-04-06T18:36:00.015-05:002009-04-06T19:53:10.877-05:00

2093. Wisdom, 19 years old, patrolling the streets, never minding his own business, scouted Southtown for opportunities to build. Peering down the alleyway between Sammy Davis Jr. and Colin Powell, he registered a group of kids. He’d investigate. Ten spaces down, ten four or five year olds crowded around a dead bird. What was so curious? Every Southtown kid had encountered an abandoned corpse or

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-65987340093868894042008-08-08T19:54:00.030-05:002009-04-06T18:39:06.605-05:00

“Is every nigger with dreads for the cause? Is every nigger with golds for the falls?” Not only did Pete not have locks, until 2073, he had been the only man in Alltown for the past seventy years to wear a curl! He manufactured the curl activator himself. Dripping ringlets framed his pudgy brown face. He was a large framed man, and every part of that frame was filled with soft, loose, jiggling

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-45443182433124040382008-08-02T08:49:00.020-05:002008-08-02T09:59:16.952-05:00

Rice paste changes the fate of Peter Vessey. Rice paste, a simple, holistic, dental treatment became globally accepted in 2049. Dental health rapidly became a generally accurate indicator of class. Pete was a poor kid. As a third grader at Ward Connerly Elementary, he had never seen a dentist. That year had been the unfortunate year that Johnstontine hired himself principal of Connerly. Mrs.

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-64991387798990266062008-07-05T12:54:00.009-05:002008-07-05T13:53:40.910-05:00

Regime change: heroin. In 2038, Alltown held its first free election. During the pre-Inaugural Ball for the Mayor Elect, a jazz musician tapped the communal memory of Alltown. Alltown instantly fell to the second place priority of the Third Administration. Like a sleeping potion leading to a wet dream, like a sex packet, heroin seduced the community. Drug addiction grew faster than style changed

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-86215455001859453792008-07-05T12:04:00.011-05:002008-07-05T12:54:09.900-05:00

Alltown had grown just big enough to earn a dot on the official United Asian Alliance globe and develop some world renown. The crowded little town split into poles: Northtown and Southtown. Premier: galleries, schools, banks, business. Everything: private, selective, elite. Northtown signified money, power, influence. Down the hill, sat Southtown: Any mention of the name, elicited fantasy in the

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-66558574144781819282008-06-28T06:13:00.014-05:002008-07-05T12:48:49.251-05:00

Diva’s head pops up and her ears perk. Grace catches this out of her peripheral vision and becomes equally alert. Grace’s ears don’t detect what Diva’s do, but if Diva growled, it couldn’t be anyone Grace trusted. It is late. If she hadn’t been up reading, she would have been easy prey. Grace grabs Diva’s whistle and a heavy glass vase, and she climbs on top of a bookcase. She thinks better of

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-69875084227734350272008-06-28T05:05:00.017-05:002008-07-05T12:48:34.895-05:00

“Grace! Grace! Come on in here, Girl. Grace.” “Hey Suave.” “Give me a hug, baby. Give the old man a hug.” Grace curls into Suave’s chest. Diva laces herself in and out of his legs and twitches her nub of a tail to steal the man’s attention from Grace. “I see you brought another beautiful girl. Come on in you two.” He closes the kitchen door and escorts them down the stone stairs to the empty,

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-39037322477866922332008-06-20T20:53:00.013-05:002008-07-05T12:48:14.598-05:00

Directly into the rising sun, Grace and Diva sprint from the building. A few blocks from the hotel, Grace realizes that she can’t keep running down the wide-open sidewalk. She is drawing attention. She turns into an alley to buy a couple of seconds of think time. Does the gunman follow? Should she risk her scalp to peek? What in the alley can become a weapon? She jumps the side of the dumpster

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-36145700992988432162008-06-16T14:02:00.010-05:002008-07-05T12:48:00.291-05:00

Grace doesn’t realize she has fallen asleep until she wakes to the sound of pounding on the hotel door. Diva sniffs the periphery of the entryway, growling low and deep. When Diva growls trouble looms; of this, Grace is absolutely sure. “What!” Grace yells from the chair she has faced to the window, aimed for the Jamaican Spot. “Cleaning,” a voice shouts back, equally nasty. At this hour? “I

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-76298600634796802302008-06-13T22:00:00.022-05:002008-07-05T12:47:20.649-05:00

The bar doors swing like entering a saloon. The knob has been shot out and cannot be replaced, a metaphor for the atmosphere of the times. A jagged hole gapes where the lock and latch were. Grace pushes. The metal on metal sound of a bar sliding through holds surprises her. Lucky she hasn’t pushed too hard. She reaches between the gap in the door, lifts the bar, and slides it to one side. It

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-16804654527398216102008-06-12T22:08:00.020-05:002008-07-05T12:47:42.665-05:00

Day One Gracie’s gown nearly drags the floor, and it clings to her frame as if the falling rain outside has drenched her. She is frantic, as well, completing the madwoman image. Her ear leads her to the foyer. Rain beats the cement stoop outside the high oak doors. Lieu has been knocking for two hours. Gracie could not rest until she discovered the source of the tapping. She has tracked it to the

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-25603887841143998602008-06-05T10:50:00.005-05:002008-06-13T22:06:24.786-05:00

Gracie,Sentence begins indented with formality—Nas. I been hearing about you. I know niggers everywhere. Yes, even St. Lucia—especially St. Lucia—lot of women, as a matter of fact, and they talk about your ways down at the market.You got a couple guys I hear. They probably real nice. They ain’t me.You miss me? It’s been a year and a half, Gracie. I wonder what you look like now.You know how women

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-53937766994409812852008-06-05T10:49:00.001-05:002008-06-05T10:50:29.599-05:00

2000 U.S. Seized and Repaired2038 Johnstontine Born2042 Mrs. Johnstontine Born2049 Johnstontine Police Begin, Johnstontine is 112053 Peter Vessey Born2055 Mrs. Johnstontine declines baby 1; she is 132057 Johnstontine runs for school board. He loses. He fundraises to purchase Ward and Booker T.2060 Mrs. Johnstontine returns from school; declines baby 2. She is 18.2061 Johnstontine is principal of

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-60801527044323296942008-06-05T10:47:00.000-05:002008-06-05T10:48:22.912-05:00

For my family--past, present and futureFor my friends--artists, teachers, revolutionariesFor giving me the language to define myself to myself--to the RootsFor world peace, global equity, evolution

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-52485213980999416542008-06-05T10:37:00.002-05:002008-06-05T10:47:04.157-05:00

Everything Outlaws Are Made Of borrows from the premise of Ishmael Reed’s, Mumbo Jumbo. Outlaws is a 2005 National Novel Writing Month Award Winner. The NaNoWriMo draft of this book appears, in full, online at www.spb53935.blogspot.com. Outlaws was workshopped at the 2006 Hurston/Wright Writer’s Workshop in a class conducted by Steven Barnes. Correspondence between members of that workshop,

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-40154913601637573222008-06-05T10:21:00.004-05:002008-06-08T14:52:42.316-05:00

Everything Outlaws Are Made OfGallery 3619Saint Louis, MOChicago, ILCopyright © 2008 by S. P. BrownAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. Inquiries should be addressed to

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-80161561921231728062008-06-02T05:02:00.011-05:002008-06-02T06:30:03.171-05:00

I shouldn't have left you without an update all this time. I have just finished my fourth draft of this novel. It is now a graphic novel, and I will post it on this website. This will be the third book I have self-published. The first two are chapbooks. The second is available through lulu.com. It is an anthology, but I am not the editor or owner, just the publisher. I want to make this

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1147285228521049532006-05-10T13:14:00.000-05:002006-06-13T15:55:42.756-05:00

The copy of Everything Outlaws that appears here is an old, old draft. The novella is now shorter and ordered much differently.I submitted the first 50 pages to the Hurston/Wright Foundation about two or three months ago to be admitted to their Writer's Week.Since then I published a narrative poem in the anthology Growing Up Girl, submitted some plays, fell into very ill health, and generally

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133303196023684422005-11-29T16:24:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:26:36.026-06:00

www.53935.blogspot.com

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133302557823444122005-11-29T16:15:00.000-06:002006-05-10T13:30:54.190-05:00

Riq was alone when he heard the helicopter blades dicing the air, which shook the house in short, choppy, powerful waves. Riq’s gun was in his pants. He hadn’t reached for those pants in the month that Grace had been away, or the month between her leaving. He had regained some strength in the safety and comfort of Grace’s home, but not enough for a shoot out.The chopper left without event, but

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133302476115479752005-11-29T16:13:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:14:36.123-06:00

July 12Gracie. Sentence begins indented with formality—Nas. I know you wonder how I found you. I know niggers everywhere. Yes, even St. Lucia—especially St. Lucia—lot of women as a matter of fact, and they been talking bout your ways down at the market where you stay. You got a couple guys I hear. They probably real nice. They ain’t me. You miss me. It’s been three years,

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133302384299671592005-11-29T16:12:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:13:04.310-06:00

All jobs had their distinctions. The Little Rock job was high profile. First and foremost, it was in the downtown capital building. Every wall of the gallery was windows, and it sat dead in the middle of the library. They had planned a real Muppets Great Escape for this one, complete with repelling from the sky light, lifting out, and tossing the work to Capn and Knucnuc to catch. Second, the

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133302300595700642005-11-29T16:10:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:11:40.610-06:00

The Art Bandits had been camping at an old rest stop a few miles away from the Arkansas/Mississippi border. These parts had been returned to Native people. Much of it was resort like, expansive single story homes with astounding views of undeveloped land. A house out here cost millions of dollars, but in this community, the elite were the most traditional, and they fought aggressively to maintain

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133302194035132542005-11-29T16:09:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:09:54.040-06:00

Grace didn’t have to ask where the MP was taking her. She had imagined an Alltown Jail but when they passed downtown Alltown and kept heading north, she knew that he was taking her to the Johnstontine mansion. She’d have rather been in prison. She hadn’t seen the Johnstontine’s sent she ran away from Huntley, but she rememebered how vengeful and murderous they were. Grace’s politics were explicit

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133302132817152112005-11-29T16:08:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:08:52.820-06:00

Amidst all of this, the group dynamics were vastly changing. Maul was in love with Karin, and his personality tamed accordingly. Riq spent more time cattailing with Knucnuc and Doc Cap’n, and brought fewer women back to the camp. I.M. and Ahmir had to do much more planning to campaign at such a steady pace, which took them away from the group activities. Hub had been inspired to record the groups

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133302072622744532005-11-29T16:07:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:07:52.626-06:00

I.M. brought new energy to the game. It had been that the Art Bandits were a presage of social change. Communities anxiously awaited the sign, the raid of the museum. The cops were on hyper alert, and the revolutionaries stockpiled weapons in preparation. What the boys didn’t understand that Knowledge and Wisdom would follow and establish the praxis; this built the foundation for healthy

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133301869543322802005-11-29T16:02:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:04:29.586-06:00

When Grace woke, she was laying on the cold metal floor in the back of some sort of truck. Diva lay curled at her feet, and Grace was relieved to see the dog’s chest rise and fall. They had only sedated the dog. The road was rough but the truck was making very few stops. Were they off road or riding the rough Southtown streets, ignoring the traffic lights. It was cold, it could have been night or

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133300785508985592005-11-29T15:45:00.000-06:002005-11-29T16:05:31.556-06:00

“Princess! Princess!” “Grace, wake up! One of those guys from the band is outside and he’s calling you by your other name.” “Shit. Let me just go down there.” Grace roused herself and combed out her long, heavy pressed hair. She wrapped the blue satin robe tight around her matching pajamas and slipped into the fuzzy baby blue slippers that completed the set. She slipped silently past the dorm

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133300565423116762005-11-29T15:41:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:44:54.906-06:00

Diva’s head popped up and her ears perked. Grace caught this out of her peripheral vision and became equally alert. Grace couldn’t hear what Diva heard but Diva growled. It couldn’t be anyone Grace trusted if Diva was growling. It was late. Anyone coming in here at this time of night thought Grace was asleep. If she hadn’t been up reading, she would be easy prey.Grace grabbed Diva’s whistle, a

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133300275244146442005-11-29T15:35:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:37:55.250-06:00

Grace tapped out the syncopated beat pattern that Wisdom had taught her would always gain entry into any of his spaces. Heavy footsteps neared the door and Grace wiggled and shook with excitement. The door squeeked open.“Princ…I mean Grace! Grace! Come on in here, girl. Grace.”“Hey Hub.” Hub looked exactly the same. He hadn’t aged a year, grown a gray hair, or even gained a single pound. He was

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133300137664320502005-11-29T15:34:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:39:39.446-06:00

The whole thing could have been funny before Ahmir started to cry. Princess didn’t mean to cause that reaction. She didn’t believe she’d see it and somehow never imagined the boys would care so much. Even if just for the sake of I.M., they cared.Princess believed it was a sign that she and Karin were almost the same age, had birthdays a day apart and both were hiding in the bathroom of Northtown

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133300024886897822005-11-29T15:32:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:33:44.890-06:00

The front entrance of the Jamaican Spot was lit up, but the door was locked and no one was behind the counter. Perfect front. The typical black business in Southtown. Grace walked down the block with Diva and turned down St. King Jr, and dipped into the Clarence Thomas Homes. Two hours previous Grace would have thought twice about cutting through Thomas Homes .She wasn’t scared of the projects;

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133299945221518812005-11-29T15:31:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:32:25.236-06:00

When the first bomb hit the street outside the library, I.M. and Ahmir thought the Alltown MP were coming for the Art Bandits. The had don about twelve jobs as Art Bandits, and this was their first extended stay in …well, civilization seemed an odd way to describe Southtown, but the ruins of Southtown were less wild than camping, which was mostly what they did. They were paranoid, rabidly

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133299727735928442005-11-29T15:26:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:28:47.753-06:00

The next day Southtown Bread Basket provided it’s first free lunch. Knowledge and Wisdom cleaned out their refrigerators, packed up all their leftovers, and, bright and early, when only the teachers were at the school, Knowledge and Wisdom took a box of food to the 1st grade classroom with enough food to feed all the kids. After they dropped the boys off, they campaigned Knowledge’s neighborhood,

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133299605296566642005-11-29T15:25:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:26:45.303-06:00

Alltown The 22nd century loomed over Alltown with the bleak and austere omen of the polluted smoke grey sky that covered the city and blotted out the sunlight. Alltown had been the dream and the nightmare of the revolution. When North America fell under the control of the United Asian Emirates, people of color all over the country had been reperated for their long, faithful, unstinted service to

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1133299383721290202005-11-29T15:18:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:23:03.740-06:00

Day One “Riq? Riq? Is that you? What happened to you? Oh my God! Capn’! Knuc!” “What’s wrong? Oh no! Where did he come from? Is he…?” “Go get the doctors! No, don’t help me. I’ve got him. Just go get the doctors!”Day Two “Come here, Grace.” “Naw, Knuc. Is it that bad?” “The diagnosis was easy. You probably guessed, but it is a

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1131480355050650402005-11-08T14:05:00.000-06:002005-11-29T15:30:48.300-06:00

Grace woke up to the sound of a light knocking at her door. Diva was already sniffing at the periphery of the entry way and growling low and deep. Grace knew Rotts, knew Diva, knew if Diva growled trouble loomed; of this Grace was absolutely sure.“What!” Grace yelled from the chair she had faced to the window, and aimed for the Jamaican Spot.“Cleaning,” a voice shouted back, equally nasty.“I keep

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1131480328726037342005-11-08T14:00:00.000-06:002005-11-08T14:05:28.726-06:00

Sitting in school one day. I heard a familiar voice scream. The door monitor. Old lady Johnstontine put at the door not to keep MPs out. I knew. Somehow, soon as I heard her scream in my heart I knew. Everybody else ran to the door. I ran to the window jumped out. Hit the ground running. It was cold. Snow on the ground. I was slipping and sliding and melting big tracks behind me. I run four or

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1131379240805573352005-11-07T10:00:00.000-06:002005-11-07T10:00:40.813-06:00

The way Princess got to belong to Wisdom was a lot like the way Corduroy did. Wisdom, 19 years old, patrolling the streets, never minding his own business, scouted Southtown for opportunities to build. Peering down the alleyway between Dick Gregory BLVD and Colin Powell, he registered a group of kids; he investigated. Ten spaces dark narrow alley, ten four or five year olds crowded

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1131379089935726892005-11-07T09:57:00.000-06:002005-11-08T13:53:19.086-06:00

Sculpture rapes woman; frees himselfBy Sweet Potato BrownAlltown Bugle Southtown Crime Reporter4:00 a.m.: Sirens screamed through the Southtown streets. A police APB has been issued for a gang of thieves. Perhaps the opening is clichéd but existence is clichéd for the people of Southtown. The twist brings life to the artifice: the Southtown sirens echoed the sirens racing to the aid of Mr. Ramsey

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1131061223668403032005-11-03T16:47:00.000-06:002005-11-05T13:20:51.360-06:00

"Darling. How exquisite! Why it looks perfectly real.""Ma'am! Please do not touch the statues.""Well, excuse me. It's just that...it blinked. Hon. Did you see that? That statue just blinked.***********************************************************************************The bar doors opened like entering a saloon. The knobs had been shout out and could never be replaced, a metaphor for the

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18141125.post-1129929457110870712005-10-21T16:15:00.000-05:002005-10-21T16:17:37.110-05:00

November is National Novel Writing Month. NaNoWriMo offers a contest. An author writes a 50,000 word novel within the month of November (from Nov.1-Nov.30), and she wins! Everything Outlaws are Made Of is my novel.

Sweet Potato Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06371533008933439146noreply@blogger.com0