Laughing Out Loud

Growing up my mother used to complain how she would here me "Heheing" in my room late at night. She said she always knew when i was up because I could never contain my mirth. I used to her she should just enjoy having a happy child. The older I get, the more I change. My opinions diverge from that of my parents and the more I learn. I still laugh late at night. Sometimes because of a funny show or movie. Sometimes because of a good line in a book.

Sometimes, and this is an admission that could lead to speculations of insanity, I laugh at the random memories that I remember out of nowhere. I have recently been told that I have a tendency to have a default smiling face. Which came as a surprise to me because I always thought I switched between "Resting Bitch" face and "Pure Exhaustion" face.

Then I thought about if some more. I grew up with a lot of love but also a lot of chaos. Laughter was my way of coping. I tend to only keep good things in my life and leave the bad on the curbside. My father likes to call it avoidance. I like to call it taking a hardline.

For me, my happiness is paramount to anything else. Sacrificing it for another is not an option, because without it there is only a downward spiral. This means that I watch the people I allow into my life. I pay attention to the things they say about others and the way they treat others. It is not coming from a place of judgment, but from a place of awareness that not everyone is looking out for your best interest. But people are always good about telling you who and what they are. It is your job to see it and decide it if this is the type of person you want in your life.

The way I see it. It is like being a conscious consumer. Most people pay a lot of attention to what they buy and how much they spend. The more money involved, the more thought they put into whether they want it, if the quality is worth the price tag, and the enjoyment they would derive from it. Why wouldn't you put the same amount of thought into the time you invest in relationships? Time is precious and finite. I prefer to spend it doing things I enjoy with people who I enjoy. *And hopefully they enjoy me as well. Lol! ;)

Remember the giveaway of free copies of "The Prince's Heart" Available on Kindle and Nook. In order for a reader to qualify. The contestant must sign up for my monthly newsletter, follow me @Jinxs_Corner on twitter, and leave a review for any one of the titles listed below on either Amazon.com or BarnesandNoble.com. The Giveaway will end on September 14, 2016 at 9 pm eastern time zone. Only Four books will be awarded.

Building Yourself and Your Business

Quite by nature my words were the only way I could express myself. I would write to relieve sadness, stress, anger. I would read to be happy, to laugh, and to forget reality. I used to tell anyone who would listen that my dream was to get a book deal and make a million dollars. As I grew older I continued to write, but stopped being outspoken about getting published. I lost some of my vision and turned towards a more practical future. Raised by working class parents who worked to live and survive, not to pursue their dreams. I began to internalize this belief that "dreams" are for others. For those with the money and the time to pursue them. I had to work to provide for my family and ensure our survival.

So I went to college and I got my Bachelor of Science. I worked hard and went to law school. Received my Juris Doctorate. During those years I still wrote, but they were saved files on multiple thumb drives just collecting dust. I told myself that those stories were not good enough for mass consumption. That writing fiction not grounded in the enslavement of people with my skin color would not secure any future.

Then one day after a particularly bad week I finished this story. Wintr's Homecoming. It is a paranormal fiction romance about a plus size girl with brown skin and a loud personality finding love with a man from her past. The passion I felt about this book and the excitement I felt when I thought about it caused me to act out of character. I sent the story to a friend. In the past I attempted to get some stories out into the world through traditional publishing, but I was met with rejection. Not unusual for anyone seeking to publish in this literary world.

Wintr's Homecoming was like this baby I could not put to the side. So I started to look into self-publishing. I thought about the material I wanted to put out into the world and the books I wish I had more access to when I was younger. I started looking at the books that I read and came to the conclusion that waiting for others to pick up the mantel and write books that represented brown girls, teens, and woman in more then only the typical stereotypical light.

Since the day we start reading, all of us are introduced to the typical literary structure of this classic european character, who drives the story forward. They go on adventures and are usually accompanied by side kicks, often of the minority persuasion, who support them in achieving their goals. This is reinforced by book after book and unless you are raised in a socially conscious home or attend a socially conscious school readers are indoctrinated into this world were minorities are only viewed as supporting cast for the other.

When we did read books about people with my skin color it spoke about the disenfranchisement of the blacks. A worthy subject to be sure but it does not hold the same appeal as books like "The Hunger Games, Twilight, and other young adult books novels based on adventure, romance, and action. How is it that even in books where the author is creating characters whom challenge the establishment, whites are the savor of all. This is not to say I do not read and love those books. Because I do. What I am saying is that would appreciate some diversity. If I were not always required to relate and idolize a pale skinned woman or man for heroic tendencies.

I in no way mean for this to be a condemnation but as a letter to writers with a platform to consider. Why the greek tycoon falls for the blond, red head, or brunette? Why are their so many descriptions for pale skin and a finite number of descriptions for brown. I want a world when I walk into a library, coffee shop, or book store and I see people of all creeds reading fictional stories driven forward by main character's of any race.

It is happening, but it is not happening fast enough. Companies are not the risk takers and innovator's they used to be. They are driven by dollar and rarely consider stepping outside of their comfort levels to attempt bringing social change if there is not a recognizable and definitive commercial gain to be had. I started Durand Publishing because I wanted a platform for myself but also because I have reverted back to childhood in a way because I am now once again willing to take a risk. I want to grow this company into something where our customer bases is as diverse as the world we live in and our characters help to connect racial lines in a new way.

Completed Works

The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series:

Wintr’s Homecoming: Secrets

Jaguar Nights: Lies

Pearl Moon: Betrayal

Shadowy Lights: Fear

Cold Sun: Obsession

The Virgins Club:

The Planner

The Fixer

Lipstick Diaries

Shy Meets Bold

The Prince’s Heart

The Young and The Powerful

Witch’s Reflection

Curvy, Voluptuous, Rubenesque, PHAT, Thick, Sexy, Beautiful?!

         I love books. I love reading about adventures, falling in love, drama, and lasting friendships. I love writing about those things just as much. Those books had a part of shaping my perspectives on life and may have given me a skewed view of reality. But the older I get the more this familiar pattern begins to jump out at me.

        Why is every heroine this leggy blonde or brunette bombshell. Every man the classic GQ model? Where are the girls and woman that resemble me? Where are the men who look like my father or my brother. Are we only ever good enough for the second lead?

        The other day I went to the club with my friends. It was a large group of law students, medical students, nurses, and other working professionals dressed to impress. We were celebrating the birth of two absolutely gorgeous women turning 26 and drinking. We danced and sung along to the music. I was a driver, so I was sober but enjoying myself when a guy slipped behind me and started dancing.

        I played it off. It had been a while since I could come out and I did not have want to ruin my night by getting caught up in something that was not that serious. Normally I have a pretty strict personal space rule. Eventually he whispered in my ear, running his little game, and he was pretty slick so I gave him my number. In my mind I was not really expecting a call or text.

        But he text me the very same night wishing me a good night. (Sweet). Then he texted me the next day to check in. (Nice). He won himself some points for those texts, but he almost found himself on the block list a couple of times. He would text sweet things, them make reference to how thick and sexy I was. As if those things were not usually synonymous. As if the very fact that I have a little extra junk everywhere means I cannot have a cute face and a pretty nice body. Those texts made me stop and think.

        Why was that? Why is the fact that I am cute so comment worthy? Maybe that his way of flirting. Of expressing his interest. But in the larger scheme of things, all to commonly there is this constant stream of media reinforcing this model thin body type. And it does not just stop on the television screens or the movies. It is also in our books. It is spoon-fed to us everyday.

        What we should look like. The role we should pay. The personality traits that should be exhibited to the outside world. These things are constantly being reinforced and disseminated. The woman and men who are deserving of adventure, love, the crown, and all of those other things we love for our books to immerse us in. Are all too often lighter skinned with classically Caucasian features. But then when we try to reach around to search for something more. Too find artistic representations that better match our reality. Not just according to skin tone. But size. Or hair texture. Or family.

        The hardest thing is trying to find books for my younger brother. Finding adventure books for a young dark chocolate (Lol) boy not mired in the lifestyle of drugs, or gang violence. Something that does not feed into stereotypes, but teaches him to reach for the spotlight with the same consistency that is passed on to the whiter population. This blog entry is not meant to be a reprimand but it is a comment on how ingrained white privilege is in our society and how privilege should extent to everyone and everything. I would love to pick up a book and see a Turkish girl, Korean girl, Nigerian girl, Ghanian girl blessing the cover of some of my favorite paranormal romance books. Or to read about a girl who weights at least 160 completely dry.

Jen A. Durand

Author of The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series and The Virgins Club, www.Durandpublishing.net

Completed Works

The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series:

Wintr’s Homecoming:

Secrets

Jaguar Nights:

Lies

Pearl Moon:

Betrayal

Shadowy Lights

Fear

The Virgins Club:

The Planner

The Fixer

You Never Leave High School

       This sentence is probably the saddest thing I ever heard. Unsurprising considering how much I hated High School. I utter those words –or in this particular case write those words and the first thing people say in response “Were you unpopular?”. The answer to this is “No!”. I was not unpopular. I was not popular.

       I was content socially. I had friends; I probably had enemies/haters. But to be honest, I truly did not care. High School was this thing I did because my parents, as stated in an earlier blog, had an expectation of college from me. High School was that stepping stone. I was nerdy and quiet. I did not belong to one clique. I just fluttered around oblivious to the etiquette rules associated with being apart of a particular social circle. I had friends, some of whom I still speak to, and did the whole prom thing.

       Those parts of high school were not horrible. They were fun. What was boring… What was truly annoying… Was the political structure within high school. Everyone is campaigning to be the head of their social circle and to ensure they are not the bottom of the food chain by creating a victims. Gossip was like food and privacy was none existent. Drama was in great supply. Friendships could be made and broken in the span of a period. High School was exhausting and when I left I thought I had escaped the rat race.

       College was relatively uneventful. I went in with mindset that I was only there for four years and needed the grades for graduate school. I did not really buy into college life. I had my friends. Participated in a couple of movie nights. Went to a couple of plays, there were very few solo cups in those days. I was not the one to hang out on campus or go to the parties later busted up by the cops. That just was not my seen and I had a low tolerance for things I thought would create unneeded drama. Graduation was a great day in my life. I had survived four years of repeated high school relatively unscathed and without a fistfight or police interaction.

       Grad School or should I say the “greatest gossip mill known to man”. Grad Students live for gossip. It feeds their souls and provides them with much needed entertainment. No one is exempt from the wheels of that mill. It swallows people whole. The amount of backstabbing, fake friendships, and fake smiles can drown people. The hidden grenades can blow a leg off. Or blow off your face.

       The few people I do allow into my space always say the same thing when I mention just how cliquey people seems to be, “You Never Leave High School.” Jeez, I hope not.

       When did the need to have something over others become so consuming? We stopped seeing people as people and started seeing them as threats? I have no desire to wallow in other people’s misery or their drama. I do not need to trade in the lives of others.

       High School for me. Was good people. Bad and good teachers. Exams. Homework. Friends and a little innocent romance. Drama was kept on my television screen.

Jen A. Durand

Author of The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series and The Virgins Club, www.Durandpublishing.net

Completed Works

The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series:

Wintr’s Homecoming:

Secrets

Jaguar Nights:

Lies

Pearl Moon:

Betrayal

Shadowy Lights

Fear

The Virgins Club:

The Planner

The Fixer

I Am Not Your Mother

           The other day I was having a conversation with some friends. We were all in a newly renovated home, eating appetizers, and talking. 5 women. All of them educated with careers, or businesses. 2 women in separate committed relationships, and 3 single women. All of us laughing as we caught up.

           We talked about food. Life. School. Men.

           The woman in relationships complained about their significant others. Shared funny stories of the lover’s mishaps. The single girls spoke about how hard it is to be apart of the singles club. To find a man, and not a boy. We spoke about how the men with the education to match our own seemed more interested in finding a caretaker then a partner.

           Growing up, we as woman are socialized to believe that we are the original jugglers. We work, cook, clean, birth, and raise the children. Men work and fix things. Occasionally they will ordain to give their wives a break and take their children out on a “welfare” check in.

           This cycle is reinforced in our men because mothers tend to dote on their boys. Rarely is it expected that men learn to cook. Rarer still for them to learn how to sew a button, or mend clothes. It is unheard of for a man to take his wife’s name. Uncommon for a man to be told that it is okay for him to quit his job and raise the children.

           It seems as if the better educated a man is, the more they want a wife who has all of the qualities they admire like beauty, and intelligence. But the list does not stop there. They have this expectation that these woman also need to know how to cook, clean, and care for them in a manner very similarly to the way their mothers did in the past.

            We are expected to be an accessory, nursemaid, and willing to table our ambition for the good of the unit. Try telling a man with a Masters, PHD, Medical degree, or a J.D to take a beat and sacrifice for the unit. Tell him that the children need him at home and pulling the duty. That you will continue to work and ensure the families financial success. There will be hesitation. Yet that same man would take for granted your decision to be home with your shared children.

            We have all worked hard for our jobs and our successes. Getting those degrees were not walks in the park. Paying those loans can give people nightmares. We have ambition and want the recognition of a promotion. So finding a man with a hustle that matches our own and does not expect us to take the back seat to theirs is hard. Not impossible. But hard.

            We commiserated on the dates that ended in disaster and the men who approached us sideways. We shared the list of qualities we admired and the traits we know make it hard for others to live with us. We laughed as we joked about our turnoffs and turn-ons. But in the end all of us agreed we are not looking to be a grown man’s mother.

Jen A. Durand

Author of The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series and The Virgins Club, www.Durandpublishing.net

Completed Works

The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series:

Wintr’s Homecoming:

Secrets

Jaguar Nights:

Lies

Pearl Moon

Betrayal

Shadowy Lights

Fear

The Virgins Club:

The Planner

The Fixer

Memories

Lately I have found myself thinking about the past. It is unsurprising considering the changes coming my way. A little over sixteen years of formal education is coming to an end. I am finishing a major part of my life, and stepping into the beginnings of the middle part of a still forming trilogy. This ending makes me think about the past in a way I typically avoid for a number of reasons. The daughter of a two immigrants, life was not easy. My parents came to the United States when they were relatively young.

       My mother came when she was in high school and my father when he was in college. They struggled individually and together. My mother was a single mother raising a daughter and working hard to complete her education. My father worked as a taxi driver to pay his living expenses and his tuition.

They had me while they were still working on building their lives. One of my earliest memories is of doing my homework in the halls of York College as my parents traded off checking on my sister and me. We were living in a single bedroom apartment in Jamaica, Queens. Life was hard and there were obvious signs of struggle. But my parents did what it took to get their respective degrees. Their dedication to building a better future motivates me every day.

       When I was 9 years old my mother and father separated. They no longer wanted to be together. This fracture was due to a number of reasons. The divorce impacted me, especially since we moved to South Carolina soon after. It was jarring to lose everything I was familiar with in what seemed like a blink of the eye.

       While my parents were no longer together. They were still a part of my life. One was just there in a more limited role. My mother took on two titles, “Mommy” and “Daddy”. She was the disciplinarian, the provider, and the teacher. Marie was not one to allow her children to wallow in their feelings. She pushed us to adjust, and to flourish in our new environment like we had in our old.

       Education had always been a focus in our home. My father respects knowledge above all else and is willing to engage in a debate on just about anything a person can think of. My mother values grades and GPA like some women value a new pair of red bottom shoes. There were times when my parents were the bane of my very existence because there was no chill in their vigor to sculpt us into better and bigger versions of themselves. Their dream was for their children to reach bigger heights and climb higher mountains.

       Some children would be resentful of the constant push. Wish that they had a moment to decide for themselves, whether they wanted to follow the path set for them. And there were times when I did wish I could even entertain the idea of taking a different, perhaps harder path. But coming from a place of complete honesty, I would not change most of the things in my life now. Every push they gave me. Every stumble I made. The people I have impressed, and the people who would love to see me fail, have all helped to shape me into the version of myself that I am now.

       I am far from complete. I certainly do not have everything figured out, but I am in a position where I can stand on my own. The dreams my parents had for me is being fulfilled. I am moving into this place where I know a few things for certain.

       I am a capable young woman with the ability to rise to any occasion. The goals I have set are not unachievable. And my parents, for all their faults, are my loudest cheering section.

Jen A. Durand

Author of The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series and The Virgins Club, www.Durandpublishing.net

Completed Works

The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series:

Wintr’s Homecoming:

Secrets

Jaguar Nights:

Lies

Pearl Moon:

Betrayal

Shadowy Lights

Fear

The Virgins Club:

The Planner

The Fixer

Injustice

"My goal in life is to love more then I hate. Laugh more then I cry. To have faith, even when faith feels wasted." Jen A. Durand, 2012

When we were younger, our parents invested a lot of energy in encouraging us to trust in the process. Stay out of trouble. Be honest. Good things happen to be good people. Honesty will set you free. There is a fairytale that is drilled into our minds. We are taught that all things and people are equal. The hierarchy stops at Religious Leaders, Adults, and Children.
Then as we get older… As our lives become more complex. Things begin to change. Differences that were always there begin to take center stage. Especially if our skin is a little darker. Our eyes slightly slanted. Or if our accents is tinted with a little something unique. Suddenly the fact that we are human beings first, stops being the fact that makes us deserving of respect. The hierarchy changes and the Class system, we as children did not recognize, becomes more obvious.
I want to believe that people are intrinsically good. That the perpetuation of the need to find and attach ourselves to social identities is something learned. Since the beginning of written history, it seems as if people have chosen to distinguish themselves by joining like-minded groups and forming the equivalent of a social club. It starts off rather innocuously. They gather around a concern or a shared belief system. They organize and attract believers. Followers.
Suddenly. Or not so suddenly this group has power and those who are outside of the group are lesser. And those who speak against the group or “system” is wrong. Pointing out inequalities is met with ridicule, excuses, or outright denial. This country was built on a set of ideals. Liberty, equality, democracy, individualism, unity and diversity. Yet at the same time, this country. The United States that I love was built over the graves of Natives Americans. Constructed by slaves dragged from their home, raped, and in some cases murdered by the same people escaping persecution for their own beliefs.
I would think that knowledge of the history in this country would have taught us something. Showed us the error in our ways. But in fact, the hypocritical inequalities that colored our beginnings are still present. Just in a more camouflaged form. This supposedly nonexistent class system is as sharp as ever and reinforced by the self-drawn lines of social constructs.
“Black Lives Matter.” “Asian Lives Matter.” “Blue Lives Matter.” “All Lives Matter.” These groups were created to fill a need. To express perceived absences of awareness about the dangers and injustices imposed on one group over another. Their causes and motivations are admirable. Black lives do matter. Asian lives do matter. Blue lives matter. All lives matter. I do not think anyone could argue those points. I think the biggest contention is that while those lives do matter. The rules that govern all of us are not applied evenly. “A man should not be judged by the color of his skin but by his moral fiber.” ~ Paraphrased MLK. I would posit that a man or woman should not suffer or gain because of their outside appearance, but be treated equally in every facet of life. The fact that someone is an officer does not exempt them from the vary laws they are tasked with enforcing.
The supposed “Blue Line” should not exist because the police should protect everyone Black. Asian. Pan pacific. African. Caribbean. Male. Female. They all should be treated with a basic amount of human decency. The justice system should be applied to all with an even and fair hand. The burden to prove guilt is on the people, not on the accused to prove innocence. Access to a fair and competent defense is the law of the land but is rarely carried out.
I am not writing this to speak poorly about anyone. I have a great deal of respect for officers who wear their badges without abusing the power imbued in it. I believe in the reasons for their existence, to maintain peace and order. What I am writing about is my growing loss of innocence. The older I get, the more aware I become of the ingrained racial bias that surrounds me. How unstable the ground beneath my feet is as a dark skinned, black, Haitian American woman in America. Imagine for a moment how jarring it is to realize that we are a food chain within a food chain. And you have the position of the thing that will be swallowed first.

The Wait

When I was younger sex was not something that was talked about in my life. There were so many other things going on. The sex talk kind of fell to the wayside. My mother focused more on talking to her children about entering the right type of relationship. Newly divorced and left to raise four children on her own, she wanted her daughters to avoid the mistakes of her past. She instilled in us the belief that a relationship. A real loving relationship had to be based on more then just the physical. Its foundation had to be equal parts friendship, loyalty, honesty, and kindness.

The physical part. Sex has the ability to mask things. It usually flips a switch where the girl or guy stop trying to get to know each other and they drown in the pleasure of each others touch. Most female children are raised to view their sexuality as something that grants men all of the power. Allowing a man who is not your husband into your bed is shameful. Except it isn’t, at least not in my mind. The decision to share that part of yourself with others is something I would recommend approaching with thoughtful care, but is not intrinsically bad.

My decision to wait was not grounded in my religious background or pressed upon me by my parents. I am not frigid. I am stimulated by the touch of those I find attractive. Waiting was a decision reached by my own observations of the relationships around me. The healthy ones and the not so healthy ones. One of the things that I realized is that goals are important. Setting them and recognizing your strengths and weaknesses can be the deciding factor of whether or not your relationship works. This is harder to do when you have this person that makes your heart race. Your legs quiver. And your lips tingle.

Lust is a drug and if you have an addictive personality you can drown in it. Or to be a little more accurate you can drown in the wrong person. Abstaining does add a strain to a romantic relationship. It can make things awkward. People get frustrated but even in the frustration things are learned. Does this person get angry when they are denied something? Are they understanding? Are they willing to think about your needs and respect a decision they may not like?

Sex is a three-letter word with multiple meanings and a heavy weight. It opens doors and locks others. For some sex means everything and for others it means nothing. It is just this thing that happens when the mood hits you and holds no other significance. This is why I believe goals are important.

Ask yourself:

1. What do you want?

A. Be honest. If a relationship is not what you want then say it. If it is, then
move on to question two.

2. What are the qualities you value in others? In a partner?

A. Family
B. Social standing
C. Ambition
D. Religion

3.What can you live with and what can you live without?

A. The deal breakers

I. Single father (Widow)
II. Single father (Baby Mothers/Ex-wife)
III. Extreme Flirt
IV. Extreme Gamer

4. Can you compromise? Do you need someone who does?

5. Do you want someone who will treat you like a Queen without expecting you
to open your legs?

6. Do you want the person you have sex with to be the one you embark on the
road of marriage with?

A. Marriage is not a permanent thing. Divorce happens. But it something in
which two people are agreeing to bind themselves to each other
financially, and physically. They are splintering symbolically from the
families created by their parents to create a fragile ecosystem of their
own.

My decision to what in this world of “Netflix and Chill” was based off of the goals I set for myself. I am not expecting to meet the perfect mate. But I am expecting to meet the man who views sex with the same seriousness I do. Who understands, if not agrees, that sexual chemistry while supremely important is not what makes or breaks a lasting relationship. Compatibility in personality, interest and a willingness to devote ourselves into weaving a bond that will not rot even when the sex stops. The hair thins and turns greys. My breast sag and his balls drops.