Good afternoon!
I wanted to share my appreciation for fellow creative Jamila Rowser. She’s a highly decorated and sought-after comic book writer and publisher of indie works. You’ve probably also heard of her graphic novel Wash Day Diaries. I adore Jamila and love being in community with her! So, of course I was excited to be part of her brand new comics and prose anthology—Gladiolus Magazine.
Look at that cover!! Today is the final day to pre-order physical copies, and let me tell you…you’ll definitely want this on your shelf.
Anyway, I wanted to share a snippet of my contribution—my short story “Black Girl Tragic”. As with all of the things I write, I was going through it 😅. It’s a strange story about a sad girl who literally falls apart. Check it out:
—I fell to my knees, partly in an act of resignation, but mostly to pick up the pieces of me I’d left shattered on the linoleum tiles of my bathroom floor. There it was, a mess of myself, scattered around my feet. How do you repair the damage that’s seamlessly woven into your DNA? I wasn’t sure, but through bubbling tears, I held steadfast to the hope that it was possible.
“Nina!”
The sound of my name became synonymous with “want”. There was nothing pleasant about it. When I heard “Nina” I knew an outreached open hand would soon follow.
“Nina!”
I quickly gathered as much of myself as I could and embraced the bits before my cousin Farrah came crashing in like the hurricane she was.
Farrah swung the bathroom door open, placed her hand on her hip, and stared down at me. A look of disapproval washed over her face. “Are you doing this again?”
“N-no,” I kept my head down, eyes fixed on the floor. I knew what “this” meant and I couldn’t risk my family knowing I was spiraling again. “I was washing my hands and dropped my ring.” With one hand, I pressed the hidden fragments of myself against my chest. With the other, I patted around the base of the sink as if searching for something.
“You’re so dramatic. Why are you still wearing that ring? You can just replace it.” Farrah sighed and leaned against the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. “But I can’t replace Rodrick.”
Rodrick was Farrah’s current on-again, off-again boyfriend and her fourth relationship in fifteen months. While it was true that I could just replace my precious ring, I knew Farrah could just as easily replace Rodrick. But like any good actress, I was committed to playing my role as the supportive cousin.
“I’m sorry, Farrah. You wanna talk about it?” As she gazed into her reflection, I sat up and leaned against the sink, grasping at the pieces of me that threatened to slip through my fingers.
“Talk about it? No, I don’t wanna talk about that fool.” Farrah glanced down at me. Her eyes tinged with worry, “You think his new girl looks better than me?”
“Who’s his new girl?”
“Meline.”
“Meline Bledsoe? The model?”
Farrah huffed and plopped on the toilet near the door, leaving the sink standing like a wall between us. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she must have been on her cell phone studying Meline’s facial features, measuring them against her own. “I just don’t know what he sees in her.”
“Didn’t you break up with him?”
“Ugh, that’s not the point! He’s supposed to come back and prove himself to me. Put on a show of affection. Tell me he loves me no matter what.” Farrah’s voice cracked with sadness. “Not move on to some...some walking mannequin.”
“I know that must hurt—”
“It hurts so bad! I’m heartbroken. Why can’t I find a man who’s truly devoted to me? I can’t take it!”
Farrah cried and complained as I nodded along—sprinkling in an “mmhmm” and “I see” and “I’m sorry” whenever the script called for it. While she poured her heart out, I gathered myself together until I was whole again. But, as Farrah continued to bemoan the death of her very brief relationship, I felt my heart sinking. I took a break from reciting my lines by rote and reached for my chest. Instead of being met with warm flesh and solid bone, my fingers sank into my body until I felt my heart thumping in the palm of my hand. I lifted my shirt and looked down at my torso, only to see it slowly softening and melting under my clothing. While I’d fallen apart on many an occasion, I’d never seen myself resemble a lump of warm wax. I wanted to scream, but I knew that would only alarm Farrah. So instead, I lowered my shirt and resumed my lines.
“—and how did that make you feel?” I asked, unsure of what she’d revealed last.
“Horrible, Nina. Terrible. I’ll never love again. I swear!”
♡♡♡
I’d spent the last three months falling apart. First, I lost my public relations job. I was losing focus by the day and made a mistake that cost the company our highest-paying client.
“I’m sorry, Nina. This is a mistake you just don’t come back from.” My boss Alan sat across from me at his desk—his thin lips pursed and his fingers laced before him. I glanced down, watching the sweat stains under his arms migrate and spread across his shirt like tectonic plates.
“I understand,” I said. And it was true. I did. I knew I’d been underperforming and, honestly, I was relieved to be let go.
But the next loss wasn’t as easy to accept…
And there you have it!
I’m a professional writer?!
In case you missed it, I’m writing an official Monster High comic series for IDW/Mattel!
Along with working with IDW, I’m working with Sandstorm Comics as a developmental editor and project manager for an adorable shoujo series. Because of this work, I’ll be in Dubai this winter, learning more about the company and attending their first convention! I know you’re supposed to play it cool and professional, but every time I send anything over or review any work, I’m like, “OMG, I feel so legit.” 😂 I guess I am legit!
I’ve written about how I’ve stumbled into a professional writing career this year. And it feels amazing being trusted to work on other people’s stories along with writing my own.
Thank you!
I want to say a quick thank you to all the people who reached out via text, Twitter, IG, etc, to send condolences. It’s weird because my usual response to unprecedented sad times is to sit in my dark room, chained to my bed, crying all hours of the day. But this time, my brain doesn’t know what to do. It’s like it won’t compute. I wrote about suffering in silence last week, and I’m in the phase of complete avoidance and pushing through by working. While it’s in my nature to write about my feelings thoroughly and in real-time, I won’t be talking about this too much. I did read this amazing article about grief and how it doesn’t have a timeline. I wanted to share because many people mentioned they were going through the same.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
Listen to my girly podcast!: The Magical Girl’s Guide to Life
Read my nerdy self-help book!: The Magical Girl’s Guide to Life
Follow me on Instagram!: @ Jacqueaye