I write to know myself. I write because I don’t know myself. I write because I want Others to know me. I write to keep my thoughts to myself. I write because some of my ancestors could not. I write because I can. I live to write; I write to live. I write for immortality; I write because I am mortal. I write to connect to spirits past, circling above-head searching for a place of safe landing. I write because of Cornel West: he is a hellava influence. I write for Baldwin, Steinbeck, Hemingway, Clemens, Wallace, Shakur, Carter, Davidson, Davis, Taha, Gerima, Shahbaz, Moore, Glaspy, Farrington, Muhammad, Payne, Campbell. I write to find myself lost in a world without coordinates. I write because I am not sure if we are really here. I write because of Descartes and Locke; because of Mafouz and ibn Battutu. I write because ignorance dominates the world; speculation, a close second. I write because I don’t know my father, my mother, my brother, my sisters; I write because I want my family. I write because this moment is gone: to ensure that I am present for the next (this one). I write because I am afraid of my supreme self-confidence. I write because I am poor. I write because I have wealth. I write because I am loved; I write because I am love.
I have worked in media, publishing, and academia since 1999. During this time, I’ve taught high school and college-level writing, edited various publications, worked as a freelance writer and editor, tutored students and professionals on writing techniques, and led content strategy for successful websites.