Princess Jones's Blog

Several years ago, I was taking the J train home late one night from Brooklyn when a man approached me on the train platform. He said something to me that I don’t remember. Something about it being a nice night or whatever. I mumbled something noncommittal back. The train arrived shortly and we both got on.

Our car was empty. I sat down on a bench on side and he sat down across from me. And that’s when he told me he was going to fuck me. The casual look on his face did not match the intensity of his words at all. I thought I was having a stroke, because the visual didn’t not match with the audio at all. For a few minutes he let out an uninterrupted stream of consciousness speech about violently raping me.

I stood up and went to the next train car. This is technically against the rules and I can sometimes be a bit of a stickler for the rules. The sign always said that walking between train cars was for emergencies. This was officially an emergency.

The man quickly followed me, humming a tuneless little song to himself. There was no one on the next train car, either. So I went through two more train cars. And the man followed me the entire way. Finally, I looked through the nested little windows into the long line of train cars and realized that as far as I could tell, we were on the train alone.

I turned back toward him. That’s when he showed me his knife. He didn’t point it at me. He didn’t specifically say that he would gut me. He just showed it to me and winked. Then he started doing push ups in the corner of the train car, only pausing to verbally harass me at random intervals.

My first thought was to get off the train at the very next stop. But then I realized I’d be at an unfamiliar train stop in Brooklyn on a dark night. If he got off with me, I’d be at an unfamiliar train stop in Brooklyn on a dark night with a man who would probably kill me. At least the train was brightly lit and someone might actually get on at some point. At least I was moving closer toward home.

When we pulled into the Jamaica station–the last stop for this particular train–I bolted through the doors and ran up the stairs to the surface street. I knew that there would be a long line of buses and crowds of people at the top, no matter what hour it was. As I half walked/half ran away, I heard him yelling out things about my butt and what he wanted to do with it.

Up on the street, I was so relieved to see about twenty or thirty people milling around the bus hub. I blended in with the crowd of riders waiting for their buses. My bus was right there for once so I got into line, boarded, and found a seat next to an elderly woman. It was only then that I pulled out my phone to text my husband that I was almost home.

Just as I sent the text, I heard a voice whisper in my ear from behind. “Who dat you textin’? Better not be cheatin’ on me.”

I didn’t turn around. I knew it was him. I felt the fear well up in my throat and it tasted a lot like vomit. I thought about alerting the driver. But what could I say had happened? A man had taken the same train and bus as I had? He had said some disgusting things to me but had never put his hands on me? On what day, on what corner of New York City is that not happening right now? I was going to look like an idiot.

Or maybe I should have just gotten off the bus. But it was the same problem I’d had on the train. If I got off in an unfamiliar place and he followed me, I’d be in more trouble than I felt right at the moment. Then I remembered that in just a few minutes my stop would be coming up. When I got off the bus, I’d have to walk five or ten minutes through dark, empty streets and then turn down an completely unlit alley to get to my basement apartment. If he got off the bus with me, it would be the perfect place to do all of the things I’d be afraid of on the train.

Not only that, that text I’d sent my husband was just from habit rather than an actual safety measure. In the twenty first century, he was the only person I knew who doesn’t keep up with his phone. He rarely texts and he barely answers his phone. At that time of night, he was probably unwinding from a long day of work with a Call of Duty campaign. His phone might not even be in the same room as he was in. His phone might not even be inside the house.

Then I remembered that we had a friend temporarily staying in our guest room. I quickly texted her that I was on the bus home and scared for my life because a man had followed me home from Brooklyn. Then I asked her to go into our living room and tell my husband I needed to be walked home from the bus stop.

Or at least that’s what I intended to text her. I don’t actually know what I sent because I was typing all of this without looking because I was afraid that if I raised my phone screen high enough for me to see it, he might also see it, And then he would pull out his knife, and attack me right there.

I realized this might end up with me fighting for my life on a dark street steps away from my Queens basement apartment. I arranged my keyring into my closed fist so that the keys stuck out at the knuckles. At least when I punched him, it would hurt more that way. Also, I would make sure to aim for his eyes. I’d read that in some stupid women’s magazine somewhere years and years before and it had stuck with me. I looped my bag handle over my head so I wouldn’t have to worry about it falling off when I had to run for my life. I prepared myself scream, even though I was very sure no one would ever hear me or care if they did.

My bus stop approached. I pulled the rope to tell the bus driver to stop. I stood up to get off. He stood up to get off, too. I walked to the front of the bus. He trailed behind me, humming again. When I turned to exit the bus, I was greeted by my husband standing on the sidewalk, hastily dressed in his pajamas, my house shoes, and a jacket. “Are you OK, Princess? What happened?”

I stepped off the bus. The man did not get off the bus. The bus closed its doors and sped off.

And in that moment, before I could even explain anything at all, I started sobbing big fat ugly tears as I collapsed in my husband’s arms. He had to pry my makeshift key weapon out of my hands because my body was shaking too hard for me to disengage it myself.

When you are in the moment of something like this, you have no idea what you would and wouldn’t do. Even as a relatively intelligent, tough woman, I hesitated in telling someone that I was being harassed because I was worried about being believed. I was worried about jumping the gun, even as I feared for my own safety. I was worried about what people would say.

And before you ask–because I know some of you will ask–I was wearing a pair of jeans and a graphic tee shirt under a jacket. And you should also know that I am overweight and plain looking. I’m also tough, in case you thought I was some shrinking violet who might piss her pants if some stranger gave her a wrong look. I’ve traveled and lived all over the eastern and southern parts of this country on my own. I’ve traveled internationally alone. Regardless of my fatness and plainness that I just mentioned, I’ve experienced harassment on the streets, in the workplace, and online. I would probably describe myself as someone who has a thick skin about the evilness of the world. I cried that night from relief, not from weakness.

And just for the record, none of those things matter. Harassment and assaults happen to the modestly dressed ones, the fat ones, the ugly ones, the tough ones, etc. There is no thing you can be to protect yourself from it because it’s not about you. It’s about the perpetrator. It’s about opportunity. It’s about power.

I’ve told this story several times in the past few years. Most often, I’ve told it in ways that diminishes the terror I felt that night because I know it makes people feel uncomfortable. But today I want to make sure that you feel the discomfort. I wanted to tell you this story in this plain and frank way so that you know that something like this has happened to me, a person you perhaps believe is immune from these types of things.

No one is immune. There are those whose stories ended in much different, life changing ways. We need more stories about this. We also need to remember that just because you haven’t necessarily heard the story, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. And so today, as so many speak up about harassment, assaults, and rapes, I want to add my own voice and say “Me, too.”

The post Me, Too appeared first on Princess Jones.

I saw Spider-Man–Homecoming this past weekend and it was a really good time for me, Hubs, and the kids. I’d been looking forward to it since Avengers Civil War used Spider-Man in such a satisfying way. I loved the Tony Stark/Peter Parker scenes and I liked the idea of a kid giving Captain America the business.

The current movie is probably the best Spider-Man movie I’ve ever seen. I’m really excited to have a Spider-Man that isn’t some guy in his thirties pretending to be a teenager. I love the addition of Marisa Tomei as Aunt May because I feel like it makes sense for the bigger picture of the franchise. And Tony Stark is so much more likable as a bit character instead of the main show. His one liners and general cockiness didn’t overwhelm me in the capacity he was used in this movie.

The one thing that didn’t gel for me was Michael Keaton as the villain. I just couldn’t feel the disdain you’re supposed to feel for a comic book hero’s villain. Instead I was waiting for the part where Spider-Man realizes that Keaton’s character has been framed and the new villain steps into the spotlight. But it never came.

Afterwards, I was talking about the movie with my husband and I realized why I would try to sympathized with Michael Keaton in any movie situation–he’s my Batman.

When someone says “my Batman,” it’s not the person they think played Batman best. Keaton’s Batman was servicable but not exactly genre defining. I’m really, really partial to Clooney’s Batman–even though I don’t like the actor himself and I’m not a fan of the suit nipples. It’s more about which actor you think about when you think of essence of Batman. For almost of all of us, it will be the first actor we ever associated with him.

Michael Keaton is the guy who was playing Batman on the big screen when I started caring about Batman. When I talked to my husband about it, he realized that Adam West was his Batman. He’s a bit older than me and he actually watched the TV show religiously as a kid.

A colleague and fellow superhero lover who is about 15 years younger than me told me that Val Kilmer was his Batman. That surprised me. I thought he’d be a Christian Bale guy because of his age. But then again, who am I to judge who your Batman is?

Wait. I take that back. Because as long as there is any breath left in my body, I will not let my kids’ Batman be Ben Affleck. I just want better for them in life.

OK so now it’s your turn. Who’s your Batman?

The post Who’s Your Batman? appeared first on Princess Jones.

Call me an overachiever but I’ve got a lot of plans for 2017. One of them is to spend more time connecting with people of color who love books. What better way to do that than a podcast? So I’m putting together a new podcast called Brown & Lit.

In the next couple of weeks, I’ll be reaching out to writers, editors, librarians, booksellers, etc to interview them about their work, their lives, and what they’re reading. I hope to launch in June and I’ll let you all know when first few episodes will be available.

So if you’re interested in appearing on the podcast (or you know someone who is), please get in touch. You can email me at princess [at] princessjones [dot] com or reach out to me on Twitter at @imprincessjones.

The post Coming Soon: The Brown & Lit Podcast appeared first on Princess Jones.

As an indie writer, it’s sometimes hard to find your tribe. The majority of my writer friends are traditional published. We can geek out about writing together but that’s where it ends. Most of my concerns are with what happens AFTER I publish rather than before. One of the reasons I love the Sterling and Stone guys is that they really know how to build a community. They’re based here in Austin and so that’s where they throw their Smarter Artist Summit. This year, I made it a point to go.

I got a lot of publishing stuff from the event but I know you guys don’t care about that stuff. Here are the real takeaways:

I'm still an amateur because I still hope to compete in the Cupcake Olympics someday. #SmarterArtistSummit #AmWriting #Conference

A post shared by Princess Jones (@imprincessjones) on Apr 26, 2017 at 7:31am PDT

I was sitting across the aisle from another attendee on day two when she looked around the room in wonder and said “And they all said they were introverts.” I immediately understood what she meant. All around us people were talking and smiling and basically doing all of the things we introverts aren’t really known for doing.

But the thing about introversion is that there are levels to it. For me, I’m fine interacting with five to ten people at a time. I can be funny and articulate and engaging. But if you put me in a room with 45 people, it’s an entirely different story. And in a room with over 200 people, some of which seem like they know each other pretty well. . . well forget about it.

But I eventually found my footing and I did have some one-on-one conversations with some interesting people. Hopefully they remember me and want to continue those conversations because I friended them on Facebook the next day.

Speaking of one-on-one conversations, lunch time was probably the best time I had the entire conference. Yeah conferences are supposed to be about the panels but some of the best info you’ll get is in the hallways or at happy hour. On the first day, I didn’t plan very well. I still had client work on my plate and I was already exhausted from a long week of work. So, I ended up spending lunch alone finishing some work and then reading for a bit to recharge.

On day two, this happened:

Went to Coopers today on break from the #SmarterArtistSummit. This bacon jalapeño mac and cheese has changed my life. #FoodPorn #BBQ #macandcheese #sas17 #Austin

A post shared by Princess Jones (@imprincessjones) on Apr 27, 2017 at 2:17pm PDT

Fortunately, I fell in with a couple of local writers and anyone else who wanted BBQ. Between bites of jalapeno bacon mac and cheese, we talked about so much stuff. I felt like it was the start of some really cool long term relationships.

I hate driving, y’all. Besides a couple of friends and some family, the only thing I miss about New York is the ability to go places without driving. (I got so much more reading done there because I never had to be responsible for steering.) During my normal life, I rarely drive anywhere but the conference required me to drive downtown and actually park. (By the way, parallel parking is not a skill of mine. I literally don’t know how to do it.)

Fortunately, there was a price conscious parking garage near the conference hotel. Unfortunately I blew past the ticket machine and didn’t realize that until I had parked my car. In parking garages you have to pay for the entire day plus a little extra if you don’t have ticket. Ummmmm, you guys know how cheap I am! I just couldn’t let that happen.

I ran down to the attendant and explained my lack of parking ticket. “I know everybody lies about these things but I swear I’m tearing the truth. You were sitting right there when I drove past. I know you saw my shitty car. You can’t miss it.”

“The brown one?” he asked without even missing a beat.

“Yeah, that’s the one. I just drove in here.” He gave me a new ticket just like that. And that my friends is why you need to drive an old, shitty car. People will remember you.

On the second day of the conference, I narrowly missed locking my keys in the car. Thank God I didn’t, though. That’s not a call I want to make to Hubs. For a short time in our marriage, I was known for letting my car’s battery die every time I drove somewhere and I don’t want to give him a reason to ever bring this up again.

On day one of the summit, I was sitting in the back of the room sandwiched between a couple of people. Although I could hear, I couldn’t always see and I felt a little claustrophobic. None of these little things were particularly overwhelming but I let them affect my enjoyment of the presentations. It was like if you have a tiny pebble in your shoe and you let it ruin an entire hike. The ironic part is that it was my fault. I’d gotten there in plenty of time to choose my seat. I’d chosen the back because I felt more comfortable observing than participating. I was afraid that if I sat up front someone might notice I was actually there.

On the second day, I made it a point to sit up front and choose an end seat to give myself a little more room to breathe. My enjoyment of the panels increased significantly. Suddenly I was taking a million notes. Suddenly I couldn’t stop coming up with ideas for things I was going to do when I got back to my desk. Now, you can say that might have been because the content was different on day two but I know for a fact my seat had something to do with it.

The post Smarter Artist Summit 2017 Takeaways appeared first on Princess Jones.

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Call me an overachiever but I’ve got a lot of plans for 2017. One of them is to spend more time connecting with people of color who love books. What better way to do that than a podcast? So I’m putting together a new podcast called Brown & Lit.

In the next couple of weeks, I’ll be reaching out to writers, editors, librarians, booksellers, etc to interview them about their work, their lives, and what they’re reading. I hope to launch in May and I’ll let you all know when first few episodes will be available.

So if you’re interested in appearing on the podcast (or you know someone who is), please get in touch. You can email me at princess [at] princessjones [dot] com or reach out to me on Twitter at @imprincessjones.

The post Coming Soon: The Brown & Lit Podcast appeared first on Princess Jones.

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Note: At the time I wrote this This Is Us was on its fourteenth episode of its first season. All observations are based on the story up to that point. Things could (and hopefully will) change after that. If you haven’t watched that far, DON’T READ THIS.

One of my favorite shows on TV right now is This Is Us. It’s the story of three grown siblings, their struggles in life, and how their life story affects their current events. It also features flashbacks to their parents’ lives together. I needed something for Tuesday nights and I’m a sucker for a tear jerker. It’s from the makers of Parenthood, which had me in sniffles at least twice a month when it was on. I’m really, really glad I found the show.

That said, This Is Us has some things that annoy me. The biggest one is the characterization of Jack, the father on the series. We see him interacting in flashbacks with the mother, Rebecca. Basically, Jack is a saint. He is impossibly in love with Rebecca. All he cares about is being a great father and husband. He’s understanding. He makes over-the-top romantic gestures.

Jack makes no mistakes. Whatever he’s doing is always the right thing. Even when he does something that would be a mistake for someone else, the show resolves it in record time. When Rebecca first finds out she is pregnant, they are looking at an apartment when Jack tells her that he has already put down all of their money on it without consulting her. Later they find out they are having triplets and need to find a more suitable place to live. Again, Jack does not consult Rebecca. Instead, he buys a house and tells her later. In both instances, the show thinks these are grand gestures of love and has Rebecca forgiving him before the next commercial break.

In one episode we see Jack has started drinking quite a bit after work every day when the kids are young. Apparently, he’s not been present in their lives because he’s been drinking too much. The show implies that he has a drinking problem. Rebecca gives him a stern speech and he stops drinking by the end of the episode and everything is back to normal.

Truthfully, Jack and Rebecca are my favorite storylines in the show. (I also love Randall’s family and their stories, too.) Given the chance, I’d fast forward right past Kate and Kevin’s stuff to get to Jack and Rebecca. I love their relationship because it’s both loving and comfortable. But Rebecca gets to be a whole person–someone who has good days and bad, hang ups, mistakes, and moments of overcoming all of that to do the thing that elevates her to a higher level.

And then there’s Jack, a one dimensional dream husband for us to ooohh and ahhh over. It’s getting to the point where I’m starting to dislike him because he’s not as real as all the other characters. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out that he’s been killing hookers and burying them in the backyard. Anyone who seems too perfect is suspect in my book. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop and if it doesn’t, I’ll be incredibly disappointed.

When you’re writing a novel, characterization is huge. Your characters drive your story through their wants, their actions, and their flaws. If the character has everything, does everything right, and always wins, there’s no story. When I start writing a new character, I plot out a lot of their personality by asking questions like:

–What does she want?

–What is she going to do if she doesn’t get it?

–What is her flaw that keeps getting in her way?

Audrey Hart was my main character in The Super Series and she is full of flaws. I wanted to show how someone who was a hero in one part of her life could also be a mess in other areas. In fact, I’d describe Audrey as a walking talking flaw. But even the characters around her who seemed to have their shit together have flaws they have to work through to move their own story forward.

Don’t be afraid to embrace a character’s flaws. Every great character in the world has them. Sherlock Holmes. Harry Potter. Jane Eyre. Bilbo Baggins. Even Batman has his flaws. It’s what makes them human. It’s what we connect with. It’s what make them real.

The post Character Flaws appeared first on Princess Jones.

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When I started writing The Super Series, the character of Audrey squirted out on the page, fully formed. People always ask me how much of myself is in the character and I tend to say that it’s less of a direct characterization and more of a venn diagram. There are certain things that Audrey says and does that come directly from my own life. But there are other things that are incredible exaggerations of behavior I know very well. It felt like I knew Audrey the minute I started writing.

On the other hand, Penny, the main character of The Super Secret Series books was a little harder to wrap my mind around. It’s been a long time since I was a teenaged girl and all I remember was that I was horrible. All of my memories of myself at the time have me acting like a pain in the ass.

But then as I worked on the development of the series, I realized that Penny and Audrey had a lot in common. They were about the same age emotionally. Audrey’s stunted growth had always been a source of frustration for everyone around her (and at times, me.) Penny, on the other hand, is just experiencing a normal adolescence.

[image error]Audrey and Penny also both have challenges with their powers. Penny’s are unreliable and Audrey’s are unimpressive. Again, Penny should grow into hers but Audrey’s powers will allows be what they are. But at least Audrey is very sure of herself and what she can do. She knows her limitations and has accepted her place in the world. Penny is still trying to figure out where that can be.

After I finished Super Secret, I knew that I wanted to put the two series together in a collection. I wanted readers to be able to experience these two in one chronological read.

The Supersized Collection will be out this May. For now, it’s available for preorder on Apple, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, and Kobo. (It will take a bit for it to be available on Amazon.)

But if you’re a member of my mailing list, I’ll be giving away three free paperback copies of the collection. If you haven’t already done it, you can sign up with your name and email below:

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