The past week has been filled with events, commitments, appointments that kept me away from my work-in-progress.  So I vowed I would write today. But, before I can write fiction I have to address today’s reality. I’ve been angry for the last eleven months.  Walking in disillusionment, discouragement and rage.  It’s a stressful way to be.  Like many other Black women I said to myself: ‘Well America, you made your bed now you can sleep in it.’ I had washed my hands of Latino men who...