Project Chick

I’m often asked what brought me into this murderous world, where I choose to write about villainy and crime. Yet, I think it would be too simple to say it was just one experience.

1995, Philly

When the thunder rolls I think of the dark nights of long ago and the sounds of gunshots that were a part of the nightly serenade.  I’ve heard too much, seen too much, as cars drove slowly by, young men  were strapped, and girls and women were pawns in a lifestyle where they had little meaning or regard. I remember the silent brick bubble, in which I dwelt. Shutters, the shutters snapped closed as the depth of despair leached away at the last bit of myriad hope I’d hung on to; the moment my faith in humanity was dashed by death.

Death and murder have always been walking beside me. I don’t want to delve into what it meant to lose someone of my family to gun violence. I don’t want to recall what the world has been like since he perished so long ago, but I still remember the hot tears that dripped down my face; I still remember seeing his bloated unrecognizable features, and  the extreme pain of what it meant to no longer have him there.

I’m a project chick. I’ve seen drugs sold from dark alleyways, heard gun shots barrage in the air, calling out to one another; I’ve watched smiling faces lose their innocence while small kids played hop-scotch along the sidewalks. In the projects, where roaches were more prevalent than officers, I know what it was like to be a prisoner inside.

Be inspired, and remain true to yourself

Until it rained.

When it rained, then I was free, able to bounce around and play in the torrential wetness, as the heavens opened up as if to give me a moment of reprieve. I could shower in the renewing mist gifted from above, laugh, and be joyful.

Yet, I don’t regret it.

Living in poverty, I learned the meaning of hard work, honesty and truth. They built my character. I learned the value of true friendship and that poverty wasn’t limited to one skin tone, color or ethnicity. Back in the day, a dollar was still able to get you and three of your friends a small bag of chips from the corner store, but a loaf of bread would cost almost an arm, and milk was more expensive than a gallon of gas. Regardless of the high prices, it was the handsome guy behind the counter, who kept throwing compliments your way, and the convenience of the store being so nearby that kept you coming back. Yeah, I remember those long days where in desperation, the people did more than struggle, we survived and lived. We found joy in the simple things, and knew how to laugh. 

Through it all, I learned the value of me – my strengths are reflected through my experiences, as are my weaknesses.

Beyoncé singing "I Was Here", courtesy of YouTube

That being said, I write what I write because it is a part of me sharing a part of my creative soul with the world. It is my unmistakable voice being heard, where this stew of experiences have created a decadent meal.

Enjoy! Dinner is served. :)

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TINA GLASNECK enjoys looking on the darker side of things, and still finding a glimmer of hope. When she is not creating worlds, she can be found multi-tasking. To learn more about Tina, and to stay up-to-date on her works, please connect with her at www.TinaGlasneck.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/TinaGlasneck