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

My Halloween

Jack-O-Latern

Growing up, my religiosity never kept me from celebrating Halloween. It was the time to play dress up, grab a pillow case for trick or treating (you could hit more neighborhoods that way and accumulate more candy), and head to the neighborhoods where they gave out full sized candy bars.

Halloween was sort of like a community Christmas, where everyone could show their creativity and receive a sugar high all for free. For me, most of the time, the costume was something dragged from my mother's closet - almost nothing store bought. But it didn't matter. I loved seeing everyone attempts at creating an alter ego.

It was pretty simple then. Once the street lights came on, children would descend on homes with their outside lights on. In a group, we'd yell trick or treat and wait to be scared and/or given candy. The decoration would range from being very sparse, almost non existent, to over the top haunted houses.

There is one Halloween season I'll never forget. A carnival was in town and located not far from my house.My family decided to go. The sounds of the carnival and the crowd was infectious. Laughter rung in the air. I was wearing plastic princess slippers and the eerie sounds of the Halloween soundtrack blasted around us. We decided to visit the fun house.

We entered and besides the usual darkness and mirrors, there was also the occasional person popping out to scare those wandering through it. Somehow or another, I got separated from my family. Suddenly, there were large male hands wrapped around my waist, trying to pull me back into the darkness where there was no light, nothing. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel like it was part of the fun hose experience.I struggled and screamed, losing one of my highly prized shoes. 

Finally freeing myself, I ran. I ran until the blackness gave way to some street lights and illumination from the carnival's rides and the sight of my mother's welcoming smile.

It didn't matter that I had to walk on sharp gravel to get home. The only thing I could think about was how these manly hands inappropriately touched me and made me lose something I could never regain.

I never told my mother about it; I never told anyone, perplexed by the experience.

I don't like fun houses and now am leery when I am around one always wondering if I enter again will I find not only my plastic slipper, but also my innocence.

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About Tina: I am the author of THOU SHALL NOT. I love creating three dimensional characters and am always looking for new people to kill…in my stories.

Check out my author's  blog at TinaGlasneck.com and my book is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. You can also connect with me on Facebook and on Twitter.