Finding Motivation Is Key

I haven’t been writing a lot in 2018 on a personal level because I decided to focus more on the business side of writing. Though that wasn’t the only reason. I also felt like I’d run out of things to say. So often as creatives and writers especially you get your motivation from real life, I look at like a battery. The more you charge it, the more powerful it becomes. For me 2018 was a year of growth and learning. Taking in moments as opposed to sharing them.

I’ve become a father and when I tell you it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt, I’m not even sure that does it justice. Just holding him and looking at him and realizing that he’s a part of me is something that changes who you are as a man. Not just your priorities but I’ve never felt love like I feel love when I look at him.

I thought it would gross me out to change diapers or get spit up on but I find myself excited when he takes a poop because I know it means he isn’t constipated or gassy. When he spits up and looks at me and smiles, it’s because I know he got a good burp in or he ate too much and now he’s relieved. I’ll be driving to work and laugh at something he did and it brings joy to my life. Being a father is amazing and he can’t even play outside yet. I can just imagine what it’ll be like when he’s walking and running.

Having my son and living life has given me stories to write about, stories to focus on. Not just when it comes to my blog but when it comes to novels and scripts. Sitting back and watching, listening, ingesting the world around me.

I once saw this meme that said, “Be careful what you say around me, I’m a writer and anything you say or do may be used in a story.”

I have never related to anything so much in my life. 2018 pushed a button inside of me, a button which reminded me that life isn’t as short or long as we think it is. Life is just life. You live in the moment, you live in the day and before you know it, years have went by. What did you do with those years? What did you create? Who did you help? What did you inspire?

I’m sitting in my office writing this on a Saturday morning and before I know it it’ll be February and before I know it, it’ll be August. 2018 will be my last year viewing the world from the sidelines. I’m tired of playing it safe. I want to take risk and try new things. Write new genres and push myself professionally.

Being unhappy or unmotivated for the sake of it isn’t the move anymore. Make this last month of 2018 count.

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Dear Little Black Boy and Girl; You’re Perfect Just the Way You Are

o-BLACK-CHILDREN-facebook Dear Little Black Boy and Girl; You’re Perfect Just the Way You Are
I read this week about a prominent teacher in Chicago telling little black boys they had a greater chance at success in life if they conformed. Cut their hair, have names that are more pronounceable, be more humble. If you do these things you’ll get people to like you more; give you more opportunities. You know what I’ve learned, stop asking people for opportunities and start taking them.

I grew up going to the largest African American school district in the country. North Forest ISD located on the Northeast side of Houston, TX. All my teachers were black, the parents, the students, the coaches. Demez felt like a normal name. It wasn’t until I started applying for colleges that I realized it wasn’t so normal. It wasn’t until my first summer interning for an engineering company and everyone wanted to call me D that I started to notice, “maybe my name is different.”

There isn’t one meeting I walk into or one email I send where someone doesn’t ask how to pronounce my name. Even though we live in a global society where Africans, Asians, Hispanics all have names that aren’t “traditional American.” Though yet and still my name is “unique.”

I learned early on something that has stayed with me every day since. People will look for reasons not to like you, not to give you the job, not to want to be impressed by you. I don’t care if you cut your dreads or change Demez White to D. White. I don’t care if you come to work on time every day and never make a mistake. You can’t conform or blend in enough. The only way they respect you is to be impressive. Is for you to wear your confidence, to know what you’re doing. To be professional and to not back down from ignorance but to face it head on.

The first time I sent my novel to a publisher they told me it was really good. In the next paragraph they told me that if I changed writing name to D. White or David White I could get more of a readership. At that moment I thought, “I’m going to have a son one day and I want to take his little hand and take him to Barnes and Noble or sit him on my lap while we’re online. I want to show him the books his father wrote and I don’t want to have to explain to him why my name isn’t on those books.” Our little black boys and girls are different from how we were but different styles, different lingo, it shouldn’t take away from how amazing they are. If only we nurture them and stop trying to teach them to fall in line.

You can be whoever you want to be. No matter your size, height, color, hair style or financial upbringing. You can get into the college you want to get into no matter your name, no matter your hairstyle, you just have to want to work for it. There are going to be people that look like you and people that look like complete strangers that will tell you otherwise. Don’t listen to them. Let your creativity flourish and let it mold you to be everything I believe you can be.

I thought I was a bright child. I never got in trouble, made great grades. When I was in the 9th grade I remember staying up late watching a Chris Rock stand up special. I’ll never forget what he said in a joke, “If you have a name where people have to double take to ask you how to pronounce it, you’re ghetto. If you call your grandma mama, you’re ghetto. If you can’t call your daddy on the phone because you don’t know his number, you’re ghetto.” I remembered laughing and then I remembered I fell into all three of those categories. I didn’t feel ghetto, I didn’t feel like I didn’t belong but in that moment I felt sad that I didn’t have a regular name. That I didn’t go on summer vacations with my mom and dad.

My name is Demez, I’m the product of an 18 year old mother, no father. I was raised by my grandparents and went to one of the worst high schools in the State of Texas. I failed out of college my first year and almost failed out of Community College. I allowed people to call me D when I first started working because I thought Demez was ghetto. I didn’t have a bank account until I was 21 and my credit was in ruins by the time I was 24. I didn’t remotely get my life together or start being proud of where I came from or who I am until I was almost 30. I tell you this because if I can’t make the mistakes I made and come from where I came from at this age. Then I know you can at 15, 16, 18. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that your name or hairstyle or origins make you less than. Don’t ever believe that you’ve messed up so much, that you can’t come back from that. I promise you; you can.

Demez White

A Life Long Battle With Depression

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Last Night In Paradise

Depression can be a taboo word, a word associated with weakness or uncertainty. I often wonder are my thoughts just in my head or figments of my imagination. In a couple of weeks I’ll be 33 years old and I’ve been fighting depression my entire life. I suppose I used to be ashamed of it and maybe a part of me still is but I always told myself, “As long as you have more good days than bad days, you’ll be okay.”

There haven’t been a lot of good days as of late and that scares me.

My favorite show is the Game of Thrones and one of my favorite characters is Jamie Lannister. There’s a scene where he’s talking to his father and his father says, “You’re going to need all the help you can get. A one handed man with no family and no friends.” Sometimes I feel that way, like I’m a one handed man with no friends and family.

The solitude I feel, the loneliness, the emptiness, I’ve always thought it made me a better writer. The thing is though, what’s the point of being a better writer if the rest of me is in shambles?

It’s 5:00am and here I sit, at this computer, a glass in my hand, the world in slumber waiting for the weekend. It’s 5:00am and I’m worried that I will lose this battle one day.

Believe You’re Worth Everything You Desire

  Comfort. 

Comfort is a great word. When I think of comfort I think of a pair of boxers fresh out the dryer after a hot shower, a cold beer, my couch and a good game. For some comfort is a pint of Blue Bell, thick fuzzy socks and stalking their favorite people on Instagram. Comfort can be an amazing thing but it can also be dangerous to growth, success and passion. 

When you become comfortable at a job or in a relationship it’s human nature to take your foot off the gas. It becomes the most logical thing in the world to believe you are we’re you’re supposed to be. That’s where belief has to come in; the belief that you can soar past your station in life. No one can believe in us like we can believe in us. Like we have to believe in us. 

Social media leads so many into a false sense of accomplishment. I’ve had hundreds or likes on a post or hundreds of shares on a blog and it’s a good feeling knowing people follow you but it no where near compare to the feeling of receiving a check. Of having that belief that if I stop giving away my services for free; that people will still buy into me. If you desire greatness in life there’s no formula that allows you to jump the line. Invest in yourself, put time into your talent, support others and network and just work your tail off! 

At the age of 32 there are days where I feel like I haven’t accomplished a thing. Days where my confidence and aggression and sense of hope feel like they’re fading. Then there are days where I see the horizon. I see the progress. I see the company and writing growing and evolving. Either way on either day I’m never losing the belief that I can get where I want to get. I’m never going to doubt that God has a plan for me and that plan includes any struggles and missteps I might endure. 

In every great man or woman’s life there has come a point where they decided the risk was worth the reward. Some sacrificed steady jobs, some the loves of their lives and some their piece of mind. That’s a decision you’ll have to make on your own. 
Demez F. White 

A Letter to My Father

Dear Father,

A man isn’t a father because he gets a woman pregnant; he isn’t a father because he gives the child his last name. You have to earn the right to be called a father and you never earned that right, to be honest I don’t think you ever wanted it. When I was younger there were nights I would sit up and wonder if I would ever get to know you.

Even as an adult there are times where I imagine us having a beer and talking. Me learning about who you are, what made you the way you are? Maybe developing a friendship to make up for the father son relationship we never had. Then I think about who I am and who you are and I realize I’ve learned so much more by not having you in my life then I ever could by talking to you. Everything you’re not makes me everything I am.

I value my reputation. I work hard and I’m well spoken and dependable because I don’t ever want to be compared to you. When I’m drinking and I’m afraid I might be having one too many I think about you and I stop. When there’s a woman that looks amazing and all I want is her but I know I don’t need her, I stop.

I have 13, 14 brothers and sisters out there that I’ll probably never know because you couldn’t simply introduce us. Not pay child support or take us to the park but just introduce us? How hard would that have been? What type of man couldn’t do that for the children he brought into this world?

Do you know I wreck every relationship I have because I’m not ever sure if I have it in me to be a good father? I worry that I have your DNA inside of me. I worry that I’ll be too much like you and end up ruining some child’s life. I wish this was bullshit but it’s true, I have all these great qualities, all this love to give and every time I get close to someone I fall back because I don’t want to disappoint them like you’ve disappointed me. What if that’s genetic?

I’ll never hate you because you helped my mother give me life but I can never love you. I can never respect you or feel sympathy for you. All I can do is watch you exist, watch you kill yourself slowly. I’m 31 and I’ve never actually had a real conversation with you. I’m 31 and I’ve never been in a room with you while you were sober.

One day I’ll overcome these demons I have. I won’t let the blood of yours that’s in me allow me to be anything like you. I’m educated, I’ve never spent a night in prison, an hour. As I type this I’m at work running construction projects. I’m a published author. There isn’t a child on this earth that can say I’m his or her father because I wouldn’t do that to a child or a woman. I’ll be a great husband and I’m becoming a great man all because of what you taught me not to do. One day I’ll find someone and fall in love and my children will never know you exist. When you die, your legacy will die.

I said earlier I feel nothing for you but the truth is I feel sorry for you because you had an opportunity to be so much more and instead you settled for being nothing.

Sincerely Yours,

Your Son… Demez
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Writing and Morning Motivation….

I wasn’t a coffee drinker, no matter how much cream or sugar I put in it I just couldn’t get with the taste. Her on the other hand, standing at my office door, a blanket wrapped around her naked body. The smoking mug in her hands like it was freezing outside instead of eighty five. This was our ritual, me up before the sun writing. No music playing, blackberry off, just the sounds of my fingertips hitting the keyboard.

“You do know how much I hate waking up to an empty bed right? It’s not like I’m over here every night, you could make an exception once or twice a week.”

I didn’t have to look back to know she wasn’t serious, I could hear the joking in her voice. She walked over and sat the mug on my mousepad. I could smell and feel the heat and moistness from her skin, she must have just gotten out the shower.

Sitting on my lap, she adjusted the blanket so that it was covering both of us. She was cradled in my lap like a child, her legs and thighs falling over my very worn suede swivel chair. Her lips found the nook of my neck and I could smell the coffee beans that were soaked in her tongue.

“You know I’m having a very hard time writing with your tongue on my neck.”

Her body shifted again, this time her chest was facing mine. Her mouth moved down and found my nipple, her hand reached inside my striped pajama bottoms and found the head of my dick. I loved the fact that she wasn’t playful, didn’t giggle or laugh. It was all focus, all lust in her eyes.

“I just started a new position, I don’t have time for these marathons you like to run. I need you to cum rather quickly this morning and if you can do that… I can promise you I’ll swallow every drop after work. Can you do that?”

When she put it inside all typing ceased and it took me a minute to gather myself because the feeling of bliss was the same every damn time.

“I don’t…. ummmmm…. I don’t know if that’s possible because between last night and this morning I doubt I have a drop left.” Gripping her hips, her body sweaty from the shower and the humidity coming from the open window in my office.

“I’m pretty positive we’ll manage to get a drop or two out of you this morning and this evening, he’s a trooper, he’s standing tall now isn’t he and from what I can tall, he’s at full attention.” She leaned in and bit my lip, gave me a mock salute.

I reached around and played with her ass while she started to grind harder. “I’m cumming baby, just stay…. Just….. just…. Cum with me please! Please!”

And like that I could feel the eruption building, the sweat falling from my hairline, the glow on her face. The smell of coffee replaced with the smell of sensuality. She stood up, my babies leaking down her thigh. My pants ruined, my energy sapped, her energy on a thousand.

“Asshole! I’m going to need another shower now. I’ll call you when I make it to work.” She smiled and fast walked out the room, her ass bouncing and my dick wanting to chase her to that shower but I pushed him down and told him to chill.

This was a weekday and morning sex was only good once a day. After that it was call into work sex.

Writers Block…

“What’s the matter with you? You were sitting at this computer when I left for work this morning, you were sitting here when I got home and you were sitting here when I left for my jog. All you have is ten pages? Let me read them?”

Her shirt was soaked and her sweats were hugging her hips and sweaty too but I got up anyway and let her sit down. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been sitting here until she brought it to my attention, my stomach reminded me.

“Are you going to stand over me while I read, go get something to eat. I hear your stomach growling. As a matter of fact, you need to get out this house before you drive yourself crazy. I’ll order from that Thai place down the street, take a drive. Get a bottle of wine, clear you head.”

She was always talking a mile a minute after she came back from jogging but she was right. Writers block wasn’t something I was used to and it came up on me with a vengeance. For whatever reason the first chapters were always the hardest for me, after I got past them it would flow like the Nile.

“Alright, I’ll be back, you want anything else?” She stood up and kissed me, sweaty and all.

“Yes… I want you to cheer up!” She shook my arms and kissed me again.

Running my errands all I could think is, ‘What if it’s gone?’ My mind was my greatest gift, my creativity, my ability to tell a story on the drop of a dime. And whenever I would struggle to get those first couple of chapters down that doubt would start to creep in.

Before she came alone I never shared that doubt with anyone. It was easy to be confident, arrogant, that’s what people like to see. Before she came alone I never let anyone read what I wrote before it was a finished product. Little did I know while I was in the shower or sleeping she would be up reading and critiquing.

It was annoying as hell at first but she wouldn’t back down. “You need a woman’s point of view and I’m going to give you that. Just listen and if people don’t like it. You can always ignore me.” She smiled and I agreed only to shut her up. But when people read the new product they loved it and I loved her.

Coming up the elevator with the food in one hand, the wine in the other my stomach was really growling now. “How long had it been since I’ve eaten?” I asked myself. When I walked thru the door I could see she’d printed out the ten pages and had them spread on the couch with that red pen of hers in her mouth.

No matter how many times I saw it I couldn’t help but laugh at that red pen. Wearing a black Conversations Between Adults t-shirt and her hair in a ponytail she was sitting Indian Style with Adele on in the background.

“What are you laughing about?” I didn’t know how I felt about her laughing, I wasn’t exactly writing a comedy.

“I’m laughing at your female characters. They all sound exactly alike, they all sound like me. I’m flattered but baby, you have to diversify them.” I took out some plates and wine glasses and tried to remember if they sounded like her.

“They don’t all sound like you…”

“Really, they don’t? You change the hair color and try and switch up their appeal but it’s the details you attach to all of them. The music they like, the way they sit or walk, it’s all here and it’s flattering babe but you have to switch it up. Think about old girlfriends or actresses.” She sat the sheets on the table and walked behind me, swiping an egg roll.

“I know you’re crazy about me, after your last couple of dedications the whole world knows.” She bit the back of my neck.

“But you’re writing block comes from you lacking the proper motivation. Go sit at your desk in front of your computer.” It was a loft so it was basically one big open space with the bedroom upstairs.

“We’re going to roll play tonight, as of this moment you’ve never touched, licked or even seen this before. So be your creative self and let me help you get past this hump! But before that, pass me that bottle of wine… ”

Role Play…

“Let me see it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive!”

I could see the look in her eyes, her mouth was damn near watering. I knew she was drunk and probably not in her right frame of mind but I was horny so all of my gentlemanly traits were out the window.

“You do know that once it comes out it just may change your life right?”

“I know that you’re doing a lot of talking right now instead of showing me what’s up!”

I took a step back and started to pull my shirt out my pants, I unbuttoned a couple to get comfortable. She was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, all her clothes on, her right hand inside her skirt.

“Don’t be scared, I won’t bite.”

Watching her hand move inside her t-shirt was like having someone jack me off at 3am. I pulled it out and she gasped, I smiled. I held it in my hand casually, comfortably.

“Is it what you expected?”

She opened her legs wider, her panties came off and she hit me in the face with them. I sniffed them and put them in my pocket without missing a beat with my motion.

“It’s…. “better” than what I expected. But just because you have the tools doesn’t mean you know how to use them!”

She stood up and walked towards me, her heels tapping on the hardwood floors. I could see her juices on her fingers, she put them to my mouth. I licked them, she moved my hand and took control of my dick.

“It’s nice, thick, pretty.”

I closed my eyes, she kissed my neck and started to rub harder! Faster! I gripped her neck.

“Kiss it! Kiss it!”

“You would like that wouldn’t you, you seem to be enjoying this.” Her hand felt amazing, I didn’t want to cum like this, I had no idea how much longer I could hold out.

My thighs were tight, my legs were shaking, I was biting my bottom lip. She was working my stick like it was a Mrs. Pac Man game. I was losing control, I was pass losing control!

“I don’t want to cum like this! I want to cum in you!”

“Say please….”

“Please!”

She stopped jacking me off but didn’t let go of it, she pulled me to the couch and pushed me down. She sat on top of me, all her clothes up minus panties and I felt Heaven in-between those legs.

“You said you want to cum in me, so cum!”

Her riding and motion was something any jockey would be proud of, the squishy sound has me gripping her ass, her hands were around my neck.

“I’m cumming girl! I’m cumming! I think I’m ready to write!”

“I bet you are but we’re not thru just yet…”