Put Yourself In God’s Hands And You

As A Journalist, I Never Critiqued Anyone. I Never Review Books. I've Never Felt Qualified As A Musician To Say Whether Someone Is A Good Musician Or A Bad Musician. What Happens With Black Writers And Black Artists Is That If You're Critiqued, For Example, By A Black Historian Who Wants To Get His Name On The Cover Of "the New York Times," And He Says Something, Like, Wacky, Well, He'll Get His Name On The Cover Of "the New York Times" And He Might Get Tenure, And Your Career Suffers.

I Come To The Understanding That Maybe What Was On The Inside Was More Important, And That Your Outer Covering Didn't Count So Much As Folks Thought It Did, Colored Or White, Man Or Woman.

I'm Proud Of 'miracle At St. Anna' And I Loved It; There's No Question In My Mind It's As Good As Any Movie That Came Out In 2007.

Slavery Was A Web Of Relationships, And If People Knew How Thick The Whole Business Was, They Would Not Make Fun Of People Like Harriet Tubman. They Would Understand How Intelligent She Was And How Sharp.

I Can Write Anywhere Really. I Have A Hard Time Writing When The Birds Are Tweeting And The Brooks Are Running Outside. I've Tried That Several Times, For Months At A Time, Trying To Write In A Quiet, Wonderful Place Where Birds Are Twittering And Coffee's Brewing. And Nothing Happens. But If I'm In An Old Dump Like My Old Apartment And I Can't Find My Fingernail Clippers And Nothing's Working Except The Old Tea Maker, That's Just Great. You Always Have To Find And Live In A Place That's A Little Uncomfortable When You're A Writer. You Need A Burr In Your Side.