Cornelle Keveen

Author of Dark Urban Fantasy and Romantic Drama


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Just Her

Posted by CornelleKeveen on September 29, 2017 at 4:30 AM Comments comments (1)

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YB Chapter 2 ...Soon

Posted by CornelleKeveen on August 22, 2016 at 8:35 AM Comments comments (0)

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Inspiration for The Next Chapter....YB  My Mind Was Here When...

He Wasn't Me

Posted by CornelleKeveen on August 20, 2016 at 3:00 AM Comments comments (0)

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It's been a minute or twenty since I've posted anything. Recently I ran across some inspiration and the song above perfectly sets the tone. I wanted to write of a love affair that wasn't illicit or overpowered by melodramtics. Because not all are as hollywood surrepititiously depicts and most of us devour. Sometimes it happens and its beautiful for all the wrong reasons but ends at precisely the right season.  So lets give this a whirl.

He Wasn’t Me



He hadn’t prepared for the moment or even the chance of seeing her again. So much time had passed. The waters that ran beneath that particular bridge had long run its course leaving the earth under parched. And yet, there she was right before him, her face untouched by time, flawlessly defining beauty. The same sparkle dancing in the depths of eyes the color of evergreen. She’d caught his eye from a distance as she walked through the bus station’s promenade. But she was just another pretty face warranting a glance longer than lingering. As she neared and the recognition surfaced, he froze in place. Her stride hurried her past him but not before their eyes met. He didn’t even breathe for fear of disrupting the moment, therefore he didn’t turn to follow her gaze. Instead he held onto the image of her like he should have held on to the real of her almost twenty years earlier.

He should have treasured more all of those stolen nights with her locked gently in his arms. His eyes drifted closed as he remembered her signature embrace. The sneaky way she’d come up from behind as he ordered drinks at the bar and wrap her arms around him. She’d press her body so close it took effort to turn and face her. And when he did, she was all up and into him, her tiny 5’ 1” frame latched on and looking up at him with a smile as bright as the moon against the backdrop of velvety darkness. The act was bold and brazen, so unlike her and yet it defined her perfectly. It was one she repeated at every chance. Whenever he seemed distracted by another thing, she’d come up behind him to return his focus to her, to remind him why he was there in the first place. And when he turned she was there, challenging him with those eyes and those lips, daring him to resist the urge to kiss her. She won every single time. Her kisses were kryptonite to his superman.


It was the thought of those kisses that brought him back to the present. He quickly turned to look behind him and she was standing a short distance away, staring at him as well. She’d found the path to recollection just as he. YellaBone. The nickname given to her by one of his friends suddenly came to his mind. Walt was philosophical with his shit.“Women of color come in such a variety of shades, from black, to chocolate, you have your mochas and your caramels. You even have what we call RedBones. But that girl right there. She’s a YellaBone all day, every day. Light-skinned, bright-skinned but not quite white-skinned. Know what I mean?”

Brother Time had been exceptionally good to her through the years it seemed. He'd put that weight on her in all the right places. And he'd been strategic in the placement of it. Her proportions were on point. No longer was she the sleek and athletically toned twenty-four year old dancer. The girl he once met was long gone. In her place, was a voluptuous, stacked, grown ass woman with curves that made a man want to hold on to something. Damn. He said to himself repeatedly. Damn and Damn again!


There was a crowd in the station but at once they were alone. Just them, the distance between them, and a silence so loud he could hear the hairs on his arms brushing up against one another.


“Oh My God.” He read her lips to say.


He took two steps towards her with long ground eating strides, holding her stare with his eyes. But her eyes were torn reluctantly away from his by a tugging of her fingers below.


“Mama let’s go ride.” The toddler standing at her side implored. He was hers. There wasn’t a doubt that could be formed. She’d gifted him with her smile minus the perfect teeth as of yet. But his eyes shone like little emeralds. The kind of eyes that would make other mothers sigh with both envy and awe.


And then they were gone and the crowd returned to obscure his visional path to her.


There was a hint of frantic in his eyes as they scoured the windows of the departing bus hoping for at least a parting glance. Nothing. She must have taken a seat on the opposite side. He surmised, as the taillights disappeared from view. The instantaneous emptiness caught him by surprise. It was as though she had been snatched away before his fingertips could catch hold. Maybe he’d imagined her. Perhaps she was never there in the first place.


He left the terminal that night but he didn’t leave alone. Thoughts of her would live with him for days. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his head or his heart. Trapped in a constant state of distraction is how he would describe it. Her smile, so wide and infused with pure joy; Her touch, hesitant and quietly unassuming in one moment and cocky and presumptuous in the next; And her kiss. Damn her and that mouth. Kissing her required no effort at all. There was no awkward learning of one another’s movements, technique, or style. Not even an accidental nose bump. All the things that oft plagued anyone’s first kiss were rendered ineffectual with her. His mouth and hers seemed pre-destined to meet and join. He’d never kissed anyone like her before and never would again. It wasn’t that he couldn’t kiss another or not even that he couldn't enjoy it. But it would never be as effortless as with her. There had always been the learning curve to hurdle. But not where she was concerned.

I need to see her again. Even though I know I shouldn’t. But there are things she needs to know about me, about us, about how things ended.

His thoughts were chaotic and inaccurate. Inside he knew things never really ended. She had to leave. There was no ending. There was just the absence of her in his life. Arkansas. To hell with Arkansas.

He found himself laughing at the mocking anger he held for such an innocent state. In all seriousness, he was angry at himself for allowing her to leave the way she did. He’d carried it for almost two decades without even realizing it. It wasn’t until the bus station that the burden of it pressed on him vigorously.

What the hell would you say to her anyhow? He pondered. And the answer came forthright as though he were prepared.

I’d apologize for ruining the magic of our intimate moments, stolen or otherwise. It wasn’t her fault that I was attached. She never pressed or pushed. Whatever time I gave, she was content with. She was perfect and understanding throughout. And she was more patient than seemed possible.

He remembered one night in particular. He was outside of the club shooting it with the guys from work. He had no idea she was sitting in her cousin’s car in the parking lot watching. Time passed and he looked over his shoulder to see her leaning up against the hood of the car, quietly glancing in his direction.

It was just that simple.

He remembered making a quick end to whatever conversation he was having to make his way towards her. She met him half-way, crowding him until he just had to embrace her. She didn’t even have to speak. Her smile was more than enough.


How the hell did I mess that up? On one of the last nights together, the most important night we’d ever spend together. I fucked it up and she probably doesn’t even realize it. I was in such an unfamiliar place. Betrayal and the sense of it was kicking my ass mentally and emotionally. I had never been there before. Never ever thought I’d go down that road. But there was something about her that erased all the rules. With just a glance, she busted up all kinds of barriers. Yeah, she was just that chick. Damn! I should have been more patient. I should have taken the time to just spend with her like we always did without any pressure or pre-conceptions. I should have kissed her more, laughed with her more, just let myself love her more.

Well shit. Where did that come from?

Anyway that’s what I need to tell her. I need to apologize big time. I let her leave without admitting that I cared way more than I should. She needed to know that. She needs to know that it wasn’t just another jump off. And I feel I acted as though it was. But I was having issues with my own infidelity. My head wasn’t right and it should have been. She deserved more. She was worthy of all of me, at least for one night. She'd earned at least as much. She needs to know that the He she spent the night with, wasn’t the real Me who had come to care so deeply for her. She needs to know He wasn’t Me.


A little Shorty

Posted by CornelleKeveen on June 19, 2016 at 2:10 AM Comments comments (0)

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Is Prosperity Salvation? Just thought I'd ask....

Posted by CornelleKeveen on December 4, 2013 at 10:35 PM Comments comments (1)


Opinion's please...

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12 Years a Slave...My Review

Posted by CornelleKeveen on November 30, 2013 at 11:30 AM Comments comments (5)

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12 Years a Slave

My Review


There’s something to be said about the truth. It’s tangible. It has weight. It’s concrete with a measure of solidity. You can build on the truth. It has worth and value. Right? We’ll see very shortly about the rightness of the things as seen through my eyes. Now I must warn you. I am going to spoil this movie for you if you haven’t seen it. So read further at your own risk.

We were speaking of truth, worth, and value in reference to 12 Years a Slave, the movie. I need all of us to exercise a great deal of separation between this movie and autobiography of the same name. I will not even attempt to pass my opinion of Mr. Solomon Northrop’s life story as penned by his own hand. Such a work is far beyond my range. As is this movie. However, I paid good coin to bear witness to this film and speak of it I will.

I enjoyed this movie for roughly ten minutes. My enjoyment may have lasted longer but I had pretty much written the film off as something I needed to see on DVD in the confines of my own home. I think I have pretty much had my fill of films recounting slavery, prejudice, and racism as it was directed upon a certain race of people. Any certain race of people, I might add. But I really didn’t want to sit through a musical such as the Black Nativity either. No I wasn’t having issues with my blackness. I had no interest in seeing Hunger Games either.

My pride was stretching its roots inside of me as I watched Solomon walk the streets of New York, confident and in charge of his world, one he shared equally with his white counterparts. He was treated with respect and served the same as white patrons when he entered the shops and stores. They regarded him as an esteemed and learned gentleman of the arts. He had a home along a well travelled boulevard it seemed. It was a joy to watch even knowing that the other shoe would drop sooner than later.

And drop it did. There went the comfort of my seat in the theatre. I could hardly sit still as the slave overseer had Solomon and other freshly acquired African meat clap their hands to a song he had so lovingly crafted entitled….Run Nigger Run.

Now I do remember the uproar that some folks raised over the use of this word in the movie Django Unchained and I really don’t understand where these people were for the release of this film. I can’t even begin to describe the rage. My bones threatened to shatter at the swell of it. It wasn’t just my imagination when I tell you the song lasted forever. Well into the next scene. Intentionally so, I’m sure. It was meant to plague us as it did Solomon’s character. Bravo. Success. The filmmaker succeeded in making me feel absolutely disgusted to the point of walking out of the theatre.

But alas, I endured. I watched scene after scene of hopeless despair roll across the screen. There was one other proud moment when Solomon stood up for himself and wrestled the whip from an inept overseer and beat him in kind. But his punishment was hardly worth the effort.

We were forced to watch him almost lynched. He was rescued by a not so benevolent taskmaster who didn’t want to lose the Master’s investment. Solomon wasn’t lynched…but he was left right on the precipice for hours and hours. He hung with the noose around his neck with his tip toes pointed into sinking mud constantly seeking enough firmness to give slack to the rope taute and constricting around his neck. The other slaves went about their work around him. Sun up til sun down, he hung there and we were forced to watch in as much captivity as he it seemed.

And so this film continued trudging forward to its crowning glory of a scene. The Master’s favorite Negress. The one he coveted above all others. The one who picked 500 pounds of cotton every single day for as long as she was a slave for her master; the one whose bed he favored over that of his pristine white wife. This young Nubian queen as he himself described her, ran away for one hour to the next plantation to fetch a piece of soap to bathe because she was gagged by her own stench.  Because of his own maddened paranoia, the man had her tied to a tree to taste the lash.

Mind you, this Master prided himself on being the slave breaker. Forty lashes were not nearly enough for his slaves. A hundred lashes or a hundred and fifty was his normal fare. He was prodded on by his insecure and jealous wife. After all, she had been told that he would gladly let her go before he would let his beloved Patsy leave him.

I’ll leave you with this. The coward couldn’t bring himself to beating Patsy within an inch of her life. He demanded that Solomon do the deed. And so he did, with a gun held to his head.

I walked out. I returned for the end of the movie…hoping somehow there would be a redemptive moment of triumph at the end.

He was freed.

He returned to his family after 12 years as a slave.

He wept.

And it ended.

We walked out of the theatre in total silence. No applause. No redemption. No sense of worth, honor, or value. Even after the truth.

I wanted to take a bath. I wanted to sit in my house with a case of beer.

I wanted to watch Django Unchained for 36 consecutive times.


Fuck the Truth.

I’ll take the fantasy. Get em Django!


It's My Turn at Sofia Grey's place--July Fever--

Posted by CornelleKeveen on July 30, 2013 at 8:15 AM Comments comments (2)

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This is the perfect soundtrack for a little something I call--


Larissa Wright is all wrong for all the right reasons. She's beautiful with a body to match and she's hotter than a fish fry in the month of July.

Her world comes crashing down all at once when her boyfriend, her lover, and her husband get together in one place at the same time.

She finds herself Caught in a Trap of her own making.

Wanna

Check me out  here...

Day 30 – July Fever – Cornelle Keveen – sizzling flash fiction | Sofia Grey

July Fever Hosted by Sofia Grey...She's turning up the heat I hear...

Posted by CornelleKeveen on July 10, 2013 at 7:40 AM Comments comments (0)

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Xavier University Preparatory saved by Alumni

Posted by CornelleKeveen on April 24, 2013 at 10:55 PM Comments comments (1)

Growing up in the 80's on the outskirts of New Orleans afforded a guy like myself many memories. Being a part of the marching band tradition in my own hometown community opened more doors than I can possibly mention. As I write this, I'm instantaneously taken back in time to Mardi Gras in 1982 to the staging area before the start of a little parade named after the greek god of wine.

As far as the eye could see, there were marching bands lined up in preparation. I'm talking about high school bands that provided the feed stock to fuel the most storied marching bands on the collegiate level. St. Augustine, John McDonough, McDonough 35, John F. Kennedy, Cohen...the list goes on and on.

But amidst all of these spectacular bands there were two schools that had a very unique quality all their own. St. Mary's Acadamy and Xavier University Preparatory. Both of which were all girl institutions.

Now I'm sure you can only imagine what type of affect an all girl high school had on a teenage boy back in that day or in any day for that matter.

Needless to say I was somewhat taken aback when I learned earlier this year that Xavier Prep had lost its financial base and the founders, The Sisters Of The Blessed Sacrament, had come to the painful realization that it would have to close the doors of this prestigious institution.

As an alumni of Xavier University, I found the news to be a heartbreaking reminder of how vulnerable the public educational system was in a post-katrina New Orleans.

But there was a light at the end of darkest of tunnels...

Xavier University Preparatory School, the historic, all-girls Catholic school in Uptown New Orleans, will remain open after a group of six alumni stepped up to buy the campus from the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament. Before a standing-room only crowd Monday night, members of the 5116 Magazine Street Corp., the alumni group that made the purchase, announced that the school will operate as an independent Catholic school and will adopt a new name -- St. Katharine Drexel Preparatory High School -- in honor of the school's founder.

The buyers are Civil District Court Chief Judge Pipper Griffen, Civil District Court Clerk Dale Atkins, U.S. District Court Magistrate Judge Karen Wells Roby, 4th Circuit Court of Appeal Judge Edwin Lombard, and lawyers Keith Doley and Shantell Payton.

"The time was short, the emotions unspeakable, but the Prep family came together," said Atkins, a 1976 graduate. "The Drexel dream continues. Tonight we celebrate, but tomorrow, the work begins."

The school, which has operated under the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament for 98 years and has primarily educated African-American girls, faced turmoil in February when the religious order announced plans to close the school because it did not have a "financially stable future."

The 5116 Magazine Street Corp. is separate from the school's Alumni Association and the Xavier Prep Foundation Fund. The group has entered into an agreement with the building owners to purchase the school's campus, and have said that those plans will be finalized next week, though they would not disclose the purchase price. At a February meeting, school President Joseph Peychaud estimated the cost of the campus to be in the $5 million to $6 million range.

Students and parents will see a tuition increase, though many said they expected that news. Overall cost for students for the 2013-14 school year will be $8,500, up from about $7,200 last year. Parent Desiree Anderson said, "It's worth it."

"We're very grateful that the school is staying open, but we always had the faith," she said. "My family has been going here for generations, and it nourishes you as a whole person. I had no doubt it would remain open; I didn't register my daughter anywhere else."

The corporation members also said they would be working hard to retain as much of the current faculty as possible. Members also said that despite the name change, the school's mission under the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament would remain the same, as will the school uniform and the yellow jacket mascot. The school will now operate as an independent Catholic school under the Archdiocese of New Orleans.

"This was nerve-wracking at the beginning, but now I'm excited that I'll get to stay with my friends," said 15-year-old student Gabrielle Riley. "I feel like I've grown so much as a person here. I'm excited for next year."

How's that for good news?

Let the Torture Begin ..

Posted by CornelleKeveen on April 19, 2013 at 11:20 PM Comments comments (0)

He needs to suffer and Suffer ALOT!