Many of you might not know that MRS N loves reading urban fiction/prose/poetry. I happened across Frida on social media and we just clicked. Maybe it’s because we’ve been through our share of heartbreak and suffering, maybe it’s because our natural writing style is poetic prose, who knows what it was but we connected. I asked her to sit down with me for an interview and she agreed. Her answers intrigued me and her excerpt gripped me. Please take a moment and check her out. Let’s get started…
What is your writing process?
Oddly enough, I’ve never even thought about this before, but I guess I do have a writing process. I always have my journal with me, so I can jot things down no matter where I am. But when I really want to get into writing, I have a bottle of wine, with the lights in my bedroom dimmed, while playing music that draws emotion out of me. My go-to’s are Mary J. Blige, Adele, Toni Braxton, and Kelly Clarkson. This is usually always a nighttime thing. The moon gives me energy.
What are you working on now? What is your next project?
I’m already working on my second book. “Blossom’s Wine Bar” was just a little taste of what’s to come. I wanted to use it as an introduction to my voice and writing style, which is why I kept it short. The next book will be at least double the length.
I’m also working on a lifestyle website where I will talk mostly about dating and relationships. It will be somewhat of a follow-up to the articles I wrote for the Huffington Post on the same topics.
Do you read your reviews? Do you respond to them, good or bad? Do you have any advice on how to deal with the bad?
I do read my reviews. I respond to the positive ones where there is a real human connection to my writing, like someone saying I helped them through a tough time or something like that. I typically just laugh at the negative ones. I can’t allow myself to be bothered by someone who either has a different perception or just missed my point entirely.
Do you drink? Smoke? What’s your vice?
Yes, I drink either whiskey or wine pretty often and I smoke weed here and there. My vices change based on what I have going on. When I want to avoid and cover up my stress, I love the combination of a man who doesn’t ask too many questions and alcohol. When I want to think freely to clear my head, I paint.
What is your biggest fear?
I don’t trust or associate with many people. The people I confide in have been in my life for years, they’ve seen me grow up. My biggest fear isn’t of my own death, it’s theirs, especially my best friend, we’re soulmates. I’m not sure who I would be without that support system.
What were you like as a child? Your favorite toy?
I was a shy and quiet child. My mother sometimes worried that I didn’t have enough friends. I always liked to write. I don’t remember a point in my life where I didn’t have a diary where I wrote all my secrets, even in elementary school.
I was also a tomboy. I wanted to be tough like my older brother, so we fought alot and he taught me how to play baseball. My Barbie’s were my favorite toys. I really enjoyed changing their hairstyles. I’ve always liked experimenting with hair which got me into trouble because I’d always change my own after my mother styled it.
If you were an animal, what would you be and why?
I’d be a lion. I’m a Leo and I’ve always felt connected to them. I love the way the females are beautiful and graceful, yet vicious. I’m a lot like that and I feel my best when my hair is big and crazy like a male lion’s mane.
What writing advice do you have for other aspiring authors?
If you wanna stand out, write from your heart because no matter how much someone else may try to copy you, no one can duplicate your inner truth. Also, don’t bother to pick up a pen if writing isn’t the reason you breathe. This isn’t something you half-ass. Writing is a calling, not a hobby. Stick with it, hone your craft, and develop an ego that’s rejection proof.
What do you consider to be your best accomplishment?
Recognizing and trusting my intuition. I have so much more clarity now that I’ve let go and decided to follow my instincts. I’m fearless, I take risks, and I learn from my failures. This has impacted every aspect of my life from my relationships, to my health, and career.
Blossom’s Wine Bar
In the memoir-like chapbook, “Blossom’s Wine Bar” Frida R. snatches her audience’s hearts and drags them down the unpaved roads of her messy, ever-changing alcohol soaked world. With fair amounts of wit and grit, “Blossom’s Wine Bar” is a collection of stoems (poems that read like short stories) and personal essays where she pulls readers deeper into her world by revealing the events that pushed her to create such raw art. Genuine, vulnerable and sometimes crass, Frida R. opens up about abortion, relationships, depression, and suicide. With so many things that have gone wrong, she shares the life lessons and moments of self-awareness that allow her to continuously progress because as she says, “If you aren’t going to continue to grow and change, you’re just a waste of food and resources.” “Blossom’s Wine Bar” reads like conversations between friends because Frida R. is an author who thrives from the idea of connecting with her audience. She wishes to be a voice to the voiceless and a source of motivation for the underdog, making her the stoet (storyteller & poet) to look out for.
At 3:23, I woke up sweating.
It’s finally happening.
He’s gonna get me.
I began to perform my nighttime routine at 9:53.
I confirmed no one was in the house with me,
checked the locks on the doors and windows,
then adjusted the heat.
I removed my makeup and after I brushed my teeth,
I said a prayer.
I asked for strength and protection, but not relief,
and I included a bit about my misplaced sanity.
I’m not sure if anyone hears this shit but me
cause I can’t remember the last time I slept peacefully.
I was tucked into my bed by 10:15,
finding little comfort in the knife beside me.
I trained myself to sleep with the hall light on
cause when it’s too dark, is when I feel I’m not alone.
Ten minutes ago, the sound of my name
crept into my ear and woke me.
I know his voice, but not his face.
He’s been taking my life away, slowly.
As I sit up in bed hyperventilating,
I hear laughter.
Knowing my torture is his pleasure, I cry.
He keeps laughing at me.
I wish I could call someone,
but he made my friends believe I’m crazy
so, nobody comes around anymore.
The laughter I heard is replaced by chatter.
This is the first time I’ve heard more than just his voice.
I counted four or five men.
I can’t keep up with them,
nor can I make sense of what they say.
If they’re truly inside of me, how will I pull away?
I scream thinking they’ll pause.
Nah. They’re even more riled up
and it’s my fault.
I scream again.
My body is soaking wet with sweat…
I’ve gotta go.
I jump from my bed and my feet land in a red puddle.
I look, but the wine from my nightstand hadn’t spilled.
While I stand there, the puddle grows,
and I know it’s blood flooding my room.
Then, I blink and everything is clean.
Again, they’re laughing at me.
The walls are closing in on me, I can see the doorway shrinking.
I know it sounds like I’m going insane, but this ain’t my imagination.
I turn the knob and pull with all my strength, but nothing happens.
That’s when he clears his throat and my brain goes silent. My body feels numb.
I can hardly see through my tears
as I fall to the floor.
Warmth covers my body and
I don’t wanna fight no more.
He calls my name and I open my eyes
to see blood on my legs and feet.
I look above me and see it leaking from the ceiling.
I’m right beneath my bedroom.
I’m not even shocked.
There’s a whisper with a message.
It’s an instruction, I’m being tested.
He promises more torment if I fail.
I need to be violent, but I’m frail.
I slowly follow his voice to the kitchen.
I empty the cabinet housing my prescriptions.
I pour a glass of wine, and
grab and handful of pills.
He said that after this, he’ll leave
and I’ll finally heal.
I get comfortable on the couch and
play a Lady Antebellum song.
I’ll just sing along ’til nothing hurts anymore.
There will be no dreams, or headaches,
unwarranted outbursts, and sweaty handshakes.
I will no longer feel lonely, frightened,
and unloved. No more paranoia, heartache,
or feeling misunderstood.
No more being called “crazy.”
I was found dead three days later at 4:24.
Amazon US –
When she isn’t writing, painting, or experimenting in her kitchen, Frida R. can be found pranking her far too trusting boyfriend and subsequently begging for forgiveness after she’s laughed herself to into a tear-filled ab workout.
By the time she’d graduated the fifth grade, Frida knew she would grow up to become a writer after having authored several short stories, songs, and stacks of unsent hate mail to her older brother for picking on her and messing with her toys.
Four years of writing for small blogs and a local women’s magazine led Frida to climb a freelance writer’s Mt. Everest by getting herself published by The Huffington Post just a few months after they’d rejected her first submission.
Today, female empowerment drives Frida’s work. Recklessly raw and unfiltered, she speaks on her struggles with love, depression, suicidal thoughts, and learning to fight for herself. In her debut novel, “Blossom’s Wine Bar”, Her agenda is clear: Frida R. fights dirty and hates living in a world where hardworking women are told they aren’t good enough, victims remain victims, and mental health is overlooked.
Although, she writes about the darkness we all get trapped in, Frida R. includes not false hope and fluff, but proof of a light that shines at the end of the tunnel.
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