before the book has a name
I never set out to write a book.
I set out to remember. I set out to honor. I set out to search for the names that time had almost erased—and to say them out loud.
Loftin. Curtis. Wells. Webster. Woodard. Wright. Jordan. Guinn. Richardson. McNeal.
What began as curiosity about my Aunt Dottie’s teaching career at the “Midland Colored School,” later renamed Carver Junior-Senior High School, became something else entirely: an extravagant excavation, a historical revelation, and a deeply personal unfolding. And while I don’t yet have a book title or a publication date, I have something better—I have a working draft.
And let me tell you: the working draft is already a published bestseller in my heart.
“Before the book has a title— the legacy is already speaking.”
This is not just a historical project—it’s a tribute rooted in love, memory, and a desire to honor a generation of African-American educators who taught at Midland Carver School, especially my Aunt Dottie. I am preserving a legacy that shaped my neighborhood, my childhood, and Midland, Texas.
Every faded photograph, every name engraved on the Carver faculty wall plaque that still hangs at the current Carver Center Elementary School for gifted and talented students, every article buried in the newspaper archives— it’s all part of something sacred. A restoration. A revelation. A calling.
Before there were pages, there was purpose. And before I had paragraphs, I had prayer.
I asked Father for wisdom, and I realized He is wisdom and He is my Reward! I asked to understand, and I started to see clearly—through the Carver yearbooks, online newspaper archives and census records, and threads of my memory.
Every time I sat down to read or write, I traveled through time—I was resurrecting dignity!
“This is not just a history project. It’s a tribute rooted in love, memory, and honor.”
In the early stages of this journey, I was surrounded and overwhelmed by the volume of my scattered thoughts. I desperately longed for organization. As I continued to ponder and prepare, I began to relax because of this wonderful recognition:
I am honoring a legacy that shaped my upbringing, yet I’m only now realizing the depth of its impact.
I’m driven by a sense of awe and responsibility, knowing I’m uncovering histories nearly lost to time.
I’m blending historical documentation with personal reflection and revelation.
I want my voice to be heard—not just as a researcher, but as a witness and a descendant.
If you’re doing sacred work—work that honors those who came before you—these truths might be whispering in your heart too.
Some days, I know exactly what to say.
Other days, I sit in silence, aware of all I don’t know—the gaps in time, the absent diaries, the elders I didn’t ask in time.
But even in the wondering, there is worth.
That’s the beauty of a working draft—it makes room for mystery and gives grace for the gaps. It speaks to both what is known and what longs to be discovered. And my own words are inviting my response and my continued writing.
YES, there will be a new book coming soon!
But even now, before it has a title, before a single page goes to print, I can say with confidence: this work is already bearing fruit. It is speaking. It is healing. It’s awakening.
And that’s what makes it a bestseller in the only place that truly matters—my heart.
If you’re carrying a dream, nurturing a vision, or collecting names that the world has overlooked, let this post be your confirmation.
The thought is the thing. The working draft is the published bestseller.