Caribbean Thoughts

by Carol Mitchell

Archive for This and that

Taking Caribbean Stories to the Stars!

I’m really looking forward to attending WORD! – A Caribbean Book Fest in NYC this weekend. I just read an article by Kellie Magnus, my co-panelist and I loved the quote “Caribbean stories deserve a place in the multi-billion dollar children’s book market.” Join us at CUNY this weekend.

WORD! In New York this weekend


If you will be in New York this weekend, check out WORD! I will be speaking at 3 pm and I will have copies of books on hand. Hope to see you there. Read the rest of this entry »

Equal pay for equal work

When you work for yourself, especially if you are providing a service in which the raw materials of your craft are primarily intellectual, you will inevitably (read often) be asked to work for free. In fact, you are lucky if the person even acknowledges that they should expect to pay for the services. This article contains very professional ways to approach these requests that you work for free.

Image, Then and Now

Shel SilversteinThe first time I picked up The Giving Tree, I reacted very strongly to the author’s photo on the back. I thought, “This must be an excellent book, because the author is a scary looking guy!” And it was true. Shel Silverstein became one of my favorite children’s books authors.

I thought about him this morning as I got ready to go to a bookstore to discuss doing a book reading there. The Giving Tree was written more than fifty years ago, and I wonder how Mr. Silverstein, who seems rather reluctant to be photographed, would have fared today when everything is recorded and immediately disseminated.


When Summer Edwards, the founder and Managing Director of Anansesem CaribbeanReads contacted me for an interview I readily agreed. Anansesem is a wonderful project, and I encourage budding writers of all ages to take a look. –Click here to read the interview.

More than words

Nelson MandelaMy daughter and I have a standing “joke” about singers. If two songs by the same artist play on the radio in a row (and it’s not two-fer Tuesday) it might be the artist’s birthday. If three songs are played in a row, we know that it is definitely bad news, they have probably died. So, she knew exactly what I meant when I woke her for school on Friday morning with these words.
Read more

Astrid Lindgren Award nomination

As a writer honing the art of short-story writing, I was very pleased to hear that Alice Munro was selected as the winner of the 2013 Nobel Prize for Literature. In the past, the prize has generally been awarded to authors of novels and very often to authors of novels with a political slant. In Ms. Munro’s words, “I would really hope this would make people see the short story as an important art, not just something you played around with until you got a novel.” Read more

Birth of Love

The events in Connecticut last week made me just want to hold my kids close and reminded me of this little note I jotted down several years ago.

I held him in my arms and I knew that I would never again be the person I was just seconds before. Read the rest of this entry »

A little ditty for three

I knew it would end, you see
one night; this triangle of he, me, she
wasn’t right, it could never be.
A terrible plight, but love doesn’t work with three.

I planned it would be ended by me
on my terms; Not so that he
would squirm, ache, cry, plea
and yearn, begging to return to three.

But so I would leave with me,
whole; He’d have she and she-he
to hold; And I would be
okay, all told, okay with just me.

But he chose her over me
first; Let all I thought was we
burst; without a word, decree
or curse, he broke the triangle of three …

and in doing so, almost broke me.


I stand in front of my mirror, examining my body, checking for new lines, blemishes, wrinkles, those things that come with a maturing body. I hold up my hair to get an unfettered view of my back and realise for the first time that no matter how I twist and turn, I cannot see the nape of my neck. I wonder what it looks like, if it is covered with moles and blemishes like the rest of my back.

I give up and turn to face the mirror again, still holding up my hair. My husband comes into the room. I watch him watching my reflection as he walks towards me. When he is right behind me, he bends, kisses the back of my neck.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.