Tag: Black writers

Harper Glenn. 

My cousin, my guide, my beloved is gone. I suppose I should do this the respectable way, so that others can understand and be informed. So here it goes. 

I regret to inform you that author Harper Glenn has passed away. Harper was a Black non-binary author from Augusta, GA. Harper’s most recent novel, Monarch Rising, is a Young Adult fiction title. Monarch Rising was a dystopian tale of a world turned upside down in a land called New Georgia, where the state of Georgia had been taken over by zealots. Not too different from what is happening now in our current political state.

My cousin, the visionary. 

Our mothers, Lisa and Penny, are sisters. Harper and I bonded over many things, as first cousins do. We debated and deconstructed religion. We loved the mystery of the spiritual world. We watched every single documentary about cults and cult followings. We both could not fathom having such unrelenting beliefs in flawed leaders and individuals. It was one of those mysteries of the human mind and condition that left us shocked. And of course, Tyler Perry fit perfectly into that because what the hell was he writing, and why can’t we stop watching?!!! 

These are the memories that bring laughter back when I think of you – Harper. My cousin, my beloved. 

Most of all, we bonded over writing. Both growing up in the deep South, our Black adolescence was shaped by our environment and the eternal questioning of it. Why were we Christian? Why did people ignore abuse and excuse abusers? Why was everyone so in unison yet an orchestrated mess all at once?

I spent many days and nights with my cousins when I was young. That’s when our childhood bond emerged. Harper was 5 years old when I was born. I don’t know a world without them and never will. We used to spend hours in our grandparents’ backyard.

We loved our grandparents dearly, and Harper dedicated Monarch Rising to our grandmother, Hattie Virginia Jones. 

Though Harper has passed, and I know Harper wasn’t religious but still had a sense of the spiritual world. And I see them. I close my eyes and I see them. I hear their voice and laughter. 
Harper always knew when something was wrong with me. I didn’t have to say anything. Harper just knew. Having both experienced some traumatic things growing up, we both turned to writing early. It wasn’t something we had planned at all. We lived about two hours apart, Harper in Augusta, GA, and I in Milledgeville, GA. Whenever I returned to Augusta, especially in high school and college, we spent days together – dreaming.

We discussed everything related to life. Our plans and, of course, writing. 

Harper was the most dedicated writer that I knew. There is a quote from Octavia Butler that states, “First forget inspiration. Habit is more dependable. Habit will sustain you whether you’re inspired or not. Habit will help you finish and polish your stories. Inspiration won’t. Habit is persistence in practice.”

This was Harper. I have always been a “write when I feel like it” type. However, Harper was in machine mode! Harper spent years perfecting their craft. Starting with a self-published book of poetry, Harper went on to write novels. Not just writing novels, Harper wrote, edited, and wrote again. Harper learned the ins and outs of the submission process. Harper connected with literary agents, joined writers’ circles, and attended writers’ chats and sessions. 

Harper was a writer indeed and a damned good one at that! 

With that type of determination, there is no option for the universe but to bend towards your will. And my cousin scored a major book deal with Scholastic! 

Harper Glenn, the published author, with an agent, with a book deal, with an audiobook, with a freaking major publisher. I’m so f*cking proud of my cousin. I am. Yes, yes, yes. 

Of course, I’m writing this with tears and snot bubbles and typing between sobs. I just need to let you know that I had an amazing, talented, caring, and wonderful big cousin who inspired me every day. Harper always knew when I was stagnant or regressing. Harper knew that a sign of my health was whether or not I was writing. And so when we would talk and Harper would be concerned about me, they would ask, “Are you writing?”

And I would say, “Weeeellll, yeah. Kind of. Well, I did draft a blog post. Or I am thinking of a book.”

Ironically, my cousin’s power of perseverance over the universe bent towards me as well. Although I had always published independently, I somehow stumbled into a traditional publishing deal for a book of quotes that documents Black history around the world. And of course, I immediately called my big cousin for advice on what to do and what to ask for. My cousin also agreed to be featured in the book. Though it was not a novel or a traditional book, Harper was proud of me and supported me nonetheless. 

Harper Glenn, the blood runs deep. 

About three weeks ago, my cousin texted me, wanting a Zoom call. Telling me, “I miss your face.” And I was like, “I miss your face too!” We missed our original Zoom time but met up on FaceTime later instead. My cousin had turned 45 years old the week or so before, and I had just turned 40. Both of our birthdays are in August. Harper is a Leo. I am a Virgo. We laughed at the fact that we were getting old. Harper said, “We are our parents’ age when we thought they were old.” I laughed and looked at their beautiful face. Harper’s skin was deep brown, smooth, and moisturized. They had also cut their hair short and dyed it blond. I thought Harper looked beautiful. 

We were both beaming and smiling, for a moment, I thought to screenshot our FaceTime, but didn’t because I didn’t want to ruin the moment or make Harper uncomfortable (sometimes they didn’t like to take pictures). 

But as we smiled like old friends telling each other an old joke, I told Harper, “Hey, we look alike.” Harper said, “Yeah, we do!” And we smiled and we laughed and we never spoke again. 

Losing Harper Glenn. 

I received the call on Monday while driving from DC back to Maryland. My mother’s voice, trembling, told me over the phone. My cousin was no more. My world is shifting; I see cars zooming past me. I can’t pull over; I’m on the interstate, and there’s nowhere to go. I fear that if I stop, I won’t get home. I need to pick up my children from school. My cousin is dead. I have to get home. My cousin is dead. I have to move this car forward. I have to get home. I’m screaming. The tears fill like a pool surrounding me.  I’m here. I’m wherever Harper is. Harper is wherever I am.

I’m here. Harper, where are you? Harper??? WTF!!!

Then I made a mistake in calling my cousin Lynette, who was having a fine day at work in Augusta. She didn’t know, and now I’ve made somebody else scream. She ended up leaving work inconsolable. Harper was our cousin, our big cousin, our love that understood us better than anybody else. 

I was talking with a close friend later that day about everything. During this time, social media was abuzz with the notion of a rapture that was supposed to happen on Tuesday. This was precisely the thing I would discuss with my cousin, and we would most definitely get a laugh out of it, while also seriously analyzing it. Thousands of people, thinking that they were going to be beamed up into the sky on Tuesday. I wanted to call them to talk about it. But here it was Monday, and my cousin was gone. 

I heard Harper, saw Harper. “Now, how you gonna leave me before the rapture?” I said.
 
They laughed, somewhere. 

Rest in peace, Harper Glenn. I’m going to be annoying now and not let anybody forget you. You always asked me, “Are you writing?” Well, I’m definitely writing now. I hope you’re satisfied. Love you, cousin.

– Jessica Ann Mitchell Aiwuyor