What I Learned by Failing in Comics: Hustle & Flow

Let me start by saying, I’m not a writer. I’m a hustla that raps a lot. For the duration of this causerie, I’m a rapper. Like your favorite rhymes sayer: I got a story to tell.

About decade ago, there was a cipher with the man who gave Bruce Leroy his glow. That build set me on a journey; I took my lyrics and went looking for Sun Dum Goy.

My rhymes, evolved into a screenplay. I rapped in the studio, my rhymes became a novel. I kept on rapping until I had a demo tape.

When I was hustling my original novel in the streets, OGs put me on to the comic book route. Considering the nature of my rhymes: martial arts fantasy fiction, many figured it was best way for people see me lyrically.

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I’ll Be That: The Ill Science of Everything

According to Webster, a latter definition suggests that a nerd is: “unstylish, introverted, and devoted towards academic pursuits.”

There is nothing unstylish about my nature, but for the purposes of this site, I’ll define the term as a person who has an affinity for certain forms of entertainment. For the purposes of this site, I’ll be that. A cinema nerd. A rap music nerd. A nerd divulging mythology through fiction, poetry, or graffiti walls.

Comic books were taboo in my parents’ Christian household; my collection was always stifled and intermittent. My stash was hidden in the clandestine manner young boys hid Playboy magazines; under mattresses, behind dresser drawers — ultimately found and discarded.

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