Origins: Poetry, Pandemic, Progress
I'm obsessed with the rules of three. So much so that the triangle is my favorite shape (it's so angular and chic). Everyone should have a favorite shape. Enough inner dialogue though- Here we are, (it'll be my last time talking about my beginnings, next time will be on your tv screen or floating around on a non-incel podcast clip) the third and final blog for my mini Origins series, Origins: Poetry, Pandemic, Progress.
Author Tash
2020 was an intense year, a pandemic came and altered the way millions of people were able to interact with each other. Through isolation and curfews, many people found time to slow down perhaps for the first time in thier lives; others experienced complete overwhelm. Relationships either strengthened or faltered, babies were born, and companies adjusted to remote work (after years of telling people that it just couldn't be done ). And as for me, I was six months post-China and just trying to find my footing career-wise. The funny thing is, after several months of looking for a university job... again (sticking to what I knew best), I finally got a job as a Registrar's Assistant at the Univesity of Central Florida the very same week shutdowns began for the pandemic (first week of March 2020). This was three months before the inception of Not A Monolith. So how did I go from higher education professional girly part dos (see Origins: How My Year in China Resparked my Poetry) to the poet you see before you today?
Racism. Yeah, it was good old-fashioned racism. To be a Black woman in America is an exhausting and often dangerous thing. The specific instance of racism that led me to pick up the pen again was the death of two innocent Black men and one innocent Black woman. Do you remember the names of Ahmaud Arbery (February 23, 2020), Breonna Taylor (March 13th, 2020), and George Floyd (May 25th, 2020)? - their devasting similarity is that they were all murdered in 2020. As mentioned, 2020 was already a tough time for everyone, police brutality and overzealous white racist gun owners made an already challenging year one filled with overwhelming heartache for Black people. It was a difficult time to stay updated with the news without subjecting yourself to stories of blatant violence against Black people. So by the time May rolled around, I was turning 25 in the middle of the pandemic with nothing to do but work my not-so-remote-friendly Registrar's Assistant job and laugh my way into good spirits on TikTok. George Floyd's recorded murder and final words, a man begging for air while being knelt on for over 9 mins, not a threat just a Black man. A horrific yet painfully truthful display of police brutality for all to see. broke me down all over again.
There was this clear lack of respect for our lives (always has been). How pervasive racism is and how it can not be peacefully protested away (colonizers and oppressors never gave a damn about peace). Not A Monolith was borne of angry poems about racist pigs bothering Black folks ), some of them made the cut but I realized with everything going on that I needed to create something to honor blackness in all its facets, not just our pain. The name arrived like a lightning bolt one Summer day. I had already decided I wanted to write something that was in my own words:
““Not solidarity”
”Deeply cultural without being repetitive or boring. Rooted in truth”
“An authentic collection that deeply resonated with modern day black experiences””
And above all, I wanted to shine my light on Black Women, emphasizing how multifaceted we truly are. Hence, how we are “Not A Monolith". I wrote in the background of my life, I largely wrote through the background of my depression. As I mentioned in my letter to the reader Not A Monolith " firmly planted itself in my psyche", depression could delay but it would not outright deny the completion of this collection.
Six months into my Registar's Assistant job (amid a pandemic), I was already over it. And as the New Year (Jan 2021) hit, there were talks of returning to the office. My depression was barely functioning in the comfort of my granny's house... It would surely plummet if I was required to code switch, fake laugh and engage in office banter throughout the day. NO THANK YOU! I got a glimpse of that dark and mostly windowless basement they called an office during my brief orientation; I was in no rush to return to a fluorescent dungeon.
I started the job hunt once again, this time looking at opportunities out of state. I figured, if I had to be subjected to an office space, I should at least switch up the scenery. That's how I ended up at my last corporate job before becoming a full-time author. I won’t bore you with an entire 3-year recap of my time as a corporate baddie (this blog is long enough), just know there was an expiration date the minute I stepped into that office. The newness of a job/career, a new city/state (leaving my hometown of Orlando for Austin, TX), and the silence of living alone did not cure my depression (shocker-this user discovered depression can travel state lines) (also for timeline purposes I moved to Austin, TX in April 2021). I will say that living alone in a new state did allow me to walk around without performing for anyone. This was life-saving in its own way. Living with your family can be a good financial decision but the trade-off is often your mental health.
Living alone at least I could cry out loud and lay in bed for hours without feeling judged by someone other than myself. I didn't care for my time in Austin (again another story for another day, another blog) however, it did grant me health insurance and a safe space to start therapy. In the background, Not A Monolith was slowly being crafted, never not on my mind no matter how depressed I was ( I would at least think about my collection as I struggled to get out of bed or feed myself). I kept telling myself that I must finish this poetry book.
Therapy did help, it brought me out of depression and I was starting to feel like myself again, making it even clearer that this corporate girly job wasn't it either. I thought “damn Shantasha, if you can't make this remote, flexible, startup, happy hour, new mac book, we're all here for you, mambo jumbo job work"... then maybe I wasn't cut out for any 9-5 no matter how lucrative.
The Final Stage
Let's fast forward to Fall 2023. I'm about two and a half years into this start-up job. Shit at work just got real. My relatively new supervisor (hired March 2023) just sent an email to his entire team including his boss telling us he was resigning effectively immediately (in corporate land especially at his salary level, it was a hella scandalous way to announce). This came after he called out nearly every day for an entire month. So when I got that email, I laughed out loud. Hindsight is 2020 and honestly, he never took the time to learn the health insurance knowledge the role required and clearly, it didn't matter in the end. Regardless, this sudden termination left me with some big decisions.
I had already decided probably a year ago (Fall 2022) that I was over customer service and the front-facing duties of the Support Department especially in the health insurance world (people are straight-up bitches on the phone and chats). I needed something new, and I decided that I should get into my tech bag, literally. I needed something more back of the house, something more analytical. And as fate would have it...I was on the Product team's radar before I ever threw my hat in the ring. HR assured me that I had it in the bag, the job was essentially mine (sounds like final last words, right?).
At the same time that this Product opportunity was bubbling, I was asked if I wanted to become the manager of Support. I mean yeah I did essentially do the damn job for months without really noticing it. I firmly declined to many people's surprise. Yes, it would have nearly doubled my pay ( and a six-figure salary believe me would have and still would change my life) but I hated my job and I didn't want to be held responsible for an entire department of job functions I pretty much hated. I'd probably make a great manager but I hate people managing, hard pass, and not so shockingly easy no from your girl.
Though, I'm no fool… I would be compensated for the previous time playing manager. In the end, we worked out an arrangement where I would help train the new internal hire manager and transition into the Product department by November 2023. This was a great compromise, (go Tash for negotiating) finally, I was moving forward in my career in what felt like an impactful way, still writing my poetry, but poetry wasn't going to pay the bills. I needed to get my professional life in order. Product was a way to make more money, have a better work-life balance, and be able to learn a skill I could take somewhere else if need be. So how surprised was I when I was told that I did not get the role that I was essentially “promised”, WTF! Oh, I was fuming. Typical corporate false promises pipeline bullshit. That was my final sign to get the hell out of there! I didn't forget that the HR manager tispy-ly let it slip at the office party that the job was mine (thanks for nothing girl, I could have blew her spot up lmao). Whilst all this was going on ( Fall 2023), I am furiously writing and editing Not A Monolith: poems and musings of a black woman. This job drama had given me an extra kick in the ass. Perfectionism was going to keep this project locked up with no release date in sight. I had to tell myself "You've worked hard, you believe in this collection, it's time to share". So as I was planning my escape from what felt like a dead-end job, I started to put the finishing touches on my collection.
Self-publication ended up being the best route for me because after waiting 3 years, I didn't have the patience for my book to get picked up by traditional publishing. Additionally, I didn't want my work edited by anyone other than me, it was too sacred to go through a publishing house looking for maximum profit margins. I hit upload on January 8th, 2024, my great grandma's birthday (may she continue to rest in peace). I believe in the significance of dates and the influence of the stars (resident astrology girly here). So I placed my book under the strength of the Capricorn Sun and with the patience of my Capricorn great-grandmother. I self-published my debut poetry collection understanding that I should not put up any expectations of what's to come next (so while I wanted to blow up overnight, I understood that is not the typical journey of an indie author especially in the poetry genre). I didn't know back then but I had about 5 months left at my corporate job before I quit with nothing else lined up. Like yes, I wanted to leave this job but I thought it'd be followed up with something bigger and better ( but tbh, everyone was and still is struggling to find a job in this economy).
And guess what y'all?... it's been 9 months since I left that job and the only thing lined up... is well….Shantasha Naomi Laing Poetry. I had a few job interests but through those interviews I noticed my gut screaming "HELLL NO! Focus on your poetry now". This story doesn't end with me being a best-seller fully supporting myself and my family with my book earnings (not yet…but soon). Right now, I leave you as a girly who sold over 1k books on the road to 1 million. A girly who now has the privilege to write full-time, currently working on her second collection. A girly that knows that she is destined for greatness and is already great. A girly that has added the title of author of Not A Monolith: poems and musings of a black woman under her belt. This is where my story begins. This is my Origin.
