Preface of Not Home: Atlanta

Sometimes things don’t work out. As a writer, sometimes is oftentimes. I had this idea to write a travel series called Not Home about the places I’ve lived, but haven’t quite been my home. Among these are Miami, Los Angeles, Atlanta, D.C., cruise ships, and I’m still eyeing the map for another move. Anyway, the publishing industry isn’t hot on travel memoirs from unknown writers, so I’ve decided to shelve this project for now.

But before it goes in my drawer of rejected manuscripts, I decided give it a farewell parade of sorts by sharing a few pages here. This is the dedication and preface of “Not Home: Atlanta”.

Dedication

For my upstairs neighbor in Decatur. The ingenious way you used cinder blocks as shoes, built complicated IKEA furniture at three in the morning and never once left your apartment inspired me to constantly be outside of mine.

Preface

I wanted to name this section Babyfăce in honor of the famed hitmaker’s connection to Atlanta, but my editor didn’t think it was funny. Too obscure was the note. Well, if songs like When Can I see You and Every Time I Close My Eyes don’t ring a bell, then the necessity of getting the word out about this magnificent city is much more urgent than I anticipated. So, dear reader, unlike my former editor, you’re in for a treat. Get ready to absorb the most granular details about this fascinating city. This book chronicles a very niche journey throughout a place that has been home to an unmanageable list of talented musicians, writers and iconic sports figures, like Margaret Mitchell, Hank Aaron, 2 Chainz, Tyler Perry, that little-known February-holiday personality Dr. Martin Luther King, and me.

I was an Atlantan for exactly 23 months.

While it was too short of a time to feel like a resident, it was the perfect span to accumulate important* information I could later relate to the future visitors and residents.

Obviously, this isn’t a guide book, nor would I dare to veer in that lane. Frommer’s, Moon, Eyewitness Travel, Fodor’s, and the like, are serious resources made with herculean attention to detail. None of those books would ever dare attempt rhyme Preface with Babyface. Another thing you won’t find in those books are a glossary of local slang and unvarnished tips from real residents, which is why I included that in the back of this one. But, that’s over there at the end, let’s talk about what’s about to happen when you turn this page.

The essays herein are all my personal experiences. I arrived in Atlanta in a whirlwind or, more accurately, in a torrential downpour. It took me quite some time to get acclimated. I had to learn a new vocabulary. Even adjust my walking pace, because life moves considerably slower here, except on Sundays when you’re trying to beat out the church rush. I had to learn to bite my tongue whenever traffic was brought up in conversation. It was easier to agree with the claim that Atlanta had the worst traffic of all major cities than to ever have to utter the numbers 405 again, but I digress. I was also pleasantly surprised by how progressive the city was. It was diverse. It was aggressively gay-friendly. It was sophisticated. A far cry from Gone with the Wind. No one was out here with a hoop skirt, unless they were dressed for Dragon Con.

Make no mistake, behind my acerbic humor and deprecating takes of city life, I have a deep love for Atlanta and when I return for a visit, she (and Babyface, too) always welcomes me with open arms. If and when your midnight train arrives here, I hope you too will be charmed by the skyline or the tree line or the Beltline…whether it’s home or not home.  

*You thought I forgot about the asterisk? I did. But when I rehired my former editor, they reminded me about it. My use of the word ‘important’ here if very subjective. Like the asterisk itself. Also, this book is not about Babyface. I don’t personally know Mr. Edmonds, but I’d readily be willing to change that if he wants to grab a drink at Bacchanalia.