By Felicia Pride I celebrated my thirty-ninth birthday in my first writers room. And it was one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had, and not just because my wonderful colleagues got me delicious mini pies. Let me back up. About four years ago, I was living in a basement…

It was the day before Thanksgiving. I was drinking wine and eating dates with my kick-ass mentor who curses as brilliantly as she breaks ceilings in the media world. And apparently, she’s also a whiz at sniffing through my bs. She saw that I was miserable and burned out running…

I used to be a writer. Ask Harry Belafonte. When I accosted him in Jamaica years ago and he asked me what I did for a living, I told him I was a writer. To which he applied, “that’s a noble profession.” There was a time when I had to…

I used to be a writer. Ask Harry Belafonte. When I accosted him in Jamaica years ago and he asked me what I did for a living, I told him I was a writer. To which he applied, “that’s a noble profession.” There was a time when I had to…

Moving to Los Angeles a year and a half ago was one of the best decisions I have ever made. And Lawd knows I have made some bad decisions. I’ve come to realize that one of the reasons why it was a good decision is that this place has given…

In college, my English professor saw something in my writing. So much so that she encouraged me to minor in it. I had chosen business as my major because of its practicality. Even a minor in writing sounded futile. My young self questioned the kinds of good jobs available to…