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By Tiwanda ‘Ne Ne’ Lovelace
Published by Tiwanda Lovelace
Copyright © 2013 by Tiwanda Gail Lovelace
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages.
ISBN 9780989622592 - eBook Edition, Released February 4, 2018
Library of Congress 1-883369881 January 29, 2013 & 1-960108361 July 6, 2013 Literary Work
1. Curse of the Dragon Lady Volume One: The Perfect Victim - Autobiography of Tiwanda 'Ne Ne' Lovelace
2. Music Business: It’s a Dirty Game! Autobiography of Tiwanda Gail ‘Ne Ne’ Lovelace
Library of Congress Copyright Registration Numbers for Lyrics and Melodies / Date / Title:
3. PAu001607112 / 1991-07-22“Forever.” Lovelace, Tiwanda, 1967-
4. PAu001529149 / 1991-07-22 “It’s sinful.”
5. PAu001529148 / 1991-07-22 “Once again.”
6. PAu001720136 / 1993-01-07 “Collection I-Tiwanda.” Lovelace, Tiwanda, 1967-
7. PAu001721382 / 1993-03-04“Collection II-Tiwanda.” Lovelace, Ne Ne
8. PAu002025249 / 1995-04-14 “Collection I-Better Safe than Sorry.” Seven West Productions
9. PA0000789883 / 1996-01-16 “What can I say to you (to justify my love)?” Hi-Five’s Greatest Hits." Jive 01241-41544-2, c1994. Compact disc: Hi-Five greatest hits. Jive 01241-41544-2, c1994-Compact disc.
Published in the United States by Seven West Productions, Las Vegas, Nevada 2013
Created and Written by Tiwanda Gail Lovelace 2012
Edited by Tiwanda Gail Lovelace
Edited in part by Dana Lovelace
Family Historian and Edited in part by Darryl Robertson
Music Business: It’s a Dirty Game!
Autobiography of Tiwanda Gail ‘Ne Ne’ Lovelace
This book is not a 'puff' piece about the glitz and glamour of the business! This book shows step by step, the tactics used to steal musical works, the intimidation methods used to coerce, and how major music representatives attempt to outright steal the lives of struggling artist.
These titles are presented through this artist/writer’s eyes while experiencing multiple
tragedies and events. Emotionally charged, this title clearly expresses the pain and anger
of being betrayed, sacrificed and scorned. Inside, are the actual documentation and files
used to demonstrate some of the tactics used to steal artist lives, deny rights and enslave
the artist. This title is compiled using personal journals, public records, contracts,
copyrights and other documentation which demonstrates how it is allowed to continue.
Learn about how every resource and outlet is used in an effort to initiate hardship on
those who insist on exercising their rights while discouraging their desire to seek
resolution as if to say, 'Let it go!' 'We do this to everyone so there is no hope...'
Learn the entire process which demonstrates egregious intent to influence a sense of
hopelessness. When the smell of violence was fresh and 'street justice' was being used
inflict further damage, the initial response from professionals (both, legal and official)
was, "(We) can't help you..."
This book is the autobiography of Tiwanda Gail Lovelace. This is compilations of events in my life, which include some accomplishments, trials and tribulations that have made me who I am today– A True Survivor.
This book will address the many struggles faced as an Outcast, a Black Woman, a Wife, Mother, and as a Writer/Lyricist.
‘This is my journey – uncensored and in my own words.’
‘Truth will prevail’ and ‘what is done in the dark, will always come to the light!’
This book is dedicated to my grandchildren.
Chapter 1: Curse of the Dragon Lady
Chapter 2: Childhood
Chapter 3: My Family and Faith
Chapter 4: The Journey to Me
Chapter 5: Love and Marriage
Chapter 6: The Fugitive Years
Chapter 7: In the Beginning – Music
Chapter 8: Journals
Chapter 9: The Games Began
Chapter 10: Emotions
Chapter 11: The Dangling Carrot
Chapter 12: Coping methods
Chapter 13: Forgive, Never Forget
Chapter 14: Betrayal
Chapter 15: Tragedy at Home
Summary of Events
Other Products By Author
A mythical monster generally represented as a huge, winged reptile with crested head and enormous claws and teeth, and often spouting fire.
1175–1225; Middle English< Old French < Latin dracōn-(stem of Draco) < Greek drákōn kind of serpent, probably orig. epithet, the (sharp-) sighted one, akin to dérkesthai to look.
Dragons are commonly known or associated with being an evil fire breathing creature used for harming. Some have been depicted as pleasant cartoons like in ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ or as the hero dragon that picked a boy to help save mankind in the movies. Some are thought to live in dark hot caves; usually alone.
I, personally, have always been intrigued by the Dragons, solely due to their ability to take flight and to breathe fire. I have always compared ‘words’ to ‘fire’ due to its power. For many centuries, words have been used to change lives. I know you have heard of the phrase ‘words moving mountains’, well this has been proven true in our history and even today. Words have inspired and/or destroyed nations. There is also reference to words being likened to a sword; acknowledging its strength. Our words can uplift our spirits or they can ‘cut like a knife’. However, words spoken in anger are the ones that torch the very soul like that flame from the mouth of the dragon.
For some, words are all they have to express themselves. For human beings, it is fear, pain, love, and anger that move us. By using our words we yield such great power. We all have the power to affect others but with that being said we must ask ourselves do we use our words for good or for evil. Most don’t care about their fellow man and how do we even expect them too with everyone so self-absorbed with their own pain and anguish.
From my personal experience, I have watched words of love move people to do great things and make many sacrifices for their loved ones.
I have also heard stories of how fear has made the difference between life and death. I know you have all heard about the stories where an individual has displayed inhuman physical strength when faced with life threatening events. Out of all of our emotions, I consider the most motivating force or emotion to be Anger. Yes, it has destroyed countless lives due to quick decisions that were made out of anger. As individuals, we have different views and on occasions, we may not respond in the same manner but we will at one time or another find ourselves lost in our emotions.
There are some instances where you have must an outlet or a way to ease the pain and anguish. Some methods may work for some, while others try to find peace in other ways. I have heard of instances where someone would write down their concerns and bury their thoughts - literally. Some prefer to write down their feelings and then set it afire to rid themselves of their feelings of despair.
I have used each of these methods as a way to cope at one time or another. However; due to the never ending rage that seemed to consume me, this was not providing me with any lasting comfort or release.
My anger turned to rage with each incident; growing deep within my spirit to my very soul. I don’t have to tell you that this kind of rage is damaging because it eats at you until any and all the good is sucked from your body, mind and spirit. Yes, I considered myself to be a strong person but even this became too much to bear.
I would have never believed that this world was truly this wicked. As I started to change into whatever this is that I have become, I noticed that my reference to fire is the only thing that was even close to describing what I felt bubbling up inside.
It may sound silly to most but I would mentally visualize pushing that fire from deep within my gut and out toward my limbs. I guess this was my form of meditation or source of relief for my anguish. As this fire would, figuratively, channel through my body, I would pretend to shape this fire into balls and amuse myself as it landed any and everywhere. During this time, it appeared to me that the life that I was living was full of immovable obstacles. I could easily be compared to a fire breathing dragon lady and I was on fire.
As an adult, I have never been timid but I could easily be described as aggressive, insensitive and angry. This was the result of compilations of life events. I can’t tell you when it all began but I can tell you that this has been going on long before I arrived.
Although I have been called many names, such as; Wa Wa, Mama, Auntie, Grandma and Ty, my given name is Tiwanda Gail Lovelace. My friends and family call me Ne Ne.
I am one of the many unknown artist that are out there that have been used by the ‘system,’ the industry only to be discarded.
I would like to provide a little background information about me that has led to my decision to write this book about my personal experience with the music industry.
As a child I was able to survive heinous acts forced upon me as a very young girl. In some cases, most small children are born with the ability to forget most tragedies. Unfortunately in my case, I can remember being at the babysitters house. Each night, I was pulled from a bed piled up with other children of all ages to be fondled and touched. What truly made my horrific abuse more tragic was when I realized that what was done in the dark wasn't a secret at all. Oh, how the boys teased and taunted, forcing me to relive the events.
As a child, how was I supposed to know whether this was normal? I am not talking teenage years or pre-teen. I was somewhere between 3-5 years old. I don’t know why it took decades before I could speak to my mother about it. Like other abused children, I am certain that I acted out but who knows. I think I was probably feeling as if it was the norm or maybe somehow I was bad. I know I blocked it for many years.
Every one deals with abuse differently. It’s hard to explain but I believe that I developed the ability to genuinely care about others but I can also shut off my emotions when I find that it is necessary. Some choose self-defeating methods due to low self-esteem or feelings of worthlessness. No value is placed on them as human beings so they respond using one of those emotions mentioned above. Some may pretend or seemingly appear as if they survived the abuse unscathed; meanwhile they’re quietly dying inside.
As I look back, I don’t really have any bright stories about being a very young child. I am sure there was some good but I only remember the bad. Maybe I had already turned inside myself and into my own world to avoid the emotional pain.
This chapter is intentionally shortened because that is how quickly I would like to forget...
My grandmother, Leona Mae Williams, was born and raised in Franklin, Kentucky on the Tennessee border. She was the youngest of twelve children and the first to attend what is now called - Tennessee State University. In her second year she met and fell in love with John Thomas Robertson of Promise Land, Tennessee. She dropped out of school to be with him.
Leona Mae Robertson moved to Detroit after marrying John. The young couple, like many others left the south and moved to Detroit after WWII with hopes of a better life. John had asked my grandmother’s parent for her school money to help provide for her but they refused.
Shortly after, he left my grandmother and their two children – Mary Catherine and John Jr.
My grandmother found herself alone in a strange big city with two young children. The only family she had was her in-laws. My grandmother was able to secure employment at a restaurant and delicatessen called ‘Esquire’. This premier restaurant was also known as a 24 hour late night spot for entertainers; such as, Redd Foxx, Sam Cook, Smokey Robinson and the young Aretha Franklin along with her father – C. L. Franklin.
Leona was able to find a place of her own instead of living from house to house with strangers. She ended up moving into the Jeffries housing projects. The Jeffries projects was the sister property of The Brewster projects which was recognized as being the home of the infamous Diana Ross. Much later in my life, my mother would say that she disliked Diana Ross so I can only assume that she may have been familiar with her from the neighborhood. I always loved Diana Ross; especially, after seeing her in "Lady Sings the Blues" and "Mahogany".
My mother, Mary, is currently one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Prior to finding her faith, my mother grew up in the Jeffries housing projects; which was in the downtown area of Detroit, Michigan. This housing project is where my grandmother raised my mother and her brother, as a single parent. Some years after living in the projects, my mother met my older brother Darryl’s father, Lennell Cason. Everyone called him ‘Casey’ and he was a known ‘stick up’ man who would rob the dope houses, leaving his name as a calling card. This was a bold move that led him to being shot thirty-seven times and left for dead leaving Darryl at eight years old without a father.
In the 1960's, Detroit was making great things happen with Motown and all the hit-makers of that time were getting that city on the map. Although my mother doesn’t go into detail about her past, it became clear to me that her childhood was a very rough one. One thing that I see hasn’t changed throughout the years is that there are a lot of talented people that come from the poorer neighborhood or what is referred to as the ‘hood’ or ‘ghetto.’
My mother was and is a very good writer who, at eighteen years of age, she was given an opportunity to have a career in writing. It didn’t matter to them that she had gotten pregnant but my grandmother wouldn’t allow it. So they respected my grandmother’s wishes and advised that they would wait.
When they returned to make her another offer they were met by my grandmother who answered the door and exclaimed, “She’s pregnant again”...then my grandmother slammed the door right in their faces. Of course, I was the child who was responsible for ruining her chance to get out of the projects. Eventually, she was able to get out of the project.
My mother kept me in the dark about her past. In my younger days, I recall her speaking to a man that she had feelings for but I believe due to religious differences it didn’t work out. I can recall his African attire but I wasn’t privy to specifics since I was a child in a child’s place. I was able to ascertain that his religion allowed more than one wife and my mother would not be party to that kind of arrangement. I remember her crying after their conversation and I recall her having a grudge.
Her experiences and views influenced me in my younger years and maybe that’s why I probably never gave Muslims a chance. I have always associated them with negativity with regards to what I perceived was their views on women but I wouldn’t know. This may seem unjust probably because I honestly am not familiar with their teachings.
Although my actions while young didn’t always reflect the wholesome behavior that my grandmother and mother had instilled, I still managed to always fight to maintain my self-esteem in a world that would make every effort to take it from me at every turn.
It is sad that my relationship with my mother had to end the way that it did but you will see why it was necessary as you continue this journey with me. It was important to let go.
I am able to recognize that when you are young and living in a housing project, you will be subjected to a certain degree of turmoil even as a child. When your single mother works ten to twelve hours a day, I can only imagine what my mother may have experienced considering the influence of others, mixed with a little peer pressure and a dash of puberty. Let’s just say that it is evident that trouble found her too.
Reflecting back on my younger years of being physically and emotionally abused, I had wondered if she was my real mother or if I was a foster child. It is possible that she could have just been treating me according to how she felt about my father. I questioned her motives because unlike most young mothers, she didn’t name me. I was told that an aunt on my grandfather’s side of the family was given that duty. I find it strange that a young woman can carry a child for nine months then give the right to name that child to someone else.
Imagine my despair when hearing this as a teenager. It was hard finding out that not only did my supposed mother not name me but that the definition of my Swahili name - Tiwanda (at that time) meant ‘Cursed One’ and ‘Cursed to wander.’ I cannot help but wonder why it would be necessary to curse a child at birth. I guess that’s just one of many unanswered questions.
During the years prior to the riots, young black men and women were unable to secure jobs so many may have made choices that were frowned upon. I don't have to describe what it was like in Detroit during the 1960's but something happened to my parents in this tumultuous time.
I say this because I personally witnessed her pain. Being in constant pain can make you mean and sometimes uncaring after time.
It seems strange but it feels like she had a similar life. She was a writer from a poor background with association to men from the neighborhood. Her dreams were shattered and probably by the hands of someone she once believed cared for her.
Considering some similarities to what she and I have always been subjected to; it is very possible that people from her past came back in an attempt to use her to hinder my efforts at seeking justice. I can’t help but wonder who she may have been referring to when it was implied that she said, ‘your son messed up my relationship with my daughter?’
Her cooperation came shortly after my sister was raped and dropped off at the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Could this have been a message?
According to Michigan Department of Corrections; my father - Robert Heard, was convicted of murdering a Detroit Police Officer, Stanley Rapaski. I was told that my father was with someone else who was attempting to rob a local bar while Rapaski was there off duty on January10,1969. The officer and the bar owner was shot and killed in the process.
The police reported that the other alleged suspect in the murder accidentally, shot and killed himself while being apprehended. I don’t know how someone could have shot a gun multiple times in an attempt to murder and then accidently shoot himself. My father knew another police officer and turned himself in to him in order to avoid being killed or at least that was the story that I was given. While researching, I discovered that there are different versions regarding what happened on January 10, 1969.
The bar owner's name and the other alleged suspects name was not readily available online. How it is the police officer's name was released but the other men involved names were not? I have found out their names that were omitted and exactly who they were to possibly shed more light on what actually happened and who were affected. I have a right to know the information regarding all parties involved since this is a part of my family history. After continued research, I was able to establish that the bar owners name was Cass Czerwinski and that the other alleged suspect’s name was Paul Kincannon. I am still researching both individuals.
Since I have recently found out the name of the alleged suspect-Paul Kincannon, I can’t help but wonder whether or not it is possible that he may have been a black activist caught up in the storm that swept so many young black men away or was he just a victim of society that made poor choices.