About Me...

I became a serious writer when I I sold a love letter to one of my best friends. This best friend happened to be a boy. He was what most people would call a tough, mean or bad kid. He had spent some time in a juvenile facility.  We were both in 7th grade. I was about 12.  He was a few years older than me.  He had lots of fights, and he had skipped school a lot. He was held back about three times.  We became good fast friends after he called me out for a fist fight in 6th grade. He saw me as a skinny girl, who sang in the school choir. He had been away so much, he had no idea that I had been sparring with my older brother, for years. He quickly called a halt to our boxing event.  This friend wanted to impress a nice girl. He asked me for help in writing a love letter to her. The letter was a hit. After school, he gave me two dollars and spread the word around school that buying a love letter from me could impress girls. Needless to say, I became very popular.  The rest is history.

I am a graduate of Temple University with a BS in Early Childhood Education. I took a couple of writing courses and a couple of theater classes at Temple. I have taken Graduate education and leadership courses at Cheyney University and other universities.  I taught Science, served as a Science Leader and taught self-contained classes in Elementary School for more than 34 years. I wrote plays for Black History programs and later for my students.

Students, parents, colleagues and the community enjoyed my plays so much, I decided to try my hand as a playwright.  I am the author of "A Small Candlelight Between The Darkness," 2005. My pen name is Betty Jean Nobles. A few years later, I I wrote, directed and starred in my own play, "Don't Play Yourself.' It was picked up by a local producer at the time.  The play was performed at the Theater of the Arts at Broad and South Streets. I received a standing ovation.  I wrote for other pay wrights for a time. I wrote a second edition of the previous book, but a smaller version, entitled, "A Small Candlelight," 2012.  I wrote, directed, produced and starred in  short play about the book. It was entitled, "Not My Son?"

I received numerous requests to do my first play again. I rewrote it, produced it and was a supporting character.  It was entitled "RELOADED: Don't Play Yourself. 

My father told me that I was born to teach. I absolutely believe I was groomed to be a writer. I guess if we think about it, a teacher and a writer are very similar. As a good teacher, I need to know how to impress and motivate my students. As a good writer, I also need to maintain the attention of my readers, captivate into taking an emotional, sensual, fact-finding, sometimes hilarious journey with me.

I was born in the small town of Augusta Georgia during the time of full-blown segregation and "Jim Crow."  If we were poor, I couldn't tell.  We were the only family in the neighborhood with a television set.  Except for the TV, most of us Black folks seemed to live similar lives in our Black neighborhood. I cannot remember when I was not captivated by a good storyteller. One of the best things about being born into a large family is that there's always an exciting and amusing storyteller or two. Lucky me, I had six older brothers, two older sisters and one younger sister. 

My father was the king of adventure stories. He only allowed us to watch TV for two hours. He said it was bad for our eyes. He told exciting adventure stories about our ancient ancestors. One night he might tell us an exciting adventure about a wise Black Pharoah with a large army, magnificent chariots and his beautiful queen and their strong, honorable princes. He told us about the beautiful Black Queen of Sheba, Nefertari and others. He told stories about the wisdom and treachery of some High Priests, the genius and trickery of some Mathematicians, Scientists and Healers. Later during the week, he might tell us stories about our Seminole Ancestors and colonial Americans. The Chiefs were usually wise, and the warriors were usually brave and careful. Once in a while, my father would tell a story about a lazy warrior or a jealous one.

One of my brothers was responsible for picking me up from school.  Although he was known for preaching and singing, he told the best scarry stories about witches with ugly black cats, and creepy ghost stories, I have ever heard.  As we sat on the kitchen floor in a half circle, I would be too scared to move.  My father listened attentively, looking scared, as my brother spoke about tossing a silver coin on to a grave, so that the ghost would climb out of the grave to do the bidding of whoever tossed the coin. My brother loved to describe the way the ghost looked after being in the ground for a few years, or hundreds of years. The stories they told were uniquely different, but funny, quite colorful and intriguing. I could see pictures in my head of whatever they said. When I was a young child, I often dreamed about their stories. And as crazy as it sounds, I never had nightmares.

My youngest brother was a different kind of storyteller. He always told funny stories whenever my mother would send him to the store, or other places within one or two blocks behind our house.  He told stories about people as we walked right past them. I think he decided that since he had to take four younger siblings with him everywhere, he decided to entertain us. Sometimes, he had us acting out his stories as we ran through other people's backyards. We would jump with both feet on other people's cabbages just like he told us to do.  He would grab a chicken or two, then stick one under each of his arms.  We would laugh all the way home.