Three more hours to go, and I’ll hear the bus rush down the street, signaling that my time is up. The giggly girls will tumble up the brick stairs, backpacks askew, twists flying, serving up juicy kisses and demanding sweet treats — Golden Oreos, strawberries, and peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches (folded, not cut, in half). That’s what they’ll want — that, and my undivided attention. There will be no more time for my other babies’ the characters in my books.
The clock ticks.
I am struggling.
Full of doubt.
And wondering, yet again, why I don’t just give this writing thing up and get a real job somewhere — like Starbucks or the Georgia State Road and Tollway Authority. I could make lattes or collect dollars, and stop thinking about words already.
And why not?
I’ve got 12 books with my name on them, including my latest, Hotlanta, the first in a three-book series I’ve written with my co-author, Mitzi Miller, and three more books on the way. I’ve also written for an eclectic mix of magazines — from Essence to Parenting to Money to Men’s Fitness — during a writing career that’s spanned more than two decades. Yet today, I’m feeling like my job as an African-American author is one of the most thankless, underappreciated, low-paying jobs on the planet.
What’s got me in a tizzy? A prominent book editor’s quote in a recent newspaper article, saying that black authors who’ve had a successful book or two don’t have the right to expect long careers as writers.
My first response — Anger.
My second: What gives her the right?
My third: Resignation. Maybe I should just go on down to Starbucks. Because clearly, there’s just no respect for what we African-American writers do. We’re being left behind, hung out to dry — devalued. By publishers with editors who feel comfortable saying publicly that black writers should find another way to pay the bills, no matter their passion or past successes.
And magazines and newspapers that pay attention to white writing only, if at all?
And black readers who’ve stopped supporting work that tries to say something meaningful?
And black bookstores that are forced to stay afloat by filling their shelves with black pathology?
And by black grown folks who have retreated from the book-buying scene, only to leave behind snot-nosed teenagers clutching their (mamas’) $10 bill, looking for the next quick porn — er, urban fiction fix for their exploding libidos.
It is in this vacuum that a first time white author can serve up fantastic tales about how she buried her tears in Big Ma’s bosom after her gun-toting/drug-dealing/preteen foster sibs got got, and collect a six-figure advance and multiple big-ups in our nation’s most prestigious newspapers and mags. And publishers can feel really comfortable giving the side-eye to authors who aren’t willing to Relentless Aaron their way to the top (re: sell their books on prison buses and street corners to up their sales numbers) or refuse to toss in another explicit sex scene, or question why the woman on the cover got to be half-naked even though the book has nothing to do with half-naked women..
It is, indeed, in this vacuum, that we black authors can be asked to become some low-expectation-having mofos. Because low-expectation-having author mofos don’t expect their book deals to cover the Yale tuition. And we can be happy for both that primo real estate on the ‘black interest’ table in our local bookstore (during Black History month, of course) and the obligatory shout-out in the reviews section on Amazon (even if the one-liner likely was written by either you or your cousin, Tay-Tay, who didn’t actually read the book, but figured she was doing her part). If you remind him you got a book coming out, your Dad might even call and congratulate you.
If he’s anything like my Dad, his instincts might cause him to blurt out Robert Townsend’s popular Hollywood Shuffle refrain: “You know they got jobs down there at the post office.”
“Why don’t you apply?” my Dad says, reasoning, “you just sitting in the house doing nothing anyway…”
What my Dad and most people who do something other than write for a living don’t realize is that, like many of my fellow writers, I spend most moments thinking about and rationalizing and editing and contemplating and conjuring words. Coddling and nurturing and growing up my ‘babies’ in the hope that what they have to say will mean something to somebody. I especially want my words to speak to my people. My Hotlanta character Lauren, for instance, is complicated and simple, beautiful, but prone to acting ugly, sharp-tongued and ambitious, but immature and incredibly naïve. She is true — her voice important because she reps a whole host of African American teens who live similarly, but are rendered invisible behind the saggy pants-wearing/underachieving/reckless/menacing/living-in-squalid-broken-homes/I’m so hood stereotypes we’re all-too-often fed when we’re talking about black teenagers.
I know they’re better than this. I’d argue that a lot more of us do, too. And this is why I tend to make my ‘babies’ do what they do. Their voices — my words — are purposeful. Even if they don’t really cover the tuition.
It is this that I try to remember as the time slips by, and another of my books is released into the universe, and my Dad and cousin Tay-Tay remind me to send them their (free) copies, and I bristle at yet another white author getting yet another review/profile/sloppy, wet kiss in a well-read publication or popular TV show, while yet another black author sees her advance dwindle, or his book proposal rejected, or their hard, thoughtful work ignored.
Post office/Starbucks/Toll collector gigs aside, I’m trying hard to stay focused. No, I can’t meet you for coffee. Or return your phone calls. Or read your resume and ‘shine up’ your cover letter.
I’m a black writer.
And I’ve got three hours before the giggly girls tumble up the stairs, looking for their snacks. And somewhere during that time, Lauren has got’ to’ say’ something’ meaningful. Because I’m no low-expectation having author mofo. And I’ve got the audacity to hope that somewhere, somehow, my words — my babies — will speak to someone, just like they talk back to me.
Comment(s)
- § Rosemarie Robotham said on : 04/02/08 @ 20:43
Beautifully said, Denene! I have seldom seen this hidden struggle so clearly, passionately explained. And thanks, Eisa, bringing this to a wider audience. I’m sending wind to your sails, and getting the word out to anyone who will listen about both Hotlanta and Crystelle Mourning.
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- § eisa718® said on : 04/02/08 @ 21:14
Thanks for your support, Sister Rosie! I love our community of Black women writers.
Joy!
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- § kendra said on : 04/02/08 @ 21:53
how i wish THIS black writer had “babies” that flowed as well…
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- § asha bandele said on : 04/02/08 @ 22:23
Thank you Sis for having the courage to stand up for our words, for our right to witness our lives. So many of us can learn from your example.
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- § DeBerryandGrant said on : 04/03/08 @ 08:09
We echo your outrage, your disappointment and of course, your fleeting bouts of temptation by thoughts–however fleeting– of a “real job.” But most of all we echo your resolve to keep writing, to keep telling our stories. For if we don’t, we fear the Thug/Ho archetype will prevail, self-degredation will continue to reign and THEY will win. We did a blog called Writing White, which was on pretty much the same topic, last September.
Our marginalization is real, not perceived and certainly not paranoia. When we were on book tour this past winter, we actually spoke, out loud, about how dangerous and damaging our current literary climate is–hoping to encourage readers and booksellers to do their part–we even tried with a few interviews, but surprise, surprise–mostly that part got left out…
Comment(s)
- § Denene Millner said on : 04/03/08 @ 08:38
You know, I really struggled with whether of not I should write this piece. I came to Eisa’s site this morning, fully expecting that there would be a bunch of comments full of vitriol–about my feelings on this issue, about my husband, Nick Chiles, who, too, has spoken out quite eloquently on this subject, about our writing life together. Indeed, because we’ve dared to speak up and say this isn’t right, folks–OUR folks–have said everything from we’re just “complaining” because we can’t sell books to we’re lazy and not willing to hustle to we’re just mad because we’re sexually frustrated. I’d be tempted to laugh if it wasn’t so sad. But this morning, I’m grinning because I woke up to these wonderful words of support from writers and intellectuals I respect, love, and admire. Thank you, thank you, thank you for having my back. You know I got yours. D.
Comment(s)
- § Linda V said on : 04/03/08 @ 11:47
Denene, you said it all here–and with equal amounts of passion and eloquence. Thank you so much. Reading your piece made my day….week. And thank you Eisa for getting it out there.
Comment(s)
- § eisa718® said on : 04/03/08 @ 11:56
So great to hear your voice, Linda. And thank YOU for all you do.
Joy!
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- § Debra said on : 01/14/09 @ 20:34
I’ve started a discussion on my blog you may find interesting (I hope)!!! Please check out my blog about Rearrange A Bookstore Day, this can be huge for us all.
Please check out my blog and I want your feedback, and your bloggers too!www.simplysaidreadingaccessories.blogspot.com
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Comment(s)
- § pittershawn said on : 02/19/09 @ 19:40
A tear came to my eye after reading this. Only truth and the emotions it conjurs can do this. This is real, sis. Real. For us writers…real…
Comment(s)
- § Betty Tucker said on : 10/19/09 @ 18:12
I think you are an awesome writer. Your passion will prevail.
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- § Black Woman Blogging said on : 10/29/09 @ 17:22
Denene,
It’s you and writers like you that keep us little-known and unpublished black writers writing. To paraphrase Anna Julia Cooper, when and where you enter, you take us black writers with you. Keep your head up and the words flowing.
Maybe we all need a t-shirt that reads, “I AM a black writer” with photos of inspiring writers such as yourself.
Comment(s)
- § Tammie Holland said on : 04/19/10 @ 16:35
Hi Denene and other ladies,
My name is Tammie Holland and I have a non for profit called “The Unpublished Author”.It is a charity that donate books to poor unstocked libraries around the country. Most of these libraries are in poor, black communities. I ask auothors to donate a copy of their unpublished work to these libraries for the children to enjoy. In return, the author get their message out to there for writers to enjoy, and it gives you a chance to give back to a worthy cause. I have several children’s and young adult books that I can’t get published. I also am a “Black Writer”…who just want to get my message of inspiration out . If any of you ladies are interested please email me to let me know. You will receive full recognition from “The Unpublished Author” and an author profile including picture acknowledging your donation in the library that your work is placed. Hope to hear from you all soon
Comment(s)
- § Thomas Lee Publishing said on : 10/20/10 @ 12:51
Ms. Millner,
I stumbled onto your blog while visiting another Black author’s (Carleen Brice) website. Your words and your passion regarding the struggles of writers in general, and Black writers in particular, really hit the mark.
I write, illustrate and publish childrens and YA adventure books. This has been my unanticipated, new career since being laid off from my management position in the advertising and film post production industries. I have authored and published three books in the last year and I spend countless hours trying to figure out ways to market my books in such a way as to “fool the general public” into giving them a try. Just this week, I have pondered whether I should remove my photograph from my various websites and replace it with an avatar-one that doesn’t reveal my race.
My books are mostly available via on-line retailers (Amazon.com, B&N.com, Smashwords.com, etc…) I work hard at creating books and illustrations that will appeal to all children (no matter the race.)
I belong to one of the online authors’ communities and marvel at how easy it is for some of the non-Black writers to sell their books. I ask myself if being a Black writer is a deterrent-even though I have yet to write my first book for and about Black children. I wonder if in this economic environment there is a not-so-subtle move for some folks to “take care of our own.” And if that is the case, who will take care of the Black writer’I have decided to focus on marketing efforts and nothing else for the coming months. This will include mailing marketing materials to local schools, churches and libraries; seeking reviews and interviews from print, radio and internet venues. I will set up appointments and visit some of these institutions face-to-face. I am excellent at reading body language. Surely, I will get an answer to some of my questions while meeting with these folks.
Thank you for sharing your insight and experiences and for your encouraging words!