Why I write?

 I am sitting in the library and simply feel transformed. I should have been writing here, but instead I struggled to find words and space in all the wrong places. Two years ago I was blessed to be nominated from my peers, nationally to be a Hermitage Art Fellow. This opportunity gave me time. Time to be quiet. Time to embrace my creativity. Time to simply write. It gave me confirmation and affirmation. As an artist, we are often told that we should focus on one thing, one talent, one skill. I am a testament to how much BS and fear is attached to that advice. When I look back on who gave me that advice, I realize that it was given because of their own fear to explore who they fully were. And had nothing to do with me. 

The library is where I learned about books and reading and simply being. I remember visiting the main library in downtown Chicago with my mother and grandfather. I saw old movies. I listened to all kinds of music in the listening room. And I curled up and read every book I could. I also learned how to travel on public transportation, alone, to get to the library. This is saying something because my home was filled with books. My grandfather built a shelf, shelves, that are still in my mother’s house. So that there would always be a place for all of our books. It is why reading used to be illegal for Black folks. Mostly because many in power were barely literate, but they were fully aware of the power that came with words and understanding how to wield them. Reading and writing are my happy places. It is also a sacred practice that must be passed down, or else.

I have birthed a script and it feels amazing! I have created a world where Black people are not the center but they are also the reason for the story. The language comes from a real place. It comes from my summers spent in Memphis with my family. Summers on front porches drinking fresh lemonade and sweet tea. Summers surrounded by love. And I am exhausted of not seeing enough roles for women of a certain age. So here I am. Writing. Hoping. Dreaming. 

Thank you Levita (mom), Grandpa, Grandma, Dr. Davenport, Marvin, and my ancestors who I never met but meet me in my dreams. Thank you for giving me the power, strength, and courage to write. To create. To be brave. To never be limited. To be the center of my joy. To be the captain of my journey.

The Day After the many other Days After

 “What are the stories one tells in dark times” Saidiyah Hartman

Yesterday the US bombed Iran based on nothing more than lies and conjecture. The same lies and conjecture that keep people blind to the truth of Israel and Palestine. So this will not be a history lesson because my hope is that you will run to read and research the truth that has been a reality since the end of WWII. This is about what happens when something is completely destroyed. What’s next?

In apocalyptic stories, the survivors are always left to rebuild, but since these stories are often written by humans, very few of them imagine a completely original way of being. In fact, only a few writers or projects come to mind, Octavia Butler, Tananarive Due, NK Jemison, Twilight Zone, and Sinners. America is very close to deciding who she wants to be and who she could be. And it must be imagined devoid of nostalgia. Because nostalgia is false and filled with memories of what never was or what only worked for certain people. 

So what could be next when everything is destroyed? What will survive? What should survive? 

The foundation of America has been slowly rotting away. This is to be expected when its creation story is mired in violence, murder, broken promises, and hatred. On the other hand, there is also love, hope, resilience, revolt, and joy. We are told that the light has more power than the dark. But sometimes, the dark is necessary in order for the light to actually exist and breathe. The dark and destruction comes because it needs to clean the slate. It needs to come so that those who have undeserved power are forced to let go. Let go and be forced to stand in the mirror and face their truth, lies, and BS. 

What is possible once the darkness subsides and we are simply left with ourselves?

We can imagine what has never been possible.

Schools that center joy and light. No child or family existing without a clean and thriving home, food to eat, and no longer going without. Art available and accessible to all. Travel between states and countries so that we can all begin to build bridges and communities together. No capitalism, simply trading and bartering with each other. No bars or alarms because no one needs to take in order to have. No police and no prisons because communities develop strategies to restore and heal. Books are no longer contraband because reading is no longer a luxury but an everyday practice for all people. Creative spaces are open and accessible. And on and on…

This is the time to dream, prepare, hope. This is also the time to fear, dread, avoid. 

Your choice. Because things are being chosen for us every day and every hour. We are in the thick of it. We can choose to simply imagine for things to return to “normal.” A normal that included children and families being murdered overseas and right here at home. A normal that includes oversized classrooms, teachers being physically attacked, students not feeling safe or love, hospitals being overwhelmed, mental health services closing, poverty and simply a half life for many and a stolen life for few. 

I choose what I never believed to be possible. I choose to believe the truth. I choose to stay vigilant but not exhausted.

What story will you choose to tell during the dark times?