Zetta Elliott's Blog, page 48

crunching the numbers

People often say, “Numbers don’t lie,” but statistics can be misleading and are too easily used to uphold an illusion rather than to reveal the truth. I grew up with a mother who was obsessed with losing weight; my father shamed my mom about her body throughout their marriage, and she has spent a lifetime feeling uncomfortable/guilty/ashamed about food. My older sister has tried every diet in the book and she’s been a committed gym-goer for years. I didn’t want to live my life like that, and so I refused to buy a scale and I ate whatever I wanted. But twice now my weight has gone up to unhealthy levels and so I find that I have become a version of the women in my family. I’m still holding out on the gym but I weigh myself daily, and yesterday I learned that my BMI has gone down one point (it’s 25, which apparently still puts me in the “overweight” category; 24.9 would be “normal”). My doctor was pleased with my weight loss and I fasted for my blood test this time, so we’ll see if my “bad” cholesterol level has gone down. I haven’t given up cake and I just had oatmeal and kettle corn popcorn for breakfast, so I still have work to do to establish a healthy relationship with food. I don’t want to count calories and obsess over my weight (I’ve got an 85-day streak on My Fitness Pal), and yet I cringed when I saw the photos taken while I was on stage during the Blackademics TV taping last week. Being a writer appealed to me as a teen in large part because it was a way to be disembodied; I thought people would only hear my voice in the words printed on the page, and that meant I could remain safely invisible. It’s almost a miracle that I became an educator because as a teen, I was terrified of speaking in front of others. I wasn’t shy—I was afraid of being scrutinized because when my father took a good look at me, his face would screw up with disgust over my teenage acne. I still have acne and at 42 I’m as pudgy as I was at age 2, but that won’t keep me away from the mic. And I guess I have to accept that writers DO have an image, and looking fabulous is nice but not always possible—or necessary. I don’t have kids but whenever I get down on myself, I imagine that I have a daughter. Would I talk to her that way? Would I allow her to talk to herself that way? NO. Still aiming for body positivity…

The other numbers worth talking about are the 2014 stats released by the Cooperative Children’s Book Center yesterday. I was astonished to see that the number of books ABOUT Blacks nearly doubled since last year. What’s going on? Well, it’s not as encouraging as you might think. Check out this chart from the CCBC, which shows books BY and ABOUT and BY BUT NOT ABOUT:

In 2013, 68 books were BY Black creators (authors/illustrators) and 93 books were ABOUT Blacks. In 2014, the number of Black creators went up to 84 and the number of books about Blacks skyrocketed to 179. This is why we MUST talk about equity when discussing diverse books. The spike in books ABOUT Black people is probably due to the fact that whites are writing stories about us. So there’s no real significant redistribution of power. The CCBC reviewed 3500 books and if we add up all the creators of color, we get 288 or 8%. The number of books ABOUT people of color adds up to 393 or 11%. I’m not great with numbers but that means white creators make up 92% of those published and books about whites make up 89%. How do we figure out how many books are BY whites but not ABOUT whites? We will have more diverse books if members of the dominant group write about those of us who have been marginalized. But the POINT is to let those who have been marginalized tell their own stories in their own way. Which means we still have a LONG way to go…

talking back

The essay that was due last month is finally done! The finished version differs greatly from the essay I started back in December, but I think that’s ultimately a good thing. I finally had a chance to quote Cathy J. Cohen and Kyra, whose important essay, “How to Uphold White Supremacy by Focusing on Diversity and Inclusion,” should be required reading for everyone who claims to be invested in the diversity debate. I see a matinee in my near future and there will be puppets later this week. Then it will be time to turn back to novel-in-progress #1. For now, here’s a taste of my essay, which will appear in a forthcoming textbook on children’s literature.

I can’t breathe.

I am a Black feminist writer committed to social justice. I write stories about Black children and teens, but within the children’s literature community I struggle to find what poet June Jordan calls “living room.” In “Moving Towards Home,” Jordan empathizes with the Palestinian people as she envisions a space free from persecution:

I need to speak about living room

where the talk will take place in my language

I need to speak about living room

where my children will grow without horror

I need to speak about living room where the men

of my family between the ages of six and sixty-five

are not

marched into a roundup that leads to the grave

I need to talk about living room

where I can sit without grief without wailing aloud

for my loved ones

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I need to talk about living room

because I need to talk about home

I have been asked to write about the future of children’s literature but right now I need to talk about home. If “home” represents sanctuary—a safe space where one can speak in one’s authentic voice and not only survive, but thrive—then the children’s literature community is not my home. I must make my predictions as an outsider.

By industry standards, I am a failed author. Since I started writing for young readers in 2000, only three of my thirty stories have been published traditionally. I turned to self-publishing as my only recourse, and then faced the contempt of those who see self-publishing as a mere exercise in vanity. Last year a white woman Facebook “friend” suggested that my decision to self-publish was analogous to Blacks in the civil rights era choosing to dine in their segregated neighborhood instead of integrating Jim Crow lunch counters in the South. In her mind, self-publishing is a cowardly form of surrender; to be truly noble (and, therefore, deserving of publication) I ought to patiently insist upon my right to sit alongside white authors regardless of the hostility, rejection, and disdain I encounter.

teamwork

l-r: Denise Hart, Kevin M. Foster, me, Michael Scantlebury, Natalie M. Cofield, and Scot Brown

I’ve been wound up for weeks but my Blackademics TV taping is finally over, and now I have time to reflect on the experience. Often when I summarize events, I try to lead with what I like because I have a few complaints to share. But my first trip to Texas was just amazing—I think this is the first time I’ve worked with a team that was SO friendly, supportive, and efficient. I had a little trouble flying out because American Airlines canceled their direct flights from JFK; I found out by text on Monday morning, and was placed on an earlier flight leaving from LaGuardia but hadn’t yet packed or purchased a blazer to wear over my “jewel-tone” dress. But as soon as the plane landed in Austin, I was so well taken care of that I didn’t have to worry about a thing (besides my presentation). I was chauffeured from airport to hotel to the KLRU studio; when I woke up on Tuesday with a budding migraine, everyone on the Blackademics team was solicitous and made sure I had some downtime at the hotel before the taping began. My assigned performance coach, Denise Hart, didn’t chastise me for not scheduling a second consultation back in January. I only finished my presentation the night before my flight, but as I rehearsed on Tuesday I could “feel the love”—Denise was clapping and I could hear an “amen corner” of supporters in the back of the studio. One of the presenters brought his wife and she encouraged ALL of us—and turns out she’s from Toronto! The makeup artist expertly applied “HD foundation” and didn’t add anything else without my consent (I took her advice and went for a little blush but kept on my own lip gloss). I stumbled a few times during the recording and we had a little trouble with the remote for the slides, but I could tell that the audience was appreciating my presentation. And when it was over, I went backstage and got a big hug from Denise and plenty of praise from the rest of the team. I got to watch the rest of the presenters and they all engaged the audience in their own unique way. Then the taping came to an end and I felt someone tap me on the shoulder; I turned and a young woman of color thanked me for my presentation before saying, “You know, until I heard you tonight I never realized that I only had ONE Black book when I was a child. It was Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters and my sister and I wouldn’t let our parents give that book away, it meant so much to us. You really made me think about that—ONE book.” Another young woman told me she had tears in her eyes during my talk because she kept thinking about her nephews and the books they won’t get to read because they simply don’t exist. “They’ll exist if you write them and publish them yourself!” I told her. I’m becoming quite the evangelist when it comes to self-publishing! It does feel like a mission at times.

I had hoped to enjoy some Mexican food while I was in Austin, but instead we went back to the Africana Studies Department after the show ended and enjoyed some Texas-style “cowboy beans.” I did wake at 6am the next day with a migraine, but it was relatively mild and I was feeling fine by the time Tiffany picked us up from the hotel and drove us to the airport. We talked politics and police brutality before parting ways with hugs and promises to keep in touch. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to participate in this fantastic program; Dr. Kevin M. Foster developed the show to connect scholars with the community, and he permitted me to present even though I’m technically not an academic. It’s nice to know there’s a place for an independent scholars/artist/intellectual/activist like me! I’m not sure when the show will actually air, but I’ll be sure to let you know. I’m looking forward to having next week off—no school visits, which means plenty of time to write…

make it plain

I’ve got three days left to develop a ten-minute talk for the folks in Austin. It shouldn’t be so hard but I find myself wanting to include quotes from other scholars, and photos from my childhood, yet I haven’t actually described my own books, and how on earth am I going to remember everything? I scoffed at those who asked about using a teleprompter but now I’m wondering if I should, too. I’m used to letting my slides guide me when I present in schools, but this is different. This is a live taping in front of an audience of strangers, and I’m expected to turn my own scholarship into something that matters to “everyday people.” I timed myself earlier today and my two-page script only took me 5 minutes to read. It could be a long weekend…

I plan to talk about Weeksville in my presentation, and will find a way to announce that I will be the inaugural writer-in-residence at the Weeksville Heritage Center this spring! We haven’t ironed out all the details but this truly is a dream come true. I used to haunt Weeksville, sending endless copies of my books in the hope that someone would say, “We could use a writer like her around here!” But no one ever did until last fall when I met the new executive director, Tia Powell Harris, who wants to make literacy a priority at the center—as it was when Weeksville was founded in the 1800s. I’ll be teaching writing workshops for kids and adults, hosting a literary salon (in period costume, I hope!), and WRITING. I will finally finish the sequel to A Wish After Midnight and I’ll develop a picture book about Weeksville to engage the many children who visit the center. Basically I’ll be doing whatever I can to bring people to this historic Brooklyn community.

Ok, back to my BlackademicsTV talk. Still haven’t figured out what to wear, of course…

See you in Philly!

I have a few days this week to prepare my BlackademicsTV talk on race and symbolic annihilation in children’s literature. Then it’s off to Philadelphia on Saturday for the annual . If you’re in the area, please stop by and meet the many award-winning authors who are participating in this event. February also means it’s time for the National African American Read-In, so grab a book and read! And check out Dr. Ebony Thomas’ brilliant post on the urgent need to “diversify the metaphors we read by.” I just started Jason Reynolds’ When I Was the Greatest, which just won the Coretta Scott King John Steptoe New Talent Award. You should also head over to The Brown Bookshelf to meet the book creators featured in their annual 28 Days Later. Lastly, in case you missed it, the YMAs were announced yesterday—the most diverse group of winners EVER! Here’s a list of the winners and honorees. Congratulations to all the writers and illustrators!

power surge

Clockwise from top: me, Edith Campbell, Maya Gonzalez, and Debbie Reese.

Friday was the ALSC’s Day of Diversity. By mid-afternoon I was feeling somewhat drained; I’d just taken my migraine medication and ideally would have gone to bed for an hour or two, but my breakout session was coming up so I needed to stay alert. I slipped out of the main meeting room during the post-lunch panel and went to the ladies room; as I was washing my hands, Debbie Reese came in and we laughed about our shared need for a “time-out.” Less than five minutes later, Maya Gonzalez came into the bathroom and we decided we had to photograph this impromptu meeting of women of color. Selfie taken, we resumed our conversation about what we were feeling in our bodies as the panelists and speakers shared their views about the publishing industry’s problem with diversity. “Has anyone seen Edi?” I asked, and one minute later the door to the ladies room opened once more and Edi appeared! We snapped two more selfies to capture the moment; in the first one we were screaming and in this one we’re smiling. That sort of sums up the range of emotions we felt throughout the day. So as I summarize my impressions of the Day of Diversity, I want to begin with this important point:

A room of our own. Discussions about diversity can be exhausting for people of color. As Maya pointed out, it would be great to have a lounge or some other private space for PoC who need a break from the dominant group. Different kinds of conversations become possible when we’re on our own, not self-censoring and freely expressing our ideas and emotions in a safe space. We also need a place to recover and step away from well-intentioned individuals who may or may not know (or care) that they’re making problematic remarks. Which brings me to my next point…
White folks have work to do (or “why you all need a private room, too). Overall, I thought the day was a significant achievement for the organizers. I was thrilled to meet several “virtual”/online friends for the first time, and I connected with like-minded educators, writers, and librarians in the field—most of whom were PoC. The 100 invited guests shared a commitment to diversity in an abstract sense, but at times it felt like the discussions were only scratching the surface; the recommended readings were never referenced, which gave the day a sort of “Diversity 101″ feel. I heard several euphemisms for “racism” and wondered why that word (along with “white supremacy” and “dominance”) was being avoided. Near the end of my morning breakout session I finally inserted those words into a conversation about self-publishing (a frustrated Black woman writer asked if it was a viable option and was told to “keep trying” to break into the traditional publishing industry). At the very end of the day, a white woman from my group said, “I heard a word today—“ microaggression “—that I’d never heard before. Wait—did YOU say that?” Yes, I did. And what does it mean that we’re trying to change an industry/community that is overwhelmingly white if the potential changemakers don’t have the necessary vocabulary and awareness of power dynamics? I hope the next diversity event includes a workshop on how to recognize and fight white privilege and bias in the children’s literature community. Because having good intentions isn’t enough. Laura Atkins would be the ideal person to lead such a workshop!
Teaching tolerance. I’m very grateful to organizer Allie Jane Bruce who invited me to serve as a co-facilitator for the afternoon breakout session on partnering to promote diversity. I don’t generally get invited to “mainstream” events like these, and I was also appreciative and impressed that organizers helped with travel funds because I probably wouldn’t have been able to attend otherwise. My session co-facilitators, Monica Olivera and Beatriz Pascual-Wallace, were fantastic and our group members had some great ideas about overcoming the many challenges in connecting with and serving diverse populations. There was clear resistance to self-publishing—I know, because it was voiced by the women sitting next to me—but there was also obvious interest in community-based publishing. If you’re trying to connect with people who feel books aren’t for them, why not try making them PRODUCERS of books and see what happens? We simply don’t have time to wait for traditional publishers to recognize and respond to the needs of our diverse communities. A librarian friend recently mentioned on Facebook that a young patron asked for a book about Michael Brown. How long do you think it will take for THAT book to exist? Or any books for kids about police brutality? Don’t hold your breath. But a librarian willing to think and work outside the box could help her patrons create a book about the situation in Ferguson. That was one of the highlights of my day—staying behind after my breakout sessions ended and answering questions from the writers, librarians, and educators who want an alternative to the existing system. Which brings me to my next point…

These middle school teachers, Karimah and Marilyn, were inspiring! Already doing great work with their students and now planning to self-publish some of their students’ work!

To the left… Hilary Clinton needs Elizabeth Warren. Hilary—if she decides to run for president—will need to woo voters on the Left who feel she’s too centrist and not fighting for the working class. Self-publishing is to traditional publishing what Warren is to Clinton, and yet no one from the far left was represented at the Day of Diversity. Which is a shame, because the field is READY. Edith Campbell recently shared an American Libraries article with me that shared how public libraries are helping patrons to create their own books. Self-publishing democratizes the publishing process; it allows PoC in particular the chance to tell their stories their way without having to deal with (mostly white) editors who lack the cultural competence to assess their work. If we agree that the playing field is NOT level, why then do we expect the system that created that uneven field to suddenly start working for us? It was frustrating to hear so many people talking about commercial books and bestsellers and the need to “prove” to publishers that diverse authors can turn a profit (which definitely happens when you write about white kids). Why is profit our top priority? Community-based publishing puts people before profit. I wish there had been space for that perspective at the Day of Diversity.
“Power must be shared.” Maya reminded me of this important fact; we were scribbling notes to one another during the second panel and sighed with relief when Pat Mora finally reminded the attendees that publishing is really about POWER. That’s why change has come so slowly to the publishing industry—those with power simply don’t want to let go. I did meet some remarkable, radical women in Chicago. Maya noted that Black women writers were missing from the three panels, but the Black women moderators were fantastic. Violet Harris reminded us that the Supreme Court recently rolled back voting rights and then turned around and granted rights to LGBT people, so we have to be vigilant and vocal when people talk about “progress.” Satia Orange gave a rousing speech as the day drew to a close, reminding attendees that BLACK LIVES MATTER and some of our kids are being shot dead in the street and even in their own homes. Black youth are being groomed for an early death and/or prison and the tools they need to avoid this fate are being deliberately withheld. These are our “urgencies” but do I think most attendees left thinking about Tamir Rice or Aiyana Stanley-Jones or the school-to-prison pipeline ? No. Everyone agreed that we still have a LOT of work to do, and the Day of Diversity was another small step forward. But we really can’t afford to “go slow.” As keynote speaker Camila Alire reminded us, the number of books about PoC has actually gone DOWN in the past decade…

butterball

My father didn’t like my hair and he was anxious about my nose, which he feared would turn out like his. He didn’t like my potbelly either (they called me “butterball” as a baby), and when I was a child my dad used to poke me in the gut and ask, “You got an inch to pinch?” My relationship to food is complicated for all kinds of reasons. My father traumatized my mother by constantly criticizing her body; after they divorced, she kept on dieting and I started eating a whole lot of broke-single-mother food (namely no-name brand cookies and Hamburger Helper). After he died in 2004, I started to gain weight. Was it because I moved to Louisiana and bought my first car? Or was it because I finally felt free to eat without my father’s eagle eyes watching for me to “blow up?” I loved my father deeply and was desperate for his approval, and hardly a day has gone by in the past ten years when I haven’t thought of him and smiled. On Saturday I braved the three-inch slush on the sidewalks and took a walk around my neighborhood. I’m trying to lose weight—not for my father, but for myself—and that means making sure I’m active every day, even when the weather sucks. As I passed the Brooklyn Museum, I saw a Black father helping his daughter build a snowman. And I smiled but didn’t let myself stare. I don’t know if my father ever built a snowman with me, but he used to take us ice skating and I remember watching in awe as he whizzed around the rink on his hockey skates. I was competitive as a kid because my father cared about sports, and being a winning athlete meant he would be proud of me. I beamed when he called me “Slugger,” even if he missed the softball game when I hit that grand slam and was named MVP. My dad let me down more times than I can count, and yet so much of who I am today is a direct result of trying—and failing—to please him. I have all kinds of “other mothers” but I don’t have any older men in my life who fill that fatherly role. And I like it that way—as I often say, “Surviving one father was enough!” It’s my dad’s birthday today; he would have been 74. He died young because he wouldn’t treat his prostate cancer, so it metastasized and spread to his liver and lungs. We’re having a blizzard right now and that’s often a great time to write. But I’m procrastinating, of course. Earlier I watched my first YouTube hair tutorial; Bianca Alexa taught me how to do a “Pineapple Up Do,” which is actually kind of cute. My father would be horrified—it’s too wild, too far from his idea of how “a lady” should look. My father was a bundle of contradictions—he adored Dionne Warwick and Linda Carter. I don’t really recall him ever calling me pretty, but I remember him raving about Linda Carter and then telling me years later that I “looked like Wonder Woman.” I don’t think I look like Linda Carter but if that’s the best my father could do, I’ll take it.

Saturday haiku

this morning I woke

to songbirds indifferent

to overnight snow

***

where have my words gone?

flown south with the butterflies

that once danced for me

***

leave dreams in dark rooms

lift your eyes, search silver skies

for winter’s pale sun

freak out

I’m trying not to freak out. After I finished that last blog post I realized I hadn’t said all the things I wanted to say about our panel at the Black Comic Book Festival; in fact, I carefully avoided the most important thing that happened—probably because I knew I was on the brink. Today I woke up and got ready for a school visit not too far from my home. I used to present at this school back in 2009, and it was nice to return and be remembered by the librarian and principal. The auditorium was full of 4th and 5th grade students and we had a great conversation—especially once I got off stage and could stand closer to where the kids were seated. The principal selected 8 kids to come up and ask me a question and there’s nothing like looking into a child’s face while you try to convince her that all the stories in her head matter. The principal asked how many of the students wanted to become a writer and almost all their hands went up, so we talked a lot about self-publishing. One girl asked me how the people who work in publishing feel about not producing books by and about people of color. And I told her that some white editors really did care about diversity and were actively trying to find writers of color, but most lacked the cultural competence to even judge stories by people from different cultures. And the principal didn’t miss a beat—he immediately asked the students if they’d ever taken a standardized test that had cultural references they couldn’t understand! Then the assembly ended and the students filed out of the auditorium—but, as always, a few lingered and came up to ask me just one more question. Two girls asked me to show them how to make their own books, one boy asked me the pros and cons of self-publishing, and one boy eluded his teacher’s grasp and rushed up to the stage to ask if he could have Ship of Souls to give to his sister. Gender’s always on my mind but since the publishing panel on Saturday, I’ve been thinking more about how “publishing for the people” is really a feminist act. I proposed that project last fall and know I probably won’t get the grant I applied for (which is my fault because I didn’t follow the guidelines), but I’m still finding ways to connect people with print-on-demand technology. Today I had lunch with a friend and she’s making some big moves in her life right now; I feel like I’ve lost my daring as I’ve aged, so it was inspiring to see the risks she and her husband are willing to take with their young family. She also had some great advice for the “publishing for the people” workshop: make it a web class that people can pay to take online. I wrote the grant so that folks wouldn’t have to pay for anything, but I do need to think about how I’m going to guide writers through the self-publishing process. I need to find some collaborators and the Scorpio in me recoils from that idea…but I realize more and more that I can no longer afford to indulge my insecurities and discomforts. I’m an introvert but I’ve trained myself to speak in public; I prefer to work alone but clearly don’t have the skills I need to do everything by myself. On Saturday there were so many young women who approached me after the panel wrapped up, and I realized—yet again—how important it is to be honest about one’s strengths and limitations. The Q&A ended with a woman who could barely ask her question because she was (or had been) crying. Which set me off, of course, because she was asking about affirmation and how to fight feelings of worthlessness when everything and everyone around you says, “You don’t matter.” I don’t remember everything I said but fortunately, folks were live Tweeting:

 

"Why do you write about magical black girls?" When I look around me for the women who are powerful, I'm looking at black women- Zetta Eliott

— Black Nerd Problems (@blknrdproblems) January 17, 2015

"Tell yourself, 'Black women are inherently valuable.' Surround yourself with things that affirm you." -@zettaelliott #blackcomicfestnyc

— H.H. (@HEYHashimotosan) January 17, 2015

"If you don't have [an affirming community] look to characters in books, in movies." -@zettaelliott #blackcomicfestnyc

— H.H. (@HEYHashimotosan) January 17, 2015

for Black artists who feel insecure&undervalued&underestimated, "Make a community that will affirm you." -@zettaelliott #blackcomicfestnyc

— H.H. (@HEYHashimotosan) January 17, 2015

"Wake up, look in the mirror, and remind yourself Black women are inherently valuable." @zettaelliot #BlackComicFestNYC

— Jordan M Calhoun (@jordanmcalhoun) January 17, 2015

"Decolonize your imagination by speaking up. The more you begin to tell your stories, the more you begin to realize your authentic voice."

— H.H. (@HEYHashimotosan) January 17, 2015

@BlackjackAD @zettaelliott The young illustrator at the end felt so moved by the panel, claimed her own space, and brought tears to all!

— Mel (@melissablemur) January 18, 2015

I love the idea of having “Wonder Woman boots” but the truth is, I rarely feel like a superhero. Right now I feel a little dizzy when I think about all the things I need to do—deadlines to meet, presentations to prepare, opportunities I need to generate to keep myself afloat. Being a working artist (or an “eating artist” as my friend Rosa would say) means saying yes to almost everything because you never know when one yes will lead to another, bigger offer. I have a few days before my next school visit and will try to finish up that darn essay tomorrow so I can move on to The Return. When I tell kids I have a book about a Black girl superhero they instinctively respond—even the young kids today wanted to know more about Nyla. “You are not your own; you were bought with a price.” I say that to myself pretty often so I remember that what I do isn’t just for my own gratification. I’ve already written the ending for The Return. Nyla shares a Wolof proverb with Hakeem: “Nit nitai garabam. A person is the medicine of another person.” We’re here to heal one another…

points

Publishing panel: John Jennings (moderator), me, Tim Fielder, and Alex Simmons. Photo by Melissa Blemur

I’m still having trouble weaving words together so I’ve decided to summarize yesterday’s Black Comic Book Festival in point form (you can watch our publishing panel here). Whenever I’m on a panel, my mind somehow gets wiped clean as soon as I step off stage. Fortunately folks on Twitter were taking notes! I have no idea how anyone can Tweet and pay attention at the same time, but reading their tweets will make you feel like you were right there with us at the Schomburg. Check out Black Nerd Problems (@blknrdproblems), H.H. (@HEYHashimotosan), and Prof. Jonathan W. Gray (@elmcitytree). You know I can’t keep up with Twitter but I’m grateful that so many people tweeted and retweeted the important points made by the panelists and moderators. And thank you, Melissa Blemur, for taking such great photos. Now—on to my random points:

I’m an introvert but that doesn’t mean I’m shy. It does mean that I’m not comfortable approaching strangers, however, so one of the things I love best about presenting in public is that moment when the event ends and people come up to continue the conversation. I got off stage and immediately sold a copy of The Deep (but to a graphic novel scholar, which makes me nervous) and when I looked up, a queue had formed in the auditorium aisle—writers, parents, educators, and students. Actually, one of the first attendees I spoke to was an 11-year-old boy named Dior who asked about my books and told me a bit about his experience at Excellence Boys Charter School here in Brooklyn. His mother took a photo of us and hopefully I’ll get to present at his school in the coming weeks. I never met an author when I was a child and I love that Dior’s mom a) brought him to the Black Comic Book Fair and b) brought him up to the stage after our panel so he could meet the people who are creating stories for and about kids like him!

Photo by Melissa Blemur

We had to clear the auditorium almost immediately and so we all moved to the lobby area and folks patiently waited as I sold a few more books and answered questions. The best part of meeting new people is being able to provide information that will help them advance their writing goals. Several young women wanted to know how to connect with a writing community and I encouraged them to attend the upcoming Children’s Book Writers conference organized by Kweli Journal . Two kind church ladies invited me to present before their youth group, and one intrepid white woman—the only publishing professional to attend our panel—waited to have a frank discussion about book sales and the “formula” for acquiring new titles. Her professor friend purchased two books and then started up a conversation with Jordan and Omar about the merits of Black-ish. They then walked me out and kindly asked to interview me for Black Nerd Problems; in return I helped find Jordan’s lost hat, which he needed because it was FREEZING outside. When I got back to Brooklyn in the evening, I laughed out loud at their tweets—this one in particular:

 

“*waiting*… It’s not easy being the only woman up here”- Zetta Eliott. Zetta Eliott Da Gawd!!!! #blackcomicfestnyc #MagicalAfroPunkWomen

— Black Nerd Problems (@blknrdproblems) January 17, 2015

From the Schomburg I walked over to Tio Luca and met MY community of Black women writers for brunch. Ebony came up from Philly; Kya flew in from LA; Ibi took the train from Brooklyn, and Renee, Dhonielle, and Jenn walked over from their Harlem homes. There’s really no way to convey the energy we generate when we gather around a table to break bread and dish about our favorite books, TV shows, films, bloggers, etc. Then we get down to the real work of “fixing” the publishing industry and surviving the microaggressions leveled at us by editors and/or reviewers. We were in the cafe for at least two hours and then we walked over to a cake spot on St. Nicholas Ave. before hopping on the train. Ibi bought a new hat at a little boutique we passed along the way, and I dreamt about the hat I’ll wear while hosting a literary salon over at Weeksville (more on that later, so stay tuned)!

2015 is off to a good start! I’ve got 4 school visits coming up and then January will end with ALA Midwinter’s Day of Diversity in Chicago. In February I head to Austin to tape a ten-minute segment for BlackademicsTV. I tried to do a little online shopping (don’t want to look like an academic when I’m not one) and got an email this morning telling me my order has been canceled. Sigh. Still plan to wear my new “Wonder Woman boots”…