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…
