the craft. culture, identity, and writing.
It literally felt like Christmas when my pre-ordered copy of Black Women Writers at Work, edited by Claudia Tate, arrived in the mail. I promise you, I was checking the tracking all day. These original interviews with writers like Maya Angelou, Toni Cade Bombara, Toni Morrison, and many more were published in 1985 and had since been out of print. But lucky for us, Haymarket books re-printed this holy grail, and it recently shipped on January 10th.
I’m unashamed that I took the first opportunity I had to run a bath with a bath bomb and a copy of Black Women Writers at Work at my fingertips. Only a few pages in, it made me think about the idea of identity, culture, and writing
Over the last year, I’ve applied to a lot of different screenwriting fellowships and programs and this question around culture and identity comes up often. How does it influence your writing? And it can seem like an overly simplified question. Clearly, who we are shows up in our writing. To me, that’s evident no matter what you’re writing. Whether it’s suspense or fantasy, whatever it is, I believe, humbly, that you bring yourself as the writer to that work.
My proof? A few years ago now, I had the opportunity to conduct a workshop for writing instructors at a program for young people in Philadelphia. I had them select three different blocks from a Jenga game with characters and circumstances written on them. Their job? To write a flash story using those three elements. When they were done, I asked them to share with me what parts of the story related to their real life. Everyone, no matter what scenario they chose, injected an element of their personal world.
The question though, “How does identity and culture influence your writing?” starts to feel much more complex than a simple essay question on a fellowship application. How would we ever think these things could be separated?
“Everywhere you go, there you are.” At times, I don’t think we value that. I took a look inward on one of the last questions around identity and my work and what that really meant to me. I thought about the fact that I’m from Philadelphia, which is a place that has some of the most natural born storytellers. They may not ever write their own books or television shows, but if you get some time to just listen, you will be cracking up, crying, and maybe even a little confused based on the regional vernacular. I mean “The boul was joe and I was bout to run over to the jawn, but I lost my jawn so I said bet and went back to the crib instead.” Probably a real sentence being spoken somewhere. Lol.
I grew up around music and hustlers and church-goers and cops. One of the earliest friends I remember having was a Cambodian girl named Sokunthea. I balanced neighborhood friends and friends from the magnet school that I attended. I went to the eastern shore for family reunions and fish fries and labor day cookouts. I’m Black. I’m a woman. I’m the daughter of Anthony and Aldrene Coleman. The wife of Dan Thomas. And so on and so forth.
Becoming a great writer will not be in spite of these things but because of them. And specifically as Black and POC writers, I feel like it becomes political to write candidly about our lives and show up to our work through the specific lens of our experience. When in fact, white writers are doing the same. We have just accepted that the white cultural lens is “universal” while everyone else’s is marginalized, which is simply not the case. Our writing is often burdened with responsibility. When all we owe the art is truth.
Yes, truth is absolutely relative. But when we show up to our work as our full selves, I believe that is where real truth begins. When we allow our experience to feed the work whatever it is. That if I am writing about rest that it’s with an understanding of how that word has shown up differently in our communities. That when I’m writing about Black women, I showcase the totality of their existence beyond the myth of eternal rage. That I showcase the inner city in a way that accepts that there are scores of disadvantages, but also a huge amount of love, passion, and pride.
Culture and identity shows up in my work in that I am dedicated to writing stories that round out our sharp edges. That it’s important to me that Black men are showcased as flawed, but deeply loved and full of love. That Black women can be vulnerable and soft just as much as they are resilient. I am my culture and it cannot and will not be separated ever, for the sake of being palatable.
To be a Black writer, to be a writer of color, in my opinion, is a privilege. One that comes rich with culture and nuance and beauty. A story of triumph, of perseverance, and most importantly, joy. We get to bring that to the table, however it shows up for us.
This week, maybe try answering the question for yourself. How does culture and identity influence your work?
Writing/Job Opportunities
Danielle James is the new Beauty Director at Elle and looking for beauty pitches. Please pitch me all things beauty, health, and wellness. Op-ed’s, product launches, new brands, exclusive interviews, or something you really, really, really want to write. danielle.james@elle.com.
The shopping team at Mashable is looking for freelance writers with experience writing product roundups! Shoot an email to Jae Thomas with commerce journalism clips and a resume at jae.thomas@mashable.com if you’re interested. Rates start at $150 for updates and go up to $400 for new content.
Passion Fruit is accepting pitches. Specifically, we're looking for some great stories centered around Black History Month if anyone has ideas. DM or email me if you're interested! Rates start at $250 for think pieces, $300 for interviews, and $450 for reported features. grace.stanley@dailydot.com.
Tin House is accepting applications for their Summer Workshop. (Deadline: Jan. 31)
Catapult is accepting fiction story submissions. (Deadline: Monday at 9pm ET.)
Capital B is hiring a Managing Editor of Local.
Mother Jones is hiring an Assistant Copy Editor.
The Associated Press is hiring a New York City Reporter.