the craft. made for such a time.
I know many of us come to the page this week with heavy hearts. We are the most vulnerable communities based on the results of last Tuesday’s election. But I truly believe that weeping endures for the night and joy and restoration and resilience and power come in the morning. It’s not the time to feel defeated or weary, it’s time to make good on every promise that you’ve made yourself, including getting your words out into the world.
I don’t want to be toxic in any way about the weight of what we witnessed this past week. Especially as Black women and women of color, there is something that hits home in a different way than ever before. It’s as if on one of the world’s biggest stages, there was confirmation that no matter how qualified, rational, or dignified, we will never be good enough. But I’m pulling out all the old adages this week, “it’s not what you’re called, it’s what you answer to.” What I mean by that is we get to decide whether we accept that narrative or not.
What if you were made for such a time as this? I think about the writers whose shoulders we stand on and all that they endured. They had a front row seat to the darkest of American history and still they wrote. They wrote as an act of revolution. They wrote to humanize us. They wrote to understand and process the world. Regardless of what was happening around them, they wrote things down that still help and guide us today.
After Bush’s 2004 re-election in an essay entitled “No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear,” our literary fairy godmother, Toni Morrison writes:
“This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.
I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge — even wisdom. Like art.”
It’s a reminder to me that there is nothing new under the sun. Just people experiencing the same things for the first time. The existential dread of this election is a familiar feeling for those who have lived long enough to remember. In 2004, I had no grasp of the real effects of Bush being re-elected. Twenty years later, I thought the world might spontaneously combust after learning that man won. But you know what happened? The sun rose again. There was still air in my lungs. I was still expected at work and life went on.
I don’t in any terms mean to diminish the long and arduous road that could be ahead of us. But my mother told me a long time ago that there is no sense of worrying about the things I cannot control. It’s a task easier said than done, but necessary if any of us are going to get back to the work that matters. Writing our stories, telling the stories of others, building communities that empower instead of defeat.
The older you get, the more you realize that it becomes less about you and more about the generations that will follow you. Whether you have children or not, our time here is finite and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to leave things here that mattered. This community matters. Each time you pick up a pen, write that story, publish that essay because of something said here, or because you showed up to a Power Hour or whatever the thing is, it matters. Those effects will last much longer than me. I’m dedicated to that mission in my time here.
Take the time you need. We’re all grieving in our own ways. But in the infamous words of the late Aaliyah, “If at first you don’t succeed, dust yourself off and try again.” You may not want to write today, but I implore you, that tomorrow, you wake up and try again. That you determine what matters most for you to say. It will not be the same for all of us. Revolution is not homogenous. But I dare you to stand up and say, I’m still here. “come celebrate/with me that everyday/something has tried to kill me/and has failed.” Thank you Ms. Clifton and all the others who still give us the words on which we lean. Who will you hold up with yours?
The 2025 Rising Writer Prize is for a first full-length book of fiction. The Autumn House staff and select outsider readers will serve as the preliminary readers, and the final judge is K-Ming Chang. The winner receives publication of their full-length manuscript and $2,000. We will announce the contest’s finalists and the winner by March 15, 2025. (CLOSES SOON, Nov. 15)
Kweli Journal 2025 Fellowship Program is accepting applications. Building on Kweli's successful history of mentoring emerging authors, we will provide three (or more) early-stage writers with a year-long writing fellowship. Eligible candidates are early career vocational writers living in New York City, who are not enrolled in degree-granting programs and self-identify as Black, Native/First Nations, POC, and/or Arab American. (CLOSES SOON, Nov. 19)
Stacey Leasca is editing some stories for Food and Wine print. Seeking pitches for "Travel Journal," focusing on US destinations and "Where to Go Next" features for 2025. Send ideas with the subject "FW PITCH" to stacey@staceyleasca.com.(& please read back issues first before pitching.)
Noah Michelson is taking pitches for personal essays related to the holidays for Huff Post Personal. Especially looking for folks from diverse backgrounds / with diverse experiences. If accepted, they pay. Submit to pitch@huffpost.com.
The University of Texas at Austin is hiring a CME Senior Humanities Research Associate III. This position will assist in this connective democracy research and is a grant-funded position with an end date of 10/31/2025, renewable based upon availability of funding, work performance, and progress toward research goals. ($53k).
Atlanta Community Press Collective is hiring an Interim Managing Editor. ACPC is looking to bring on a three-month Interim Managing Editor while they begin scaling their newsroom. ($65-75K, Atlanta-based hybrid).
