wanderingamericanwriter

I am concerned. Actually, I am more than just concerned, I am really worried. I have just discovered that editors and agents will not consider a manuscript with a person of color as the main character(s) unless a person of color writes the book. That applies to fiction and non-fiction. I understand that we desperately need more people of color as authors, but how many books about truly important people of color will not get written now because the people who are intrigued enough to write about them are not necessarily people of color?

I was a reading specialist and spent twelve years in a high poverty, high minority school. We were 92 – 100 percent poverty and 96 – 98 percent African-American. Those children desperately needed to learn about the truly incredible people of color who have done so much throughout history.

I taught my students about Frederick Douglass, W. E. B. Du Bois, George Washington Carver, Ernest Just, and, of course, Martin Luther King, Jr. I taught them about the great women of color who changed our world for the better. Women like Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, Maya Angelou, and Madam C. J. Walker. I offered them the opportunity to see how people of color have influenced history, changed history, made history.

Some of the books I used were written by people of color, but many were not. Did it make those books less important? Less factual? Did the people contained in those books count for less, because their place in history was being shared by a person not of color?

I don’t have the answers. I don’t profess to be the expert. What I do know is that I want peoples of color’s stories to be shouted from the roof-top, from the mountain-top, so everyone will know them, their stories, and their places in history. Isn’t that the most important thing?

I have obviously lost my mind. Hmmm, last week I wrote about Lost Charleston and this week I have decided that I have lost my mind. I believe a theme might be arising…maybe…or maybe I am just nuts. There is every possibility.

At any rate, I write sweet romances and cozy mysteries. I write true-life stories for Chicken Soup for the Soul. I do not write non-fiction biographies. Ever. Never ever. And yet. And yet. And yet, I have started a biography about a free black man who was born free in Charleston, SC before the American Civil War. He led a fascinating life. His descendants have lived fascinating lives. I am not ready to share his name…you will have to wait for that.

Even though I am thrilled to be writing it, I am finding it difficult going. Do I write a dry biography? Or a creative non-fiction biography? Or a narrative non-fiction biography? Do you see my dilemma? What do I do? Who knew there were so many ways to write a biography.

Of course, I am good at writing fiction. Maybe, I should write a historical fiction…a fictional character thrown into his life. That actual would be the easiest of the bunch. But. But, I never go the easy route. Do you?

Can you imagine being a little black boy in a city filled with black enslaved people? Can you imagine his mother, a freed black woman, and her fear for her children? How about a free black child’s education. So many interesting ways to write this. So many angles. So much material.

However, the clock ticks its relentless journey through the day. So I must get to my writing…as soon as I decide how I am going to write this book.

Do you ever have one of those days when you wonder why you do it? Why write? It would surely be easier to just sit back and watch mind-numbing television for hours on end. Don’t some people do that? But, no. That is not who you are. What is not who I am. So, I write. I was busy writing last year and ended up being published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Laughter is the Best Medicine. I was tickled pink to have my story chosen. It validated everything; all of the writing I had done to that point. Yay, I had made it…no, really. Obviously, I had. I was published.

But, the reality is, being published is such a small part of writing. For me, it’s not even the most important part of writing. I write because I must. I have so many stories crowding into the corners of my mind…and they want out. They let me know if I am ignoring them. They howl when one gets more attention than the others. I guess that is why I am working on three books right now. Two are murder mysteries that are the first two in a series, but the third is totally different. It is a creative non-fiction book.

The two cosy mysteries are easy. They are about three college girlfriends who always have each other’s back – even when dead bodies turn up. Here is the blurb for the first one. What do you think?

“There is a dead girl on the quiet, South Carolina Lowcountry island called Fripp Island. A dead girl in a bathing suit coverup and one pink flip-flop. The three women who discover her body are going to have the devil’s own time trying to find the killer while staying out of the way of the surly police detective. Although, the good-looking, helpful detective is an entirely different matter. Now, when the dead girl shows up and wants to help them find her killer, things really get out of hand. Throw in a kitten, an ouija board, an out-of-control golf cart, and a hermit, and the girls find themselves careening from one end of the island to the other, trying to outrun a desperate killer intent on keeping his secrets silent…and anyone who gets in his way.”

It’s a fun write and, hopefully, a fun read. Once I finish writing it, then I will start looking for an agent and a publisher. No one ever said writing would be easy. But, writing is what I do. It is who I am.