When I first published my first novel, The Ebony Tree, I'll never forget how I found out later that my then, 23 year-old niece ran through the house and screamed with laughter, after she read the book.

Now mind you, my niece had always been an avid reader of white romance novels since her early teens, but reading my book was like landing on Mars for her. She reportedly asked her mother, "Mama, did Aunt Maxine make this up? Did you guys actually 'play white'?"

My sister-in-law told her, "Not only did we play white, we dreamed in white. That's all we ever saw in the books or on TV were white characters. It seemed like they had all the fun."

Typically, most Blacks grew up in the 50's with pictures on the wall of white Jesus, white Santa Claus and even white angels. There was nothing in the media or in books that reflected the beauty of blackness. Needless to say, if there were any books beside the Bible in the home, they were not Black books. It sent a silent message that Black was ugly and white was beautiful. This was as negative of an experience as when reading was forbidden to slaves.

Fastforward almost half a century. I know from rearing my children, who are now all adults, that having had Black books in the home was, and remains, a good influence on their self-esteem and confidence. When a person sees himself reflected in the literature he or she reads, it indirectly helps build a better self-image. For in literature, we find our role models, our archetypes from which we can learn life lessons. More specifically, in African American literature, the stories are relevant to the Black experience in this country. These experiences range from people coming from different socio-economic classes, from varying urban to country regions, to different professions. We often get the Alger Horatio rags-to-riches story to its reversal, the riches-to-rags story. Most of these stories make social commentaries on how we all play a part in the symphony of the American Dream.

 

"Black Writers on The Rise," the headlines screamed. I believed them. After all, seeing the different genres of African American books in the local, predominantly Black bookstores, who wouldn't think that? Hadn't things improved for us as Black writers, since the late 1980's? However, after attending the Book Expo of America (formerly the American Book Association) held in Los Angeles, California in late April 1999, I had a rude awakening. Because of seeing all the books in the predominantly Black book stores scattered throughout LA, I had been lulled into a false sense of complacency that we, as African American writers, were being published at the same rate as mainstream books. To say the least, I was disillusioned.