My Voice

I Write Because My Voice Been Here

Let me say this off rip:I write ‘cause my voice matters.Not “needs permission.”Not “fits a mold.”Matters.

I’m a Black author.I write books. I write children’s books.And I write in the language that raised me, shaped me, held me down when the world tried to quiet me.This ain’t broken English.This ain’t slang for fun.This is lineage. This is rhythm. This is knowing how to bend words so they hit.

I write kids’ books ‘cause our babies deserve to see themselves on the page—talkin’ how they talk, feelin’ how they feel, bein’ magical without havin’ to translate themselves first.I want them to know early that their voice ain’t too loud, too much, or too anything.It’s right on time.

Being a Black author means I don’t separate my craft from my culture.My stories got roots.They got aunties, block wisdom, laughter in the middle of pain, and hope that refuse to die.I write joy. I write struggle. I write survival.I write truth wrapped in story.

This blog right here?It’s for the writers who been told to “clean it up.”For the storytellers who code-switch so much they forget what they sound like at home.For the ones who got books in ‘em but scared the world won’t listen if they say it their way.

I’m here to say:Write it anyway.Say it how you say it.Tell the story only you can tell.

This space is about writing books, building stories for children, navigating publishing, and honoring Black language as power—not something to edit out, but something to stand on.

If you here, you already know.And if you don’t yet?Stick around.

We got stories to tell.