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looking to be inspired

Read more than you write. In expressing the ambition to be a writer, you are committing yourself to the community of other writers. Your originality will mean nothing unless you can understand the originality of others. What we call originality is little more than the fine blending of influences.

Be ruthless in your use of what you’ve seen and what you’ve experienced. Add your imagination, so that where invention ends and reality begins is undetectable.

Be courageous. Nothing human should be far from you.

Diversity Is Not Enough: Race, Power, Publishing


This is the essay I have been waiting, for a very long time, for someone with more insight than I to write.

It is also the essay that I was most frightened to read because as a writer of color, it fills me with unspeakable anxiety and dread to consider how my writing will be received by an industry that, to varying degrees, writing by people of color to be disgusting and regards it with condescension and disdain.

I’ve heard horror stories about how writers of color are browbeaten and bled of their voices and art to make their writing more appealing to white people under the guise of “critique” and “craft.”

I am afraid. Yes, I am scared to death. But I’m going to write anyway.

What Daniel José Older highlights here does not merely apply to the publishing industry; it applies to all forms of media from comic books to television to music to film to whatever else you can think of.

Although, I’m just starting out on this journey everyone tells me that I have an opportunity to impact the world with my story, to change people’s lives. As you go down this path there are some days you just know that magic will occur, you can feel it. You know something special will happen.

The Power of Our Presence: Black Women in Hollywood 2014 ()

(Source: caseykelpthesnorks, via ofmywrath)


Using film, visual art, dance and poetry, A Different Mirror provides a platform for Women of Colour artists to explore the conflicts about how we see ourselves versus how we are seen.

The 3 day exhibition and educational activities confront these crucial questions about the systems or structures that shape our relationship to our bodies and its connection to our identities. It holds up a mirror to see and know ourselves differently.

Exhibition Public Opening Times:

Saturday 26th April 2014 10 am – 5pm

Sunday 27th April 2014 12 pm – 5pm

 Featuring works by: Indigo WilliamsLesley AsareSanaa HamidNasreen RajaSarina Leah MantleWasma MansourUchenna Dance, Patricia Kaersenhout, and Ng’endo MukiiAowen JinJanine ‘j*9′ FrancoisClare Eluka, and Emerzy Corbin.

Reflections: Art as a Tool for Healing

Saturday 26th of April 2014

6:30pm – 8:30pm £7.50 (early bird £6.50)

This artist seminar explores the ways in which art can be used to heal and empower ourselves and others. It offers insight into different artistic mediums and how these artists have used their practices for reclamation and transformation.

Featuring a performance by writer Yrsa Daley-Ward, talks by Indigo Williams (poet) and Lesley Asare (visual and performance artist) of I Shape Beauty, and a panel discussion featuring Sharmila ChauhanAowen JinVicki Igbokwe (Uchenna Dance) and Bola Agbaje.

Book your ticket here: 

Photos by Rowena Gordon Photography

(via foxxxynegrodamus)

“To the extent that the word ‘desegregation’ remains in our vocabulary, it describes an antique principle, not a current priority. Today, we are more likely to talk of diversity—but diversification and desegregation are not the same undertaking. To speak of diversity, in light of this country’s history of racial recidivism, is to focus on bringing ethnic variety to largely white institutions, rather than dismantling the structures that made them so white to begin with.”


Jelani Cobb on the failure of desegregation:

(via newyorker)

(Source:, via newyorker)


Akwaeke Zara Emezi is an Igbo and Tamil writer born in Umuahia and raised in Aba, Nigeria. Her first full length novel, Somadina, was selected as a finalist for the New Visions Award by Lee and Low Books.

Published by The Sable E-Mag, her latest short story:


I took one of my taxis to the estate so that no one would recognise the car. The security at the first gate waved us in with a cursory flick of their torchlights, not bothering to bend to the window. After all, the taxi was only a common yellow, not the oil black that would tell them they could smile with expectation and not the shiny sugar red that would merit at least a curious glance through the glass. I did own cars like those, but I’ve long found the poor man’s yellow to be the most useful. I inherited them all with my father’s company when he stumbled to his knees and quietly died during a morning jog two years ago. My mother became a muted and folded woman after that, thinning out until I grew concerned about her fragility. Every time she blessed me, her palms felt like spun paper about to flake gently over my scalp. It had been nothing to do my duty, to ease her mind, to come home and take over.

As we pulled through the second gate, I turned over the invitation in my hands, feeling out the weight of the heavy paper. The driver spun the steering wheel slowly and drove the taxi into a corner of the sprawling parking lot. He was one of the few that I trusted, a sour old man with sharp ears, selective hearing and he was a beast behind a steering wheel. I handed him a fold of thousand naira notes and he handed me a mask in return- soft leather, made in battered oxblood. When I held it briefly against my face, it felt like another skin.

Aima had left me five weeks ago, after I watched her crumple against a wall while sobbing that I would never marry her. I didn’t mean to just watch, I knew I was supposed to pick her up, cradle her against me and tell her that I loved her, that of course I would marry her, but the raw bitterleaf truth was that I didn’t recognise the hysterical woman she had become. The things she said sounded like another woman’s mouth had eaten hers. When she finally stood up and looked at me with completely betrayed eyes, I didn’t recognise myself either. Tonight, my intent was to forget about both of us, the interminable drive to the airport and how she didn’t even turn around for a last look … (keep reading)

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Dedicated to the Cultural Preservation of the African Aesthetic

(via blackwomenworldhistory)




yes yes yes

(via lawoyin)

Neil DeGrasse Tyson Said What He Thinks About Race Now That He's Made It, And Almost Nobody Noticed



He goes in

I really want this whole thing in transcript or quoted, it’s perfect.

(Source: jessehimself, via locksandglasses)



Toni Morrison goes in.

Toni, Toni, Toni.

(Source: sensationalsherri, via blahblahbekke)




Hidden Magic: Katlego Kgabale

As kids, we grew up with our imagination running wild though our minds. As least I did! I would spend hours bent over a book, flipping recklessly through pages for words and images to feed my daydreams. Kgabale illustrated work offers up little brown girl dreams that I would have loved to come across as a child. But even as an adult, I can still appreciate and admire the creativity behind each piece.

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Dedicated to the Cultural Preservation of the African Aesthetic


I would frame these and place them on my wall, love them that much.

(via yagazieemezi)