This week I sat in a space of ten people critiquing a manuscript of someone who took it upon himself to write the entire narrative in Ebonics. While I understand that depicting the voice of a character is essential to any fictional piece, I was taken aback by this person’s bold attempt to tell a story in Ebonics. My first question to him was “Who will read this?” I didn’t want to seem bourgeois in any way as I disclosed to him that the journals that he’s aiming for may never understand this; but then again, the fact that his character was based on a stereotype of Blacks, I wouldn’t be surprised if it gets published. My anger simmered even more when all the white people in the circle declared how much they loved the piece. “This is awesome!” One person announced while clutching the paper. “Such a unique voice in which a story is told,” another person said, nodding in agreement. I wanted to turn around and ask them, “Would you have picked this up in the store? You say it’s awesome, but who do you think the audience would be? Is it only great for the illiterate Blacks you assume would read this crap and digest it like grits and honey?”
Since I was the only person in the space to voice my disapproval of this piece, I pulled the author aside and spoke to him—black writer to black writer. I asked him why he wanted to tell an entire story in Ebonics, dropping the "N" word and the "B" word like there was no tomorrow, and not just minimize it to dialogue between characters. He shrugged and said the expected, “It’s the authentic voice of the character. That’s how he speaks. That’s how he tells his story.” I wholeheartedly agreed with this, but something deep inside me wanted to probe more, to save him from whatever it was that was out there—perhaps to save him from the boogie monster disguised as editors who will throw this piece into the rejection pile, slam dunkin’ it like Michael Jordon. “Not even Michael Jordon talks like this!” They would say to each other. In my imagination, that is what they’d say. But in terms of marketing stereotypes of Black people and making millions, the editors would probably fish the manuscript out of the rejection pile, straighten out the edges, and publish it. Isn’t that how “Video Vixen” became a New York Times Best Seller?
Here I am trying to write my stories depicting Blacks in a new light, a light that we never saw in music videos and on television; yet it is the stereotypes that sell. The mention of “N” word, the “B” word, sex, guns, and drugs are all elements that they expect would make up the compound of black literature. Therefore in a space where such crap was being workshopped, everyone tiptoed politely around the obvious. It took a lot for me not to have gotten up and walked out of the workshop. Not only was I hurt by the complacency in rigor they gave this guy’s piece, but I was hurt by the fact that they were enabling him. This made me skeptical.
Although I really like the people in the workshop, I took four steps back that evening, searching for the honesty in their eyes as they spoke of other pieces that were workshopped. Would they have cold-heartedly let someone publish a crappy story, telling the person that it’s great when there are tons of errors? Or is it that the guy’s story made them so uncomfortable that in order to dismiss the piece and save face, they had to declare their love for it, pulling a white lie between their teeth like a string of gum that could be easily swallowed.
Moreover, perhaps they were looking to me, one of two other black people in the space, to critique this piece without fear of being accused as racist. Perhaps they figured if they were to say they liked the story, it would leave room for me or the other person to ask the questions they didn’t want to ask like: “Who the hell is going to pick this up to read?” I couldn’t even get through the first paragraph much less to know what the story was about; yet no one raised this as an important issue to talk about.
Surprisingly the other black woman in the circle who also shies away from stereotypes in her own work never raised an issue with the piece. Her silence was one that I interpreted as shock. This shock was the same that I experienced as I listened to each and every one of the other writers go around the room and say they love the piece. This shock was a sobering one, one that is telling me as a black writer that once a piece covers race-related matters; people won’t tell you when you’re falling over a cliff for the fear of offending us. But I would rather be offended in a workshop where I’m paying a lot of money for, as opposed to going out into “the real world” with my piece of crap and a false sense of confidence.
With that said, I think there is a huge disadvantage in an enabling workshop. Since a person cannot choose the personalities of the people they workshop with, my advice to a writer who wants constructive criticism is to study the personalities of the people in your group and only pay attention to those who say what’s on their mind regardless of whose toes they step on. Those are the people on your side. It may not seem that way at first since we all have big egos that we love to preserve; but truth be told, you’re doing yourself an injustice if you sit back and hear all the compliments without directly asking: “So what DIDN’T you like about the piece?”
Nicole © 2011
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