On the Blog

The Mischief That Started It All My art story didn’t begin in a classroom or under a teacher's guidance. It started with a bit of mischief. I was five years old when I borrowed—without permission—my mother’s architectural drawing tools. Those cool, shiny rulers and mysterious drafting gadgets felt like treasure to my small hands. While she searched for what had gone missing, I was already sketching worlds that had only existed inside my imagination. I didn’t know it then, but

I had always thought I was ready. I didn’t know when I was beckoning God to open a door for me to publish a book, that it was my waiting season. Since age seven, I knew I wanted to be a writer. When a relative told me, “Fix your mind on doing something else,” because she thought writing was out of reach for a Black girl growing up in a housing project, I didn’t let her words deter me. I could not deny the calling to be a writer in my life. With a sense of pride (especially ar

My adult daughter, who finds a creative use for most things, says, “You are not artistic.” However, I reject that and insist that I am artistic. I AM a creative! My art is expressed through language and the written word. I write to explore my feelings and clarify my thoughts. Writing helps me unlock colour, shape, and sound from within. There's a rhythm and flow to my writing, with a baseline and harmony. More than just a creative outlet, writing serves as a connection to the

I write queer Black Romance because I’m a queer Black romantic. As a young child, I didn’t understand that my urge to write came from the need to escape. I would spend hours in my bedroom weaving stories that highlighted love and focused on that undeniable feeling of belonging. The first song that ever made me want to fall in love was Gotta Be by Jagged Edge. I was only twelve, but I wondered what it would be like to fall in love. I longed for that feeling—to experience the