Publishing is saying no to my voice.

I’ve been querying agents for the past few months and came up empty. I’m writing about the very real experience of being a Black single mother raising a child with early-onset schizophrenia. Our story is traumatic yet beautiful and unique. We must share this story to bridge the gap in mental health literature.

The rush over the thought of publishing blinds you to memoir’s competitiveness. If you’re lucky enough to land an agent, they have to sell it to acquisition editors, who in turn have to champion the book. I wonder what the Vegas odds are for getting a book published. I don’t know, but it’s a long shot for sure.

Like many others, the industry thrives on risk aversion. However, agents and editors are eagerly seeking writers with innovative, cutting-edge, and experimental work. Artists write literature, and it begs you to take a risk.

Throughout this process, I faced the sting of rejection, glimmers of hope and vast silence. My story is too important to be ignored. My voice can’t be silenced. So, I’m blogging my book.

I don’t need permission to tell this story. This blog is now its home.