On Reimagining the Publishing Industry Through Community and Collaboration with Black Artists
Editor’s Note
By Chelene Knight
This piece was originally published in the Winter 2021 issue of Write, the magazine of The Writers’ Union of Canada.
When I was asked to edit this issue of Write knowing I would be working exclusively with Black writers, I desired the opportunity to respond to their pieces; to go back and forth and converse with these writers. I wanted to slow down and tell them how their pieces affected me and how I saw them fitting together, as a community. I take to heart the relationship that can form when a Black editor and Black writer are encouraged to sit down together, even for a short time. Why is this relationship such a rare occurrence?
When I initially read through all of the pieces in this issue, I felt a common thread poking out from beneath the pages. Although these stories and opinions are offered to us on the page through different perspectives and various experiences, I couldn’t ignore the cohesiveness. To me, this issue of Write began to feel as if we were all deep in conversation.
I’ve always known that through community and collaboration we could indeed visit and at the very least explore a reimagining of the Canadian publishing industry. We envision the necessity of transparency in Wanda Taylor’s piece and how open communication with authors and publishers can empower us to create and sustain diverse spaces. And it is that sustainability that has been the missing link for so long. Even if Black voices make it onto the page, and into the decision-making rooms, how do we ensure this space is equitable? Equity and equality are two very different things. I think deeply about this all the time.
Adding the literary agent role to my other publishing hats meant that I had to protect myself and create firm boundaries around my time, and this wasn’t always supported even when folks asked me directly: “What do you need?” I had to align my collaborators and be certain I had enough time, money, and curated support to step into such a role. I had to create time to predict and understand what my obstacles might be before I took this leap so that I could troubleshoot ahead of time. But is there room for those of us who need to move slower in order to make the necessary adjustments and to clearly communicate our needs? What happens if we make a mistake once we are in the room? “The stakes are greater for those of us who are not part of dominant society: Rejection, isolation, and fear of being exiled are real for people who are already on the margins,” Dianah Smith says in her piece, “Writing from Within.”
In this issue, we as a group ask: Is there truly equitable space at the table for more Black writers, agents, acquisitions editors, entrepreneurs, teachers, and CEOs to talk about the known nuances of publishing books, supporting authors, and creating stories that change the way we see the world? Is there time for us to learn about one another? All of the pieces in this issue offer me hope. They tell me it is possible and necessary. But how do we get there?
I am the only writer in my family. My parents didn’t read to me as a child, and I was often discouraged from having my face buried in a book, but I refused to let go of the worlds I was falling into and the ones I was creating. I recall building stories that started at the end, and spiralling characters into unmentionable predicaments, but not having any idea if this was how writing started. As a young girl I would write letters to my father telling him all the stories I was creating and what was happening in my day. My younger cousin and I would write humorous, far-off tales about movies we’d seen and plop them into mailboxes addressed to no one in particular. What if we are encouraged to explore storytelling through uniquely constructed containers and structures as Rowan McCandless does in her piece on craft, “Playing With Form”? What if our entry point into the world of writing starts with writing a letter like Lawrence Hill speaks about in his piece? What if we could show the decision-makers that there is a demand and desire for work that unfolds in ways we’ve not seen before? What about Dianah Smith’s exploration of language to tell our stories in a way that is authentic to us? What conversations are being had about these experiences?
Can mentorship and teaching play instrumental roles in highlighting non-traditional routes to publishing? The questions keep coming. There is no shortage of questions. The answers emerge through different voices, octaves, and words. The common thread that I witnessed from the very beginning is a desire to live in a world built for us to thrive. Not to merely exist, but to thrive.
We are collaborating. We are sitting at the table together having a conversation that is meant to spark and create permanent change and move us away from saying yes to temporary space. This is not a “one-off” or a veneer. We are exchanging ideas that will solidify and strengthen the publishing foundation. We are exchanging ideas and reminiscing. This issue is a gathering of incredible Black writers who are speaking and listening to each other. We are responding to one another, and through the lens of reimagining, folks on the other side of the door are listening.
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