Graphic above: The absolutely gorgeous cover for FIYAH #31: Spacefaring Aunties. Cover art by Cyan Daly.

Today is probably a year in the making (or somewhere close). FIYAH put out their submission schedule for 2024 and I looked at the list, saw Spacefaring Aunties, and my brain exploded with ideas.

None of those ideas made it to publication today, hilariously. This art life is weird, y’all.

But I set a goal and I said, yes, I want that. I want to try for that. I probably won’t get it, but I want to try for that.

Honestly, I spent the year chasing other dreams and writing other stories. I spent 12 months collecting very nice rejection letters from all the nice places that a girl can get them from. Each one broke my heart. I even went for a big fellowship and got to the finalist round, but ultimately didn’t make it over the finish line. To be very honest, earlier this summer, before I turned in Didn’t Earn It, I wanted to quit writing. I just… didn’t want to do the heartbreak thing anymore.

Two things happened that really matter:

First, I got a SFWA mentorship with the perfect person. I absolutely adore them. They picked me up off the floor for 3 months, told me I’m good enough to be here, encouraged me to keep going, told me that yes, I will be submitting work and, no, I will not be quitting. And when the mentorship period officially ended, they kept me on as a mentee. Mentorship, good mentorship, is life changing. If you have the capacity to be a mentor, please consider doing it. If you have the opportunity to become a mentee, try for it. I am still here because my mentor kept telling me I deserve to be here.

Second, every time I tried to walk away, the universe kept hanging me stories. Didn’t Earn It is a saying that angry right-wingers use to disparage DEI programs. Programs that really matter. Programs that, again, can be life changing. All summer I read stories about the lawsuits and challenges that oppressive organizations are taking to destroy hard-won progress in our country, specifically disparaging and distorting DEI policy/philosophy specifically… and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I just couldn’t look away.

I’m a Black woman who has earned many achievements. I earned them. I work my ass off for what I have. Despite every asshole who has told me that I “stole” a seat from a “more deserving” person, or I was “only” in my program because of affirmative action or other absolute bullshit, the point of the matter is that every time I was given an opportunity, I ran with it. Every time I saw something I wanted, I worked my ass off for it. (“I see it, I want it/I stunt yellow-bone it/I dream it, I work hard, I grind ’til I own it.”–Thank you, Beyonce! I scream this line in the car all the time!) Ain’t nobody can tell me that what I’ve got wasn’t earned. Certainly not legacy kids. Especially not, actually.

It’s from that primal roar that I have every time I read about some big company backing down from their “Reckoning”-era commitments, some judge striking down good law, some billionaire airing out grievances about nothing… that I wrote this. I wanted to write something to show how stupid, how dangerous, and how fruitless it is to doubt a highly educated, highly capable, highly competent Black woman. Especially when she’s trying to save your dumb ass from your dumb self.

So there you have it, that’s where this story comes from. Believe it or not, I tried to write two other stories for this issue instead, but none of them came out of me with quite the same ferocity. I turned in the story on the last day understanding it wasn’t going to be accepted. Truth be told, I didn’t really love what I turned in. I was just feeling proud that despite my depression, I hadn’t quit, I met my goal, I turned in my story.

The morning I got my reply from FIYAH, I looked at my phone, saw the subject line (without my glasses), and assumed it was another rejection. I had to read it 3 times to realize it was an acceptance!

My first in 12 months. My first ever to a journal.

I showed it to my husband (who also had no glasses on). Then I put down my phone and curled up and sobbed. Hubby cried with me. We just held each other and cried.

None of this is easy. None of it. And this stage of my journey, the “you don’t suck, you’re almost there, just keep going” stage, has been absolutely miserable. I don’t really know how to quit, as much as I want to. I’ve come so far, I don’t know how to go back and I want so badly to see myself successful. This acceptance means the world to me. Being published today, being seen by a Black publication that I respect and admire, means the absolute world to me.

So of course, in true introverted fashion, I have had crippling imposter syndrome all day! I refuse to look. I shared, but I’m not, like, loud about it. My husband keeps asking me if he can read it and I’m like, no. My Viable Paradise friends have been so nice to me today, but I’m like, “don’t talk to me, don’t read it, don’t tell me about it if you do!”

And I don’t know… how to… really deal with that. So I’m not. I’m just carrying on. I’m just trying to be cool.

If you’re reading this because you found me in FIYAH, thank you for reading and seeking me out. I’m just a girl from Maryland trying to become a “real” writer. Thanks for helping me get one step closer to that realness.

If you’re a FIYAH mag staffer: thank you. If you’re the one who plucked my story out of the slush, bless you 1000 times. I’ve already thanked DaVaun and Kerine in my emails profusely, but let this blog post live forever with my additional thanks. You broke my drought, you gave me reason to celebrate and keep going, you gave me reason for a good cathartic cry. Y’all are the best.

If you haven’t picked up a copy, be sure to check out FIYAH magazine and purchase one today! Just… read all the other great stories in this issue. You don’t have to read mine. If you do… don’t tell me. Just be cool. Everybody be cool!