The New Black

There is a void in today’s Black Fiction.

With authors such as Terry McMillan, Pearl Cleage, Connie Briscoe, Lolita Files, Kimberla Lawson Roby,  and Yolanda Joe turning their pens toward the issues of middle-aged black women, the stories of sharp,  well-rounded young black women are not being told.

The characters representing our generation in fiction do not speak to us or for us. They are hardcore gangsta girls, seduced by the lure of fast money. They are victimized, lost souls in desperate need of “saving.” They are superfreaks, whose aspirations don’t stretch further than their next sexual encounter. They are not us.

We are ambitious in our goals, yet moral in our pursuit of the good life. We seek spirituality, not as desperate victims but as believers in search of Higher Ground. We learn and embrace our sensuality as an expression of our emotions and to meet our needs, while not being led solely by our sexual desires. We are cultured, intelligent, and sharp. We want the best of what life offers, and while we fall along the way, we learn through each experience.

We are The New Black. And our stories deserve to be told.

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