And now what? A young writer struggles to write the next great novel, while her first is all the buzz of the publishing world

Black Issues Book Review, March-April, 2005 by Kalisha Buckhanon

Toward the middle of my first novel, Upstate (St. Martin's Press, January 2005), a teacher who coordinates prison inmate education sternly instructs one of the novel's main characters: "JUST WRITE!" On the verge of an incarceration-induced breakdown and suffering from the mental anguish of his crime, the main character releases a deluge of writing that is angry, frightening, sad and even incomprehensible at times. Initially, I had experienced a short bout of writer's block that prevented me from exploring this character's state of mind fully enough to keep writing. Looking back, I think I was afraid to imagine what it must be like, considering the circumstances he finds himself in. Eventually, I was able to open up and push even further the honesty and frankness of letters between an imprisoned man and the woman he leaves behind. I then included this "Just write!" scene, and the command was one that I had to take to heart in a professional sense while I aimed to finish the manuscript. I wish I could drag that character into my second book, and lend her to my writer friends who are in desperate need.

I was fortunate enough to finish Upstate when I had the right people in my life at the right time; and the result has been a commendable effort toward its publication from a wide collective of true professionals and supporters. But, ironically, it took securing a cornerstone achievement in a writer's career--a two-book deal--to have my first nasty, unpleasant fight with prolonged writer's block. Suddenly, I became faced with working on a second novel while trying to grasp the reality of what was happening with the first.

The Curse of Success I have been scribbling stories, poems, plays and would-be novels since I first learned penmanship. I had written two, longer novel-length manuscripts before my third, Upstate, sold. I could not imagine being unable to produce a second book by a certain time. But in addition to significant life changes, I also transitioned from being a struggling writer to a published author overnight. My publishing company kicked into gear almost immediately. I swiftly went from being an unknown (hoping someone would one day simply like my work) to having publicity, art, advertising, marketing, sales, editorial, management and Web design people whose goal was to make as many readers as possible know me and enjoy my work. It was a shock.

Things became even more daunting as my book's release date approached and I became aware of being known widely outside the realm of people I knew. Simply, Kalisha, not a public Kalisha Buckhanon, had always been the person staring at a blank page and trying to make a story appear. A freedom exists in work created during anonymity and struggle, and it is hard to mentally reclaim that freedom once an artist becomes aware of the reality of an audience; maybe that explains why the signature works of many literary icons are among their earliest.

It was a sudden, jarring realization that what I had always wanted was actually happening: my work was being put into the world and I would be "known." I was frozen, and my computer stayed untouched for weeks at a time.

The turning point came after I returned to my parents' home in Illinois and watched my father iron shirts, while I lamented my doubts. I tearfully relayed the surprises, pressures and distrusts that come with being discovered and trying to remain a simple artist after you realize things are no longer simple. My father smirked and curled his bottom lip--the sign he has always used to let me know I am in the middle of yet another typical Aries, eldest sibling, type-A overachiever outburst. He could not have conceived that there actually was more to it than his daughter being her emotional, dramatic self. He asked, "What are you worried about? You've been writing stuff since you were knee-high. This is just another thing you've written and you're gonna write more. I don't understand what is the big deal."

Reclaiming Me

Without eloquence or pretense, my father captured a truth that writers must always keep in mind before and especially after the elusive book deal. I then layed down on a bed in a room of a house that I grew up in, and reclaimed my identity as a simple girl who dreamed all her life about writing stories for a living. I managed to finally make headway on my second book once I internalized my father's wise words.

As a "black writer," I stake claim to a past and present that insure I will finish my second book, a third book, and, hopefully, many more after that. Although stories themselves may be fictional, their origins always lie in true inspiration--an inspiration that most writers never know will even strike. I have realized I have to snatch that inspiration even in the midst of a book launch, and also when there are no book deals in sight. For black writers, it is even braver. It takes courage to tell our stories, to bring to life the crimes committed against us, the pains inflicted upon us and the admirable way we have developed despite. Our stories are there. It is up to us to find the will, time and inspiration to write them. Who could possibly have more stories to tell than we--a resilient and indestructible people with a catastrophic, prophetic and almost unbelievable history?