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On Writing Shrimp...

As a child, I had questions about who I was, beyond what others saw, that in time became a lifelong quest for answers. The following posts will capture some of my thoughts, and I invite you to share yours along the way.


On Shrimp In a way, Shrimp was a book that sat dormant for quite a while. Full of questions and intrigue, it was the African in my American that captured my imagination. I remember watching National Geographic as a child in the den of my family’s home or at the photographs in the magazines while at the doctor’s or dentists’ offices, matching their noses with mine, checking if any of the people on the screen or in the pages looked like family. Speaking of family, the elders didn’t have stories beyond the Black Swamp, a region in Mariana, Arkansas where my family farmed since the mid 1800’s. Prior to that, we had a relative, Mary Jones (who took on that name from her owner), who lived in North Carolina, but not much is known about her life, other than she had children, also born into slavery. But I knew our story didn’t begin on a plantation, which only fueled more questions that one day required an answer.











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