The Ink Is Black: Finding Myself in Stories and Refusing to Shrink

Little me, twirling in a world that often felt too small—finding freedom in imagination long before I found it in life. (My big brother in the back, always my quiet witness.)

I grew up as the only “chocolate chip in the batter.”The lone Black girl in classrooms, on playgrounds, in neighborhoods where I learned very quickly that the world wasn’t built for me. I was told in a thousand silent ways to shrink, to take up less space, to swallow the things that made me me.

But books—books were my rebellion.

They were portals, whispers of freedom I didn’t yet have words for. Between their pages, I was accepted without question. I could step into magic, into history, into futures bigger than the small corner of the world I’d been handed. I could be brave. I could be wild. I could be seen.

The truth is, though, most of those books didn’t look like me. The characters were rarely Black, and the stories that held me close rarely mirrored my life. Even in my safe havens, I was an observer, never the hero. And yet, those pages still saved me. They gave me imagination, and imagination gave me breath.

That’s why I created The Ink Is Black.

I wanted to build the thing I never had: a space where Black voices are lifted, celebrated, and heard without apology. A space where the richness of our stories—the joy, the pain, the humor, the love, the truth—takes center stage. Because no child should grow up feeling like they don’t belong in the stories they love.

Books were the catalyst for my interior world—the place where my imagination learned to stretch, to dance, to fight back. They sparked my love of storytelling, my hunger to create, my drive to make sure other Black kids, teens, and adults know they are not alone in this world.

The Ink Is Black is my offering. My way of honoring the books that saved me and amplifying the ones that will save someone else. It’s a space for every person who has ever searched for themselves on a shelf and wondered if they’d find a reflection smiling back.

Because when we see ourselves in stories, we don’t just imagine—we expand.We claim space.We refuse to shrink.

And the ink is, indeed, Black.