Austin, TX — Torch Literary Arts has been approved for a Grants for Arts Projects award from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) to support artist fees for workshops, readings, and retreats. This project will focus on creating advancement opportunities for Black women writers, as well as a retreat where participants can share ideas and receive professional advice while working on a manuscript in progress. Torch Literary Arts' project is among 1,130 projects across the country, totaling more than $31 million, that were selected during this second round of Grants for Arts Projects fiscal year 2023 funding. “The National Endowment for the Arts is pleased to support a wide range of projects, including Torch Literary Arts' programs, demonstrating the many ways the arts enrich our lives and contribute to healthy and thriving communities,” said NEA Chair Maria Rosario Jackson, PhD. “These organizations play an important role in advancing the creative vitality of our nation and helping to ensure that all people can benefit from arts, culture, and design.” "Torch Literary Arts is grateful for this vital support from the National Endowment for the Arts to fulfill our mission to amplify Black women writers. Funds will be used to pay writers and support those who wish to develop their craft." Programs supported with this grant include the Torch Wildfire Reading Series, creative writing and professional development workshops, and the launch of our 2023 Torch Retreat in Austin, TX. For more information on other projects included in the NEA grant announcement, visit arts.gov/news. Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

Smith's work has been recognized by the Sundance Screenwriters Lab and the Tribeca Film Festival and she was appointed Muse of African American Poetry for the City of Alameda, CA. Photo by Salihah Saadiq Shia Shabazz Smith is a poet, educator, and screenwriter who strives to ensure that her art and her service represent her varied communities at large. A widely published poet, Shia’s affiliations include Cave Canem Fellow, VONA, The Austin Project, and UC Berkeley’s Poetry for the People. Her honors include finalist placement for poetry and screenwriting, ranging from recognition in TORCH Literary Arts as the inaugural issue’s “Spark” to distinguished as Muse of African American Poetry for the City of Alameda. Also an experienced screenwriter, Shia has written five pilots, tens of shorts film scripts, and ten feature-length screenplays… and counting. Shia’s narrative short film, Curdled – a hilarious glimpse of what a prenatal support group of women over 40, might look like- has screened internationally at eight film festivals. The film stars Keke Palmer, Robinne Lee, and Chenoa Maxwell. Her screenwriting honors include finalist placement in the Moondance and Tribeca’s All-Access competitions, multiple advancements in the NYC Midnight Screenplay Competitions, and three-time, stage two project advancements in the Sundance Screenwriters Lab. Shia’s website documents her past, recent, and forthcoming projects. Shia is a high school teacher in a community school for students with mild/moderate learning challenges where she has taught both “Script-to-Screen” and poetry classes. Shia lives in Oakland, California, with her beautiful family and their beloved cat, T’Challa. Follow Shia on her website and on Instagram and Twitter. Curdled (excerpt) by Shia Shabazz Smith INT. INTERVIEW ROOM - DAY Near hysterics, Tara’s OTF interview. TARA You can look at them and tell they are support groupies. Waiting to tell me mom’s... dying. 6. Tara starts balling again. TARA My last several trips home, mom’s condition has been getting worse and worse. She just didn’t want to tell me. INT. MARATARA MANOR - MASTER BATHROOM - DAY SEVEN MONTHS AGO. Mara kneels over the toilet, vomiting. She doesn’t notice Tara who enters aghast. Tara immediately turns on her heels, hurries away sobbing. TARA (V.O.) She would never throw up lobster. Never! INT. MARATARA MANOR - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY THREE MONTHS AGO. Tennis outfit on, racket in hand, Tara enters excitedly only to find Mara snoring; sleep mask covering her eyes. She turns on her heels and races away, in tears. TARA (V.O.) And she slept in on a Saturday. We missed our noon lesson! Mara snores, unawares. INT. MARATARA MANOR - WALK-IN CLOSET - DAY LAST VISIT. Tara spies on Mara as Mara attempts to fasten the waist of her pants around her protruding belly. Horrified, dressed identically, Tara storms off in tears. TARA (V.O.) And all the weight she’s gained! INT. MARATARA MANOR - MAIN ROOM - DAY BACK TO PRESENT, Mara and Tara are a mess of make-up streaks and tears. TARA Pregnant? Dana hands Tara a tissue. Tara blows her nose, sobers quickly. 7. TARA She can’t be pregnant. She’s forty-three. And she’s dying. ### The Interview Conducted via email in April 2023 by Amanda Johnston Torch is proud to have published you as a feature in our first issue, Torch 2006, selected by Sharon Bridgforth as her Spark. Since then, you have continued to build an incredible career as an educator, poet, and screenwriter. What feeds your creative practice and inspires you to keep writing? Sharon Bridgforth is a sage. The universe aligned our paths at a time when I needed the sincere quality and caliber of mentorship and profound care that only she could offer. I am ever grateful for her “seeing me” and for the gift of being the first featured Spark for Torch, my beloved literary home. As I navigate my journey into screenwriting, this moment feels fortuitously full circle. What feeds me…? It’s probably not the most glamorous response but my mortality feeds my creative practice. The impermanence of moments, relationships, and people keeps me writing. Unfortunately, writing is so much a part of the fabric of who I am at this point that I couldn’t quit if I wanted to. (Believe me, I’ve tried.) But when I am not writing, there is a death of small things happening in my soul. Writing helps me to process life and explore the richness of interpretations and meanings and layers. Not to mention, I LOVE words. And I love attempting the seemingly impossible task of trying to convey meaning with this very limited supply of letters and words as symbols for what is ultimately ineffable. Using the time I have on this earth to share what I might through this medium feels like what I was put here to do. Your film, Curdled, is a funny and powerful affirmation of reproductive rights. Why was this script important for you to write? I wrote Curdled when I was in my late thirties and pregnant. I thought I was going through perimenopause and… SURPRISE! (“Peri-meno-pregnant!”) Before that, other than writing, pregnancy with my previous two children had been my greatest love and my most unequivocal joy. But when my doctor and other medical professionals kept coming at me with statements like, “Babies born to older mothers have a higher risk of (FILL IN THE SCARY BLANK),” I decided that I knew my body better than they did. Whoever this baby was and however this baby entered the world, I was blessed with their coming. I know mothering to be my greatest effort of love. So, rather than prepare for all of the uncertainties and riddle my body with worry, I surrounded myself with love and joy and remained prayerful for a safe delivery for me and our son. Initially, Curdled was simply my processing of what I had heard and seen in friends who had given birth near or post 40, as well as what I had experienced as a “geriatric mom,” which, according to the Cleveland Clinic, is “ a medical term to describe people who are over age 35 during pregnancy.” Curdled was important to me because, over the years, I realized how often I had been silenced; as a Black woman, a survivor, a divorcee, as a “past her prime” woman, and now as a mother. Until then, motherhood was the only thing I had really gotten right. (Empirical Evidence: My children are KILLING the game of life! They are outstanding humans; brilliant, beautiful, talented, kind… I digress.) At that time, during this third and final pregnancy, giving voice to my experience was intended to counter the overwhelming medical data that I perceived had an agenda that didn’t include me. My experience was important. Each of the women in Curdled represents some aspect of the beautiful and complex challenge of being a mother AND being a daughter. There is so much that is being reconciled in the transaction of pregnancy and birth. At the time, my own mother had been diagnosed with an early onset of a rare form of dementia and Curdled helped me to stand in and process all of that in the best way I knew how at the time. I am immensely grateful to the creative team and executive producers (Director Yolande Geralds, Producer Courtney Carreras, and Executive Producers Jim R. Metellus, Veronica M. Robinson, and Keke Palmer) and to the ENTIRE (overwhelmingly woman-filled) cast and crew who saw the jewel that is Curdled and contributed their remarkable talents to birth this incredible experience in storytelling and filmmaking. Without seeing and acknowledging the vast possibilities of support and love and life and genius, we aren’t adequately representing life. Curdled stars talented actors including Keke Palmer, Robinne Lee, and Chenoa Maxwell, and was directed by Yolande Geralds. What was the process like for you as the screenwriter to see your story brought to life with this phenomenal cast and crew? The entire making of Curdled was pretty incredible. To have my vision interpreted by Yolande (Geralds) was a dream. She and Courtney (Carreras), along with Lisa Love, brought together the resources and magic that ultimately became the film and my secondary education in film production. And the actors… SHEESH! I had been a long-time admirer of Robinne Lee and Chenoa Maxwell… since Hav Plenty! On top of that, for years, I actually taught an “etymology of words” unit for my students that began with “Akeelah and the Bee.” So, needless to say, I have always been a Keke Palmer fan and I have earned massive cool points with my students. It can be unusual for a screenwriter (who is not also directing) to be a part of the entire process. I went to L.A., for an initial casting process where I first met Keke and it was EVERYTHING! A week or two later, we shot Curdled over a weekend (Friday through Sunday) and I was an active member of the production team (as Script Supervisor and general “assisting”) on set during the entire shoot. I cried on the first day after we shot the first scene. I remember stopping Chenoa Maxwell during a break and telling her how funny her delivery was and how much I loved one of her lines. She said, “Well, YOU wrote it!” It was then that the entirety of the process dawned on me. I WROTE THAT SHIT! Another fun side note is that I wrote, co-produced, and ended up singing the end credits song, “Old Mama.” (Bucket list item… CHECK!) I worked on each stage of the process; from pre-production through production to post. That was a real gift. We shot in 2013 and hit the festival circuit through 2015. Since then, I have grown very close to a few of the actors and remain connected to most (whom I secretly refer to as all of the “Baby Mamas” of Curdled). Each offered tremendous talents to the film and is an incredible human in her own right. For my first film, the experience was perfection. I wouldn’t change a thing. What advice would you give to emerging screenwriters? First and foremost, the obvious: watch a multitude of movies, read a superabundance of scripts, and WRITE, WRITE, WRITE! There is no story without the tellers (writers) so be GOOD at it! Write badly until you get good at it (and you won’t know when that is, by the way). Screenwriting is both art and craft. Embrace and bask in both. Engage the art in ways that fill you up. Learn the craft the way you learn best. If you are a reader, my top three recommendations would be “How to Write a Movie in 21 Days” by Viki King, “Save the Cat: The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need” by Blake Snyder, and “On Writing” by Stephen King. If you are a “workshopper,” I might also recommend the book that goes along with the workshop that I HIGHLY recommend, STORY by Robert McKee. If, like me, you thrive in communities of learners, find out what classes might be available at your local community college or what film organizations exist in your town. STORY changed my life. After that, in those early years, I subsequently attended numerous screenwriting classes and workshops, then went on to take production, directing, and acting classes so that I could understand the full scope of this industry I had hoped to find a lasting career in. It changed my life. If possible, get a good mentor. As a poet, I was BLESSED to be a part of writing communities like VONA, Cave Canem, The Austin Project, and Poetry for the People where, in the company of highly regarded mentors, I was able to hone my craft and my humanity by observing and creating art that ultimately (and forever) enriched my life. By the time I listened to the advice of Stacey Evans Morgan (my mentor whom I credit for the inspiration for my entry into my now beloved screenwriting), I knew to seek out communities of people who were committed to the same journey; communities where camaraderie trumps competition and love trumps EVERYTHING. Finally, allow yourself the space to celebrate success at every level and mourn the inevitability of failures. Take risks. Fail forward. The joy and the pain will come and go. Your job, devoted screenwriter, is to keep writing, no matter what. What projects are you working on now? I recently completed a pilot for a project out of Chicago that is currently in pre-production. I also recently began working for an Oakland-based Black youth organization to write a couple of projects, the first of which is an animated series. Regarding my personal projects - the way my brain works - ideas are constantly clamoring for my attention. The ones that come through most intensely win. A couple of months ago, I woke up with an inspired thought. I am working on the first draft of it and collaborating with a partner to write it. It is, in fact, one of the best ideas I have EVER had. (I say this about every project baby; call each my favorite. Don’t tell this one.) You live and teach in Oakland. What are your go-to spots for creative inspiration? Being in movie theaters is my happy place to become inspired again and again. I LOVE catching a film at The Grand Lake Theater or The New Parkway Theater. I also love walking along the shops on Lakeshore, dancing at live music events or any gig where my drummer-singer husband plays, rollerskating at the Brooklyn Basin, and hanging out anywhere in or around the Embarcadero/Jack London Square. What music is setting the vibe for a chill Sunday morning at home? Donnie Hathaway (my October 1st birthday-mate), Lalah Hathaway, Gregory Porter, and H.E.R. If you are introducing yourself to someone through food, what’s on the menu? A Jamaican beef patty and a brilliantly tossed green salad with grilled prawns as appetizers, Thai curry chicken and veggies over rice entree, and a dark chocolate truffle OR a finely cut slice of tiramisu for dessert with a cup of oat-milk splashed rich dark roast coffee. How can people support you? Follow me on social media. Root for me and say my name. Come to readings when I have them or am featured. Watch my films when I make them. Keep kind words on your lips about me and speak them to the ancestors to guide me. Name another Black woman writer people should follow. Nijla Mumin - Nijla is hella dope. She makes courage look effortless. ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

We are thrilled to announce that Torch Literary Arts is the recipient of a Spring 2023 Equity in Verse grant from the Poetry Foundation! These vital unrestricted funds will help Torch grow and continue to amplify, support, and pay Black women writers. During this grant cycle, The Poetry Foundation awarded 55 nonprofit organizations over $1,600,000 in funding to increase access to poetry and support poets through providing publications, educational activities, festivals, writing workshops, residencies, and more. Congratulations to all of the organizations awarded and thank you for enriching the lives of writers and the literary community as a whole. Click here to learn more. ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

A place for adult BIPOC womxn and non-binary writers to come together on a biweekly basis. Torch Literary Arts is proud to announce the launch of the Torch Writing Circle! Torch is dedicated to amplifying Black women writers and growing a diverse literary community in Central Texas and beyond. We invite BIPOC womxn and non-binary writers to join us in person and virtually at this biweekly gathering for dedicated writing time to nurture their creative practice. Participants can expect to meet other writers, set individual writing goals, have one hour of quiet writing time, and a closing reflection. A writing prompt by a Black woman writer will be available for those who'd like some inspiration to get started. The circle is free, but donations are encouraged if you are able to support Torch. Please RSVP on our sign-up form here. Questions? Email: contact @ torchliteraryarts.org Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

Blanton New Grounds: Grand Opening Celebration, May 13, 2023 Torch Literary Arts joins the Blanton Museum of Art for the grand opening of the new outdoor Moody Patio & Grounds. Enjoy live music and remarks by special guests on the new Moody Patio, an art experience designed by the Haas Brothers, plus explore the new art, architecture, and gardens throughout the grounds. Self-guided family activities will also be available. The event will also kick off our new operating hours, which include staying open till 8 p.m. on Saturdays. 4 - 5 pm: Torch will curate a reading by Texas writers in the museum’s Meredith Lounge on the second floor. Limited seating; first come, first served. Click here for ticket information and to RSVP to attend. Featuring Originally from South Central Los Angeles, Eva Margarita is an Afro-Latinx performance artist and scholar. Her performance works explore ritual and grief while her critical writings explore race and the census. As an artist, Eva Margarita is concerned with grief and wake work that allows us to accompany, blur lines, and spill all over each other. Her work is guided by the principle that the rituals of everyday life offer a way of existing that acknowledges familial, scholarly, and spiritual methods of becoming. She is currently a Phd Candidate at UT Austin and a Board Director at The VORTEX Repertory. jo reyes-boitel is a poet, playwright, and scholar, queer mixed Latinx, and parent now working on their MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Texas – Rio Grande Valley, where they also serve as a teaching assistant. Their publications include Michael + Josephine (FlowerSong Press, 2019) and the chapbook mouth (Neon Hemlock, 2021). Playing with fire, their book of poetry centered on their upbringing, is forthcoming from Next Page Press in November 2023. Icess Fernandez is an educator, writer, podcaster, and former journalist. She is a graduate of Goddard College’s MFA program and the University of Houston. Her work has been internationally published in Queen Mobs Lit Journal, Poetry 24, Rabble Lit, Minerva Rising Literary Journal, and the Feminine Collective’s anthology Notes from Humanity. Her Houston-based story, “Happy Hunting”, was recently published in the Houston Noir anthology. Her podcast, Dear Reader, is based on the popular blog of the same name. Her nonfiction/memoir work has appeared in Dear Hope, NBCNews.com, HuffPost, and the Guardian. She is a recipient of the Owl of Minerva Award, a VONA/Voices of Our Nation Arts Foundation alum, a Dos Brujas Workshop alum, and a Kimbilio Fellow. She’s currently working on her first novel and finishing her memoir, Problematic. Jennine “DOC” Krueger is a mother, writer, artivist, public speaker, and educator in Austin, Texas. She has competed in world, national, and local slam poetry competitions. She holds four titles including being a member of the Killeen Poetry Slam which placed 2nd overall in the nation in 2012 and Neo Soul Poetry Slam placing 1st in group piece finals in 2013. Jennine was the 2015 season slam champ for Austin’s Neo Soul and has now coached several national teams for Austin Poetry Slam. Her poetry and dramatic works have been published in Santa Fe Literary Review, and the Sierra Nevada Review as a winner in the Brian Turner Literary Arts Prize, and her dramatic work has won Best of Fest five times in Austin’s Frontera Festival. She is now a tenured Associate Professor in the Department of English at Huston-Tillotson University with an M.Ed. from Concordia University and an MFA in poetry from Spalding University. Her current role at HT is the Inaugural Presidential Fellow for Student Engagement and Retention and she is an Emerging Teaching Artist Fellow through Mindpop and the City of Austin. Her scholarship has led her to discuss culture and comics at the National Pop Culture Conference, Wizard World’s Comic Con, virtually in the 2020 SXSWEdu conference on Teaching for Social Justice with Comics, and The Cosplay Poetry Slam at SanJapan 2021 in San Antonio Texas. Her writing has a vast range across politics, race and identity as well as across genres with children’s literature and a hip-hop musical retelling of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (currently in development through Theatre Now New York’s National Musical Lab). Her research interests are in spoken word performance, medieval literature translations into hip-hop, social and restorative justice, and marginalized heroes in comic books and graphic novels. She is developing an anime screenplay pilot Ars Poetica that focuses on poetry and mental health. Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

Jennifer Price is a Chicago born African American mother, poet, visual artist, and librarian rooted in Macon, Georgia. Jennifer has the honor of being a member of Obsidian Literature & Arts’ inaugural O|Sessions Black Listening cohort, and she is a Teaching Artist in training through the NYC Community-Word Project. Her writing is published in the up//root collective, and publication of her collage artwork is forthcoming from the Kolaj Institute. As a creative, Jennifer leans into themes of motherhood, loss, and place and their bearing on the contingencies held within the Black woman’s identity. Follow her online on Instagram and Twitter. That’s Not Poison Ivy It’s Virginia creeper, you tell the neighbor woman. Now, go! Go forth in freedom—I have liberated you from a lifetime of believing Black folks can’t identify plants! you want to bellow to her back when her daughter’s Yorkie has yanked her paces away from your yard work. Your boy is up on the front porch chalking the cement floor, the white flies have wafted away—they are ruining someone else’s gardenia leaves with their dark paste. When you come in for water, he doesn’t see you watch him through the tall window. He’s aiming the nozzle of the insect repellent at his own face, accidentally. You don’t rush out to stop him. The sun is high and drying the grass clippings according to your plan. You and the boy are together, everything is perfect. ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

Born and raised in Detroit, Cieara Estelle is a writer whose stories mostly focus on multigenerational relationships, Black urban living, and womanhood. Her work has been awarded by the University and Michigan Dearborn and published in Ambassador Magazine and The Michigan Chronicle. Follow her on Instagram. Family Portrait Peaches takes portraits in her grandmother’s seafoam green living room for thirty-two dollars, so my mama hyped up her skills around the house for weeks, saying how she’s the best photographer in the neighborhood. On the walk down to Peaches’ grandmother’s house, mama’s patent leather heels clicked like little cymbals on the sidewalk as she kept talking about how Peaches could even make Don King look good on camera, that the girl was at the top of her class at the College for Creative Studies, that we should feel lucky we lived so close to such a talent. But we all know we wouldn’t have ended up in front of that worn-down wallpaper but Peaches wanted us to pretend was the “perfect neutral backdrop” if it weren’t for the price. The night before, I got up to get a cup of water and I overheard my daddy tell my mama he wasn’t paying for pictures, especially since we all basically looked the same in the ones we took a year ago except for Mel who may have grown an inch or two. So I guess mama was footing the bill, which was a stretch for mama, with her one-day-a-week job at the cleaners. Family pictures right before Thanksgiving has been a long-standing tradition for us. Dex said mama does it to show her family in Georgia, all is still well with her in Detroit and she’s not in a homeless shelter like so many said she would be when she decided to marry my dad and move up north. Not only that but she’s adamant about getting the pictures in the mail by the end of November, I told her it would be easier to just post them on Facebook, but she said posting pictures to a bunch of strangers versus sending tangible cards in the mail is two totally different things and I should know that. I mean I did know that, but I also didn’t see what the big deal was. Dex stood next to me with a smirk while humming the Jeopardy countdown tune as Peaches struggled with her tripod. “Can you stop?” she said to him, hunched over the camera, her watermelon breast covering the lens. “Dexter!” Mama shouted as she swatted his chest with the back of her hand. Mama was in her Sunday Best. A navy-blue ankle-length dress with a rhinestone collar, soft curls pinned up with swoops on both sides. The rest of us looked like her background singers. Dad in his too-tight brown corduroy suit, Dex in his baby blue button-down shirt and matching striped tie, Mel in her yellow tulle dress and Girl Scout sash draped across her small frame that she cried all morning begging to wear, and me in an itchy turquoise polyester jumper Grandma Pat gave the year before for my birthday. Peaches looked up from the camera and smiled with her tiny chicklet teeth. “Y’all looking like the ocean,” she said. “All the shades of blue and browns. Except for little mama there in yellow,” she pointed to Mel who stood in the center of everyone. “She looks like a princess sun,'' Mel laughed and pulled on her sash, making the sewn-on patches slide from her chest to back. I shook my head because even though I wasn’t sure if a princess sun was an actual thing or not, Peaches was spot on, pointing Mel out as the spoiled, get-whatever-she-wanted one in the family. “Is the yellow going to throw the picture off? I told her to wear a brown dress, but you know how kids are these days. Always got ideas of their own,” Mama said, arms wrapped across Mel as if she was prepared to eclipse the sun with her own brown arms. From what I could tell Peaches didn’t like kids at all, the only time I saw her talking to any was when she was yelling through the screen door telling them to stop popping wheelies on her lawn. But she smiled and winked at Mel and said, “ A little sun never ruined a show,” Peaches must have needed the money bad. Ms. Pauline, Peaches’ grandma, walked into the living room carrying an oversized mug that said JAW, Jesus Always Wins. She didn’t look at us or Peaches. Her burgundy sweatsuit had a bleach stain on the back of her pants that made her butt look like it was on fire. “When you gonna be done in here?” she asked as she set her mug on an end table and picked up the remote. I nudged Dex in the ribs trying to point out her butt stain but he was fixated on Peaches breasts that were still spilling over the lens. “Okay, I got it yall, stand close together,” Peaches said to us. “Girl you hear me? Don’t make me embarrass you in front of your company,” “These are my clients grandma, and just a few more minutes please,” Ms. Pauline huffed and looked over her shoulder. “Oh I didn’t even see you there Ronetta,” she said to my mother. “Peaches be having some of everybody up in here. I thought it was just one of her little friends,” Ms. Pauline and my mom were on the Sunday School committee at church together and played Bingo every other Friday. “You're fine, Pauline. I’m sorry we just wanted to get some pictures done. We can leave if it’s not a good time,” “Oh girl, don’t mind me. I just wanted to watch CNN before I start making dinner,” “Grandma ain’t nothing going to change. They voted Trump in there, might as well accept it,” “Hush child, I don’t care about that raggedy election,” Peaches nodded without looking in Ms. Pauline’s direction and I hoped their talk wouldn’t rile up daddy. “All I know is Trump is about to set black people back forty years flat!” he said, with enough bass in his voice to shake the living room. “You ain’t lying,” Ms. Pauline said, she leaned back in her LAY-Z boy; the chair groaned like it was already tired of her. Peaches angled her body away from her grandma and rolled her eyes and all I could wonder was when the pictures would be taken because I didn’t put any lotion on my legs and they were screaming from the tights rubbing up against them. “Okay, we’re ready. Stand close together and say Cheese!” We sang the word in unison and her camera flashed over and over. “Okay that’s good, we got some good ones,” “You sure? Is that it?’ “Yes, you got the thirty-two-dollar package right? That’s only one pose,” “Oh,” my mom said in a way that made me feel sorry for her. My dad put his coat on as soon as Peaches said we were done, Mel was at the door behind him and Dex’s eyes were glued to the TV. “I got you, Ronetta don’t worry y'all looking a billion bucks,” “Ronetta? Girl, she old enough to be your mama. Go to college and get beside yourself” Ms. Pauline barked toward her granddaughter, never taking her eyes off the screen. “Ms. Ronetta, I’m sorry,” “You alright sweetie, calling me Ms. anything just makes me feel old. So, when can I expect the pictures?” “Oh give me a day and I’ll send it by email,” My mom looked at me and I already knew what she was going to say. “And you’ll help me figure out how to get it printed right Tatum?” “Yeah mama, you know I will,” “Okay well, I guess we’re finished here. Thank you Peaches. I can't wait to see how they turn out. See you, Pauline,” Ms. Pauline waved as she took a sip from the mug. Mama’s mouth was fixed in a tiny smile, her eyes were relaxed, and her steps light as she moved toward the door. Mama didn’t ask for much, but this annual tradition made her happier than any cheap piece of jewelry or bottle of perfume we could give her, so I was happy to see her happy. It made the annoyance of dressing up on a Saturday and walking down to Peaches for some living room pictures worth it. ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

Black Mamas ATX and Torch Literary Arts organized a poetry night in recognition of Black Maternal Health Week and in celebration of National Poetry Month. by: Eniola Longe, Apr 14, 2023 AUSTIN (KXAN) — Black Mamas ATX and Torch Literary Arts organized a poetry night in recognition of Black Maternal Health Week and in celebration of National Poetry Month. ‘Breaking Water: An evening of poetry and storytelling’ was inspired by Wangechi Mutu’s Water Woman, and spoke to Black women’s physical and mythical connection to water, specifically during and around the process of childbirth. ‘Breaking Water’ highlighted the power of art to raise awareness and called others to choose change. Tova Charles, Jennine ‘Doc’ Krueger, and Qi Dada of Riders Against the Storm shared original poetry along with birth storytellers from Black Mamas ATX. Torch Literary Arts’ mission to “promote the work of Black women by publishing and promoting creative writing by emerging and experienced writers alike” aligns with Black Mamas ATX’s goal to reduce and ultimately eliminate the alarming maternal mortality and morbidity rates among Black women. Keep Reading Black Mamas ATX’s goal is to reduce and ultimately eliminate the alarming maternal mortality and morbidity rates among Black women. Through programs, increased awareness, training, outreach, and research, Black Mamas ATX is leading the charge in Central Texas to help Black mothers get the education and access to resources needed to have healthy pregnancies and birthing experiences. Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

Aisha Sharif is a Cave Canem fellow who resides in Overland Park, Kansas, a suburb that borders Kansas City, Missouri. And in many ways, much of her poetry and nonfiction addresses the politics of “bordering identities.” As an African American Muslim woman originally from the south, her work explores how racial, gender, and religious identities align, separate, and blend. Her poem, “Vanna White Reconsiders Her Pact with Her Jinn” has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2019 and her poem “Why I Can Dance Down a Soul Train Line and Still be Muslim” was nominated in 2015. Aisha’s poetry has also appeared in Rattle, Callaloo, Crab Orchard Review, and Calyx. Her first book of poetry, To Keep From Undressing, was released by Spark Wheel Press in 2019. Aisha earned her MFA in Creative Writing at Indiana University, Bloomington and her BA in English from Rhodes College in Memphis, TN. She currently teaches English at Metropolitan Community College in Kansas City, Missouri and is a wife and a mother of two beautiful girls. Follow her online at her website. Repose And he it is who makes The Night as a Robe For you and Sleep as Repose And makes the Day (As it were) a Resurrection - The Quran, Chapter 25, Verse 47 Undress, step in this basin of sleep. Immerse your dreams in lavender sleep: Honey, blueberry, mint ice-cream— how we licked summer of its sleep! The morning after, he rose as mercury— quick to clean memory of our sleep. I’ve prayed to wake a woman of faith. This day, God has overslept. The girl stared at blood-soured sheets. What secrets would she fold asleep? Here’s sunrise: orange-mouthed god yawning himself from sleep. Mary, lay your trust in the body. Open palms, invite Him to sleep. ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

by Hanna Ortega, 3/7/2023 excerpt Gathered in a Zoom workshop, a group of Black women writers had the opportunity to do some "digging into that honesty box," as presenter Ebony Stewart put it. Part of that exploration of honesty meant looking their own imposter syndrome — or feeling of fraudulence and self-doubt — in the eye. "Self-sabotaging your greatness because you don't think you deserve to be great," one participant wrote in the chat about the syndrome. "The thing you say you are but fear you aren't," wrote another. As the writers posted their feelings, the space grew more open and comfortable, accepting and affirming. It was the exact space Amanda Johnston wanted to create when she decided to found Torch Literary Arts in Austin. "It is impossible to have a full representation of the world that we live in, and the world that we read, without the voices of Black women," Johnston said. Keep Reading ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

Khadijah AbdulHaqq is a mother of five. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her work is forthcoming and has appeared in HerStry, Believers Bailout, Haute Hijab, and elsewhere. She is the author of, Nanni’s Hijab, a children’s book on empathy and awareness. Khadijah is currently seeking an agent, and working on her unlinked short story collection. When Khadijah isn’t writing or mothering, she is binging on Netflix and Hulu. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter. “Things You Get at Starbucks” Things you can get at Starbucks: A mocha macchiato with almond milk A frozen tomato and pesto sandwich half-warmed in the microwave A baby To get a baby you don’t go into the drive-thru. Your husband is running late. So, you volunteer to go inside and get his coffee. You stand behind a man in a Brooks Brothers suit and wait for him to order. “A mocha macchiato with soy and three sugars," he says. You always get a mocha macchiato and three sugars. Three sugars are just right. Not too sweet. Too much sugar spoils the coffee. “Good taste,” you say. You think your voice is low but it’s not. He can hear you. He looks over his shoulder and says, “Thank you.” You’re stunned for a moment but you collect yourself and say, “That’s my drink. The mocha macchiato with three sugars. Except, instead of soy, I take mine with almond milk.” He looks you up and down. His eyes are so wide and dark like onyx. His eyelashes look better than yours. He has the face of a gazelle-- a cross between Shamar Moore and Morris Chestnut. It doesn’t matter because they’re both fine as hell. Then you remember the fuzzy grey slippers on your feet. Your hair looks like you've been hit by a lightning bolt. And your breath is warm, not hot but it could use some freshening up. Your face fills with blood and the pressure causes your eyes to bulge. Your gut begins to bubble and need to leave before you crap all over the Starbucks lobby’s floor. You leave without ordering. Your husband asks where’s his coffee? You say the line was long and you have to get home. The next day, you do your makeup and hair before going to Starbucks. And even though your husband isn’t late, you volunteer to go inside and get coffee. “I’ll go,” he says. “You went yesterday.” You protest. “No, that’s okay. I can do it,” you say. But you know if you protest too much it will make him suspicious, and then he’ll want to go inside to see what has you so intrigued. You acquiesce. No Brooks Brothers. For the next two weeks, you go to Starbucks every day at the same time to look for Brooks Brothers. Each time, you do your hair and cake on layers of foundation, concealer, and primer to hide all your flaws and highlight your best features. You even purchased magnetic lashes to match his. Despite your efforts, there is no Brooks Brothers. Two weeks go by before you see him again. He rides past you one morning in his Tesla. The same white Tesla you drive. We have so much in common, you think. You give him a half smile and crack the Mulan rouge matte color number six on your lips. He doesn’t acknowledge you and rides right past you. Another two weeks go by. You have all but given up on ever seeing him again. You buy bags of Starbucks Pike’s Place at the grocery store. You get a pint of almond milk creamer. And when your husband asks you why you haven’t gone to Starbucks for your usual. You say, “I can make my own damn coffee.” But it’s a lie. You’re a horrible coffee maker. Your coffee tastes like burnt cigarettes. No amount of creamer can fix it. After a few morning cups of your cigarette bath water coffee, your husband begs you to stop making coffee and to please go to Starbucks. Reluctantly, you do. This time you don’t wear makeup. You don’t curl your hair or brush your teeth. You wear clown-printed flannel pajamas and your fuzzy grey slippers. “I like this better,” a voice says, from behind you. You look back. It’s Brooks Brothers. He is even finer than you remember. Maybe get his number this time, you think. But Brooks Brothers wants something. You’re not sure what it is but you go with it. He takes you by the hand to the bathroom. You don't resist even though your breath is still hot from a long night’s restless sleep. And you haven’t showered yet. You don’t know him from a can of spray paint but you don’t ask what he’s doing or why he’s doing it. You just go. You've been thinking of him night and day for two and a half weeks and you want nothing more than to bury your face in his neck. You want to rub his sculpted chest that begs for your attention underneath his button-up. You want to feel his hands on you. You know you shouldn’t. You know just thinking about Brooks Brothers (and you still call him that because you haven’t asked him his name) is breaking a secret covenant of being a faithful wife. Still, you go. In the bathroom, Brooks Brothers tells you he’s been watching you for weeks. “You’re married,” he says. You wonder when did he first come to know this? How long has he known? How long has he been watching you? “Yes,” you say. “I’m aware.” You want to be the faithful, dutiful wife. You want to save yourself for your husband. Guard your body. Have babies together. Give your mother-in-law the grandbabies she’s been nagging for. “When are you going to have a grandbaby for me?” she said, after your husband’s cousin Aliza’s baby shower. Then again when your sister-in-law announced her pregnancy. She tells you that she has a doctor friend that can help you with hormones to fix your little problem. She doesn't know that you've spent thousands of dollars on fertility testing. She has no idea that your husband has a low sperm count. And erectile dysfunction. And it is him with the little baby-making problem. And that you two haven’t had sex in two years after the diagnosis. She doesn’t know that there won’t be any grandbabies. So, when Brooks Brothers grabs you by the hands and takes you into Starbucks bathroom and pulls your pants down and asks you “Is this what you want?” you say yes, softly like a child, who’s begging for his favorite candy. And when he presses himself inside of you, you’re not angry or scared. You like it. You welcome it. You need it. You open for it. In between the pauses of your heavy breathing, you beg him not to stop. He does. Afterward, he tears two sheets of brown paper towel off-- one for you and one for him. He uses his towel to wipe off the front of his pants. You clean yourself up as much as you can with a brown paper towel and the low-flow water coming out of the sink. Brooks Brothers grab you by the hand again and guides you into the lobby. Your husband is standing at the door. He's been waiting for you. He heard people were screwing in the bathroom. He laughed at how ridiculous the thought of that was. “That’s crazy,” he said. He almost pisses his pants when he sees you and Brooks Brothers coming out of the bathroom. I see why you were so pressed to get dolled up for coffee,” he says. “I just want to look good,” he says, mimicking you. “Self-esteem, my ass.” He rushes home and packs his clothes in a duffle bag, including his Brooks Brothers suits. “I’m going to my mother’s,” he says. You don’t care anymore because you’re tired of his drama. And you are certain that you can get more action from Brooks Brothers. “Maybe next time we’ll do it in his Tesla,” you say. It’s been a month since you’ve seen or heard from Brooks Brothers. You go to Starbucks and sit in the parking lot. You're still a little embarrassed from the scene you two made in the bathroom. Something is going on with your body. Your breasts are sore. Your period is late. The smell of mocha macchiato with three sugars makes you want to vomit. During her last visit, your mother said you look different: “I can’t quite put my finger on it. But your face is glowing,” she said. After a while, getting out of bed becomes difficult. When you tell your doctor how you’ve been feeling, she tells you "I think you're pregnant. You need a pregnancy test.” “Pregnant,” you say. “Impossible.” But you know it’s totally possible. You try to convince yourself that you only did it once and you can’t get pregnant standing up. "Don't be silly", you tell yourself. "You know better." You pee on a stick. Two faint pink lines appear. It’s true: you’re pregnant. And you know Brooks Brothers is the father. Your spouse calls. He leaves a message: “I want to come home,” he says. You miss him too. Under any other circumstance, it would be nice to share the news with him. You'd have him massage your pregnant belly. Bring you tea to calm the nausea. Rub your swollen feet. You almost tell him about the baby. You pause and catch yourself. You think you’re not ready for the backlash. The tears. The crying. The arguing. It’s too soon, you reason as you rub your hand over your not yet protruding belly. A baby is all that you’ve ever wanted. All that any of you have ever wanted especially your mother-in-law. When the time is right, if it's ever right, you’ll tell him. You ignore the messages. You consider informing Brooks Brothers. Maybe he should know that he put a baby in you. Would he want to know? What if he thinks you’re crazy for even thinking of keeping the baby? For telling him? You run a thousand scenarios through your mind of how things can go wrong. And despite the possible outcomes, you’ve decided. You’re telling him. You go to Starbucks to look for Brooks Brothers again. This time you go inside. The barista remembers you. “Ahh! The bathroom,” she says. You’re embarrassed but you need to find Brooks Brothers to tell him about the baby. So, you accept her brazen remarks and think the next time she says something slick you’ll pop her in the mouth. You smile politely and ask for Brooks Brothers. She tells you that she hasn’t seen him since the night in the bathroom. But his wife comes in around eight in the morning. “She gets his regular and hers too,” she says. “One mocha macchiato, three sugars and almond milk and sugar, and one matcha tea latte, iced.” She giggles like she knows a secret. She smiles and looks over her shoulder to see if anyone is standing within an earshot and says, “Maybe that’s what gets him off-- women who drink macchiatos.” You knock over the green straws and storm out the door. “Bitch,” you say. You’re upset that Brooks Brothers is married but not too much. You want the baby. You want the baby more than anything. Even if Brooks Brothers never knows about it. Even if your husband abandons you. You don’t want to hide. You don’t want to lie. After the news of the baby settles in your heart, you tell your husband that you're pregnant. And of course, he tells his mother. But he doesn’t tell her about you and Brooks Brothers. That’s too much to share. She would be devastated to find out the baby that you’re carrying isn’t her son’s. You can already hear her planning the baby shower. “We’ll have it at Aliza’s house, and have it catered,” she’ll say. “Maybe have chicken and mushroom fritters, roasted peppers, and stuffed salmon.” Instead of letting you dress yourself, she’ll bring you maternity clothing that she has been collecting since you two got married. Oversized baby doll shirts plastered with pink daisies and yellow butterflies. She’ll bring you food to eat. She’ll tell you how much sleep you should get per night. Her excitement jumps through the phone. “I knew it would happen sooner or later.” Your husband isn’t so happy. You two have been through difficulties. You have battle scars. He’s cheated—multiple times. Women have shown up on your doorstep claiming they were pregnant. A year ago, one arrived in the middle of the night. She wanted to catch him off guard. See the shock on your face. She said they were planting seeds. They were going to raise babies together. She told you with a cunning smirk plastered on her caked-up face your husband said you were a lousy wife who wears nothing but pajamas all day. That you don’t do your hair. That you never wear make-up. And he's no longer attracted to you and avoids having sex with you at all costs. She said he told her you wanted a baby and that his mother wanted a baby. And he never planned to have a baby with you. With the woman standing there, in your living room, he began to beg and plead for your forgiveness. He had gone too far. There was pity on his face. Sorrow. Now when he looks at your beaming face, he wishes he could take it all back. Start anew and put everything behind him. He would make it right. Take more vitamins. Buy more sperm-producing drug treatments. Exercise more. Even wear those cooling drawers you bought him. Anything to be the father of your baby. It's been three months, two weeks, and two days since you saw Brooks Brothers. You dream about him. You wonder if the baby will have his eyes. His moist chocolate skin. The doctor says in less than sixty days you’ll be able to know the gender. You dream about having a girl. You want to dress her in matching pink dresses and shoes. You’ll put matching bows in your hair. People will gush over the two of you when you take your daily walk in the park and say: “Aren’t you two just the cat’s meow.” You’ll blush and say, “Thank you!” It's just the reaction you were going for. Your husband comes back home. He wants to help you through this. “I know it’s not my baby. And I know it will be a struggle but we can do this,” he says. He holds your hair when you throw up. He holds your hand and rubs your belly to calm your nausea. You cry when you can’t make it to the bathroom and hurl vomit all over your shirt. “I’ll wash it for you,” he says. He makes every doctor’s appointment. Calls off work, if he has to. And when the tech tells you “It’s a boy!” you’re disappointed but he shouts so loudly the other techs run into the room to see what's going on. No pink hair bows. At five months, your mother-in-law goes with the two of you. She tells you she just wants to be there if you need her. But actually, she wants to be involved like she is with everything. You ask the doctor if you are allowed to have coffee. She says, “Just a little. No more than an eight-ounce cup at the most.” They protest. “Coffee isn’t good for the baby,” Your husband says. “A little won’t hurt,” the doctor says. The first thing you do is a B-line for Starbucks. You go at least twice a week now. You get the usual: a mocha macchiato with three sugars and almond milk. You never drink the full cup. You just want a little taste. You never see Brooks Brothers. You’re not even sure you’re looking for him anymore. You have all you need. At seven months, you start to have contractions. The doctor says “They’re just Braxton Hicks--false contractions. Lay off the coffee and drink more water.” Your mother-in-law tells you to put your feet up. Three weeks later, you see blood in the toilet and go straight to the hospital. You beg the doctor to save the baby. “I’ll do my best,” she says. “But he may have to stay in the NICU for a while.” You kind of wish you could tell Brooks Brothers. Maybe it’s better if you don’t, you think. Ten hours and twenty-four minutes later, you have a bouncing baby girl. She slid perfectly into your husband’s hands. Tears run down his face. The baby’s wails echo throughout the hospital. “Her lungs are strong,” he says. He whispers into your ear, "I'll look for him if you want." You shake your head no. “She’s right where she belongs,” you say. He calls his mother and tells her the tech was wrong, and you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Her creamy yellow skin looks like yours. Her bright brown eyes look like yours. And she has thick curly hair like yours. Not Brooks Brothers. She stays in the hospital for four weeks. The day finally comes for you to take her home. You dress her in a pink dress, pink booties, and a pink hat. “We’ll take pictures when we get home,” you say. At home, everyone is there waiting for you and your baby girl: Cousin Aliza, your mother, your sister-in-law, and a few close friends. Your mother-in-law called them. They each have gifts. Most are for the baby. Some are for you. You open one from your husband. It’s a coffee mug from Starbucks with a note that reads: “For our morning coffee at home.” You lean over and kiss him on the cheek and whisper in his ear, “From now on, you make the coffee.” ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.

Applications are open for Torch's inaugural creative writing retreat in Austin, TX. Torch Literary Arts is proud to launch our inaugural creative writing retreat scheduled for July 23-30, 2023 in Austin, TX. We welcome applications from Black women writers with works in progress across poetry, fiction, and script (plays or screenplays). Applications are open and will be accepted from March 19 - April 2, 2023. There is no fee to apply or attend the retreat. Six fellows (2 poetry, 2 fiction, and 2 script) will be selected by a committee. Fellows will receive comfortable accommodations at the Colton House Hotel, breakfast and lunch daily, and dedicated writing time. There will also be curated talks with industry professionals and fellows will participate in a public reading at the end of the week. Visit the retreat page for details and to apply. Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today.