Plus ça Change – May 21, 2026
An interesting thing happened on the way to the chapter ending. I struggled with this chapter. It took days, and every rewrite seemed to go in a different direction. There is a good word for this, thrashing.
The third part was the most problematic, I couldn’t seem to get it right. I was certainly unhappy with it. It wasn’t that long, maybe 500 words, but calling it “scattered” would be way too polite. There are half-finished sentences, thoughts, different directions, huge gaps, side notes… it was not coming together.
And then…
There is an adage, “write what you know.” This has value, but I am writing WAY outside those lines, and the education (and I hope the insight I can provide) are worth it. My protagonist is a free woman of color, a Voudou priestess, and a devout Catholic. Once upon a time I was one of those. She lives in New Orleans two hundred years ago, a society becoming more and more racist and oppressive with each passing year. I live in Canada.
I didn’t see it at the time, but I was confronting the same problems I had with describing a slave pen in Laveaux: Dancer. See A Slave Pen by Any Name and Twelve Years a Slave. I am writing so far outside my experience, how can I be sure what I write is true?
… on perhaps the umpteenth (that’s a real number) time through the draft, it dawned on me, the third part of this current chapter is “The Talk.” If you are a Black person in America, you don’t need this explained. But for the rest of us, just in case…
“The Talk” is when you tell your child what it means to live in a racist society. In modern day, it’s in part about proper behavior (especially for teenage boys) when stopped for “driving while Black” and other crimes. As a parent, you know shit is going to land on your child. You want to help them understand, and teach them how to deal, because you’d much rather pick them up at the police station than view the remains in the morgue.
I’m a white guy, but I’ve had enough experience in the world that I’m aware. The talk has been happening for centuries. Once I recognized what this was, finishing the chapter became simple. Some stuff got tossed, other parts reorganized, bits added in… I had a framework on which I could hang the thoughts. I do have some experience, with a long-haired goth-child (at the time) who dressed all in black and carried a knife in his boot. Because I knew the state trooper in town was an absolute asshole who loved to prove how tough he was. Different context, same problem.
Nonetheless, it behooves writer-boy to stay within the truth. So this chapter goes early to my Black friends, for their feedback and insight. However much it is fiction, it must still be true.
