Instructions: Read or watch Silk-Jazmyne Hindus's story, "Build-a-Baby" then VOTE on the ending using the online poll below!

Our incubator installer was an attractive woman. Incredibly tall, over two meters high, with skin so smooth it looked spread on. Slanted hazel eyes. Buzzed sides of her head and underneath with just a chunk of hair held in a high ponytail. Green uniform and white soft soled sneakers. 

Installers are revered. Good Installers ensure a fast growing, healthy baby. They offer no guarantee but miscarriages are almost a thing of the past. The first and last reported case was due to a power failure during the third war which destroyed the power grid. Ever since, expectant parents are requested to be either off the grid or lease a backup generator during incubation.
 
I extended my hand as she stepped in. "Alexis," I told her. "You can call me Alex." She shook my hand.

"Marjorie," she told us while shaking my wife's hand.

"I go by Nora."

"Nice to meet you," I said. "Marjorie...isn't that the Scottish name for pearl?" She raised an eyebrow at me.

"History buff?"

"Search engine buff," I replied. "I work nights so sometimes when I need a break, I look up different things. It keeps me connected to the outside world when I spend most of my time in the house."

"Oh wow," she said. Then she glanced at my wife.

"I'm a civil designer," Nora said. "I design mostly municipal buildings, roadways, and such. I love patterns and making things seamless."

"My kind of woman," she said with a smile. "That's totally what I'm here for, to make sure your experience goes seamlessly."

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked.

"I'm okay, thank you," Marjorie replied.

"Right to work. I understand that." I turned and lead her up the stairs to the nursery.

"You used one of your eggs?" she asked opening up the blue leather book bag. It looked like a jetpack with two large tubular shapes next to each other with the compartment on the bottom and silver tracks for the zippers. She lifted the left canister that was held inside and placed it into an opening at the bottom of the incubator. She pressed a button that closed the bottom with a slurp. She did the same for the second canister. I nodded. "The supplements you took prior to the procedure gave you the strongest eggs possible," she added. "Your application wouldn't have been approved if there were any abnormalities in the genetic code."

"I remember reading that in the pamphlet. Didn't know how true it was."

She toggled a few nobs, checked the wires in the back of the machine. "Incredibly true," she said. "People able to emotionally and monetarily care for children should have all the help they can get to reproduce."

"What about people who can't?"

"Can't what?"

"Afford to emotionally and monetarily?"

"Then they shouldn't," she shrugged while standing up with her tablet in hand. There were levels on the screen. Columns in different colors.

"What are those?"

"Your embryo's vitals," she turned the screen towards me. "You'll get the updates of each stage that'll automatically be transmitted to our servers as well. The incubator will constantly vary the environment as necessary, completely mimicking what used to occur in the mother's womb. At the points were certain genetic displays are determined, I'll be telecommunicating with you and your wife on choices."

"Choices?"

"Eye color, hair color, hair type, body shape, etc," she answered. "All within reason of course unless you choose to upgrade your services package. Typically, there's two options per feature based on dominant and recessive genes but if you want something that's not already included, we'll have to add in genetic links to get your desired result."

"So if I wanted my child to have curly hair but it wasn't in my code, I could pay for it?"

"Exactly," she smiled sweetly. "We at Build a Baby believe that every parent should get the child they want. We also include behavioral modifications as well."

"That's a lot to take it," Nora said. "I don't remember reading it in the manual."

"We choose not to advertise options as a means of discretion for past clients," she told us. "See, some people could give grief to new parents about their choices or family members would want to weigh in on the choices."

"What about word of mouth?" I asked.

"Remember the paperwork we had you read, review and sign before today's appointment?" Nora and I nodded. "There was the NDA portion which legally requests for your own discretion. But let's not focus on that legal jibber jab. Let's get this baby ready to go!"

The incubator was just a little more than half my height. Shiny metallic material with a glass top. Marjorie pressed on her tablet, moving levels up, down, evening them out. Nora and I were quiet as she finished her work. "All done."

"So, what do we do now?" I asked.

"Honestly? Wait." she said. "Your egg has been impregnated so you'll be getting a notification of pregnancy confirmation. I've made sure the incubator is synced to your home system. I'll be back in two weeks to check on things."

It took two days for the pregnancy confirmation to chime through the house. Sansa, the virtual home assistant announced it at dinner with a purple hue. Nora immediately stopped eating and grabbed the wine she'd bought the afternoon the installer arrived. We laughed. We cried. We kissed. We drank. We made love. We were going to have a family.

"Congratulations!" Marjorie told us via telecom. "Welcome to parenthood."

"Well I mean, not technically," I said.

"Did you apply for a permit?" Marjorie asked.

"Of course."

"Purchase the incubator, provide your egg, hire us?"

"Well yes-"

"Then you're a parent. Both of you," she said. "You're taking steps to bring life into the world." She smiled. "Whether or not you carry the child or even share genetic code with them is neither here nor there. You're going to love and provide for this child. That's what makes a parent."

"Wow," Nora said. "That's beautiful."
 
"It's from our handbook but it's true," she laughed.
 
"So how does this work?"
 
"It's super simple. Our engineers are some of the best in the world and it shows in the technology," Marjorie flashed us her tablet. "For the next nine months, I will have this with me at all times. At each genetic marker, I'll send a notification that'll inform you of the window. The window is a 24 hour period in which you can make genetic alterations. We keep it short as to not stunt the growth of the fetus. You don't want to plan a birthing party and your baby comes days late right." she was standing in front of an incubator. "When you receive the notification, you come and turn the knobs to get your desired result. The variance will change with each feature. So if it's time to pick eye color, one knob will control color while the other will control brightness." An image appeared on the wall. "This is just a template offspring but watch." Marjorie used one knob to select a blue green hue and the other to make it dark. "And you can change as many times as you want prior to the closing of the window. But be aware that whatever is selected upon closing is what you're going to get."
 
"So when's the first selection?" I asked.
 
"Now," she smiled. "Today is body type." she pressed the tablet. "So it looks like our base code is giving us a max of six feet and minimum of five foot seven."
 
"We requested a tall donor," Nora said. She was no means short at five foot four but it was rare. The average person was at least five foot six so she often was teased as a child and even picked at a bit as an adult.
 
"Understandable," Marjorie said. "So step up to the incubator," she told us. I extended my hand to Nora, waving her on. Nora placed one hand on the left knob. The template baby was gone, replaced by an adult outline. "Turn it," Nora did so which stretched the outline up. "Try the right one," which pushed the outline horizontally. "See how it varies." she said. "I'll check it when it's time for the next window."
 
Each day, I checked my wristlet, waiting for word from Marjorie. The chime and purple hue of her call. Even in the middle of the night while I was working. Letters. Numbers. Grammatical marks to instruct programs how to move. Where to go.
 
The first modification after height and body shape was hair color and type.
 
"Curly," Nora said.
 
"So predictable," I replied.
 
"You have curly hair."
 
"And it's boring."

"I love your hair."
 
"So about 3c"
 
"Too typical. I say 4b."
 
"4A."
 
"Ok deal."
 
Nora turned the left dial and a baby face with hair appeared. Thick tight curls appeared.
 
"Color?"
 
"Ooooh, I want blonde!"
 
"Blonde?"
 
"Like a gold blonde."
 
"Dirty blonde?"
 
"No, gold."
 
"That's going to look crazy."
 
"No it's not. We just have to keep it in mind when the window comes for eye color. I wonder if we can get swatches?"
 
"Swatches, for our future child's hair?"

"Doesn't hurt to try."
 
Marjorie assured us there weren't any swatches, but she'd see if we could download the color to keep in mind.
 
Next was fingers and toe types.
 
"What does that even mean?" I asked Nora.
 
"I guess long versus short."
 
"Then long cause we chose it to be tall."
 
"It?"
 
"Well I mean we didn't pick the sex yet."
 
"Do we get to choose the sex?"
 
"Why wouldn't we?"
 
"That seems like a fifty fifty either way."
 
"Point taken, long fingers and toes?"
 
"Works for me."

"You have a non-existent eyebrow and almost beady eyes."

"Sheesh, tell me how you really feel," she kissed me. "I'm still mad at you."

"No you're not, not in your nature."

Then it was personality type.

"This seems silly," I told Nora. "I mean who wouldn't pick an obedient, quiet child."

"Quiet obedient children can easily become adults who get walked all over."

"So you want a strong willed toddler running around tearing down everything."

"I didn't say that," Nora said. "Let's just consider the positive attributes of someone strong willed. We can't just think about what we want as parents but how this will affect her down the line?"

"Her?" I asked. "You want a girl?"

She smiled and shrugged, "I wouldn't mind a little you running around," she said kissing my nose. "I happen to enjoy your stubbornness."

I had just began a shift when my wristlet went off. The house was quiet, Nora already fast asleep in our bed. Lightly snoring. I walked into the nursery to find Marjorie in a crumpled t-shirt. Hair tousled. Eyes unfocused behind thick lenses.

"Glasses?" I asked. "Your parents didn't modify you?"

She yawned, shook her head. "Couldn't afford to," she replied. "Where's your wife?"

"Sleeping."

"I think this is something to wake her up for."

Nora hurriedly jumped out of the bed when I told her who telecommed in.

"I apologize for the late hour but I have pressing news that I didn't want to wait on."

"It's time for the window for the sexes," she told us.

"Sexes?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

Nora covered her mouth. I could see the smile through her hands.

"What am I missing?"

"We're having multiples," Nora belted. She looked at Marjorie for confirmation.

"That's correct!"

"H-how can that happen?" I asked. "I mean we didn't request twins."

"Every so often, it happens too quickly for us to catch. It's actually the only modification we haven't patented yet. All the features you've chosen so far will apply to both fetuses. Any features chosen from here on out will be by each child." She smiled wide. "So what do you say? What are you having?"

We decided on a boy and girl just to be fair. We painted the nursery forest green. The color of earthly leaves. What I imagined Ireland looked like. Rolling hills of trees and shrubs. We decided on one crib with a divider. Our research informed us that modified twins needed each other even more than unmodified ones. Something about the genetic code almost missing one another after leaving the incubator.

At first, we waited for Marjorie's calls with suggestions and desires and selections. Then we began to call her. Filling her in on little tweaks we'd like done. We had the money and figured why spare any expense. We worked hard and were having two after all.

Then the time came when we began reaching out separately, each picking a child to craft to our liking. I with my notes of voice patterns and accent cadences. Nora with learning styles and love languages. We were mad women. Wielders of science and genius when standing at the two knobs on top of a silver drum in a nursery room.

We should have known our tickering would have more consequence then we initial thought.

But instead we had to learn by pain and misfortune.

We held each other like we knew bad news was coming. "We need to talk" has ever been a great phrase to hear. But was even scarier coming from our installer. Marjorie wasn't in a command room like the majority of telecoms before. She stood in a purple hued room. Headset off. Sitting down instead of her usual standing. She offered us to sit so we did on the loveseat of the nursery. Marjorie told us that there was a pressing issue. That either only one or none of the children could proceed during the process. That our multiple modifications weakened them.

"Wait a second," I said. "You want us to chose one?" she nodded. "Why didn't you tell us about this risk before?"

"It was all in the paperwork," Marjorie said.

"But our physician said the labs came back great that a successful birth was imminent."

"Yes, for an unaltered child," she replied. "You have not only one, but two incredibly altered fetuses."

"Then why the hell offer someone when-"

"You seem distressed," she cut me off. "Let's reconvene at a later date."

The call ended. The room silent. Just my wife and I in silence. It wasn't until Nora touched my hand that I realized I'd been shaking. That my anger was rumbling just beneath my skin. IT was true. Two babies were in the device next to us but we'd only get to meet one.

​Silk Jazmyne is a reading, writing, drinking student of life who loves narrative in all its forms. She's a book reviewer, essayist and fiction writer. Her work has appeared both online and in print at Black Girl Nerds, Straylight Magazine, Femme Feature Magazine, The Gateway Review and Serendipity Literary Magazine.  She was born in New York and grew up all over as a Navy brat. She holds a MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Tampa and a Bachelor's Degree in Communications from Florida International University. She's an Account Coordinator at a boutique advertising agency by day and a magical realist author by night. As a Kitchen Table Literary Arts certified facilitator, she leads book clubs, Community Conversations, and more! She loves the artistically strange and currently lives and works in Florida.

INSTRUCTIONS: Read or watch Adrien Julious share her story "Careful What You Pray For" then VOTE on the ending using the online poll below! ​

“I wish I could take my prayers back.”

“Wait, what?”

“I wish I could take my prayers back.” She said again as she scrubbed her hands through my locks getting all of the shampoo out. My hairstylist has a habit of saying the craziest things at the most inopportune times but this one takes the cake.

“Um… ok… So you’re going to be an Indian giver with your prayers?” I said head tilted back into the shampoo bowl trying not to laugh and get soapy water in my mouth. I could feel all of the other women in the shop beginning to focus in on our conversation. Didn’t even have to look up to see hands paused in the midst of their facebook scrolls and headphone volumes being lowered.
Jade of House of Jade’s Natural Hair Salon and Beauty Supply was known for two things in our community, being an amazing loctician, and cussing people the fuck out once she was pushed too far.

“That’s exactly what my sister said and just like I told her, FUCK YES.” She shut the water off and wrapped my hair in one of her fluffy white towels before guiding me to sit in her chair.

“Wow. She must’ve really pissed you off.” I said sticking one of my apple AirPods into my ears and tapping my phone screen to get to my latest audiobook. Unlike most women who came to the beauty shop to get the latest gossip while they got their hair did, I don’t care for other people’s drama.

“No, this isn’t about her. It’s about HIM. The guy I met in Dallas.”  Her hands which had begun to retighten my locks in the back forcefully seemed to lose some of her heft as she said the word him.

Talking about a man in a beauty shop was the quickest way to have everyone in town in your business. Normally, Jade didn’t talk so freely about her personal business in the shop. She could spend hours talking about the people who tried to get over on her, or the tenant who she’d evicted who had left a pair of gummy discharge infused underwear on the floor of the master bathroom, even her two children who’d become less perfect over my years of knowing her but aside from letting us know that she was dating some fancy schmancy woke ass doctor in Dallas none of the women who came in the shop were close enough for Jade to mention her relationship woes. 

“I prayed to marry a doctor and I met a great doctor, fine, black, in shape, not an asshole then I met Dr. Dude. And Dr. Dude is MARRIED. To a white woman. Ol’ Fake woke ass.” Jade grunted, tugged my hair closer to her and tightened her grip on one of my locs. Good thing I’d followed my mother’s advice and went to Chili’s before my hair appointment. Buy one get one drinks had been keeping me from crying like a baby for the last six hair appointments. 

“But, where were you staying when you went to see him?” Renee was clearly too enthralled in the story to focus on the young lady sitting in her chair. The girls platinum blond ponytail was sticking up like Alfalfa’s from The Little Rascals and from the looks of things the gel was starting to set. If I were her I would be getting pissed. 

“I thought we were staying at his house. Apparently, we’ve been staying at one of his rental properties. His maid showed up this weekend unexpectedly and I should’ve noticed that he almost shit his pants but I was too busy playing boo boo the fool. I even got a BRAZILIAN for him.” She was tugging at my hair so hard now I wished they would change the subject or put on Judge Judy.  “I mean we’re sitting in his jacuzzi naked two seconds away from intercourse and before I knew it this old Spanish lady is standing over us looking at us like we’re hairless chickens and all that he could say was ‘It’s not what you think. Took me ten whole minutes to process why he would be saying that to a maid.” She was getting madder by the minute and was standing up practically pacing at this point. 

“I have to use the restroom.” I said to her trying to buy myself some time. Hopefully by the time that I got back from the bathroom she would be done with her story and back to her normal sometimes-bougie-sometimes-ghetto-self. 

It wasn’t until I was in the bathroom pants half way around my thighs before... 

Doctor. Woke. White wife. Dallas.

Trevor is Dr. Dude. Dr. Dude is Trevor started to click through my brain in warp speed. Trevor a woke black doctor who still had a practice in Dallas where he’d lived for a few years during med school and immediately after.  Trevor  whom I’d met in Chemistry class who I’d then hooked up with my best friend. Trevor who was married to my best friend from third grade. Amanda the one who taught Dr. Woke to be Woke and Feminist. Did feminists cheat? 
​

My heart was pounding in my ears so loud that it took me a few seconds to realize once I was sitting back in the chair that the conversation had now moved on to Colin Kaepernick and burning Nikes. 

“Girl I hope they all burn those yard sale shoes while they’re wearing them in the center of a pile of gasoline soaked drawers.” Jade was now saying to Renee. Who was now washing the gel out of the young Alfala-haired lady’s head. I would be so pissed. 

Normally I wouldn’t ask any questions about Dr. Dude and Jade but I had to know. I waited for the next pause in the conversation and blurted out “So of Course I missed the ending of the story but I know you broke up with that Dude.” to Jade as she began retightening my hair like a normal human being only half-way killing my head. 

“Girl, no. That fool told me that he was leaving his white woman in a few months and promised to take me to Nigeria for Thanksgiving. By the time my plane landed in Tampa the plane tickets were sitting in my email inbox. And you should see the safari that he booked” she said, passing me her phone which was open to an email which she’d obviously already showed the other women.

“Hmmmm, I didn’t take you for the type to knowingly sleep with married men.” I said barely able to contain my anger. 

“Girl. I’m not. But I’m also not dumb enough to turn down a fifteen thousand dollar all expenses paid vacation to the mother land.” Jade said into my hair. I could tell that I’d touched a nerve by the way her hands were flying through my coils. 

“Oh ok. So then after Africa you done with him then?” I asked using every ounce of restraint that ten years of $150 dollar an hour counseling had barely taught me. 

“Yeah. I’ll be done with him the second we land back in America. I’m not like these young dummies running around the city waiting for some idiot to leave their wives.” She turned up Judge Judy who was berating some fool for stealing her best friend’s car and crashing it into a pole. 

Of course today would be the day that Amanda would want to meet me at The Hangout for drinks after work to tell me something very important. So important that she made me promise to take an Uber instead of driving my own car. 

As I walked in to the bar and spotted her splotchy face my throat started to feel constricted. “Hey boo!” I said with false cheer leaning across the table and kissing her on her cheek. 

“Hey lovey! How was your day? I ordered us Tequila on the rocks to start.” She said with less false cheer than I had. 
I couldn’t understand how Trevor could cheat on someone as beautiful as Amanda. Even with her splotchy face she was one of the most beautiful women in the place. Her shiny auburn hair was bluntly cut in a Boss Ass Bitch Bob, her white blouse seemed to glow on her tanned skin and her smile was practically perfect. 

“It was ok. How was yours? You don’t look happy.” I said hoping that she already knew about Trevor so that I wouldn’t have to tell her. 

“Well, I went to the doctor on Friday and got the results of my breast biopsy.” She began before I cut her off.

“Breast biopsy? When the fuck did you get a breast biopsy?” I could feel the Chili’s burger getting ready to make it’s exit out of my stomach. 

“When I went in for my yearly Dr. Kline found a lump under my breast and she took a biopsy. We got the results back today.” she said reaching across the table and grabbing both of my hands with her perfectly manicured hands.  

“And the results said?” I tried to disappear into the oversized leather booth. I didn’t  want to know if the results were bad. They couldn’t be bad. Cancer had already taken our friend Maria, the third amigo of our tribe, two years before. Leaving behind three beautiful children, one handsome now eternally depressed husband, and two best friends abruptly forced to be a duo and to deal with the fact that the day after you bury one of your bestfriends the world still goes on.

“I know you don’t want to hear this.” She got up from her chair and walked over to my side sliding her arms around my body which had done the thing it does when forced to deal with horrible shit, got so stiff you could roll me down the street like a log, and kissed my cheek, “But I do have cancer. It’s the 'Good' kind, we found it early, and we have a plan."

“Oh my god, no. You can’t have cancer. This can’t happen to you.” I cried into her shoulder. Realizing that she was doing the thing that people always did when they were sick, consoling the healthy, yet I was still unable  to immediately console her. 

“I can and I do. Pull yourself together Marnie, I need you to be strong and help me tell Trevor. You know he’s not going to be able to handle this.” She was rubbing my back in a circular motion the same way she’d done every time I was distressed from the time my first girlfriend cheated on me with Michael Colhoun to the time that I didn’t win the award for Small Business of the Year in my dental practice. Trevor, Fucking Trevor. Of course he wouldn’t be able to handle cancer. He couldn’t even handle having a perfect wife without cheating on her with a hairdresser who lived in the same damn town that he did.

​I cleared my throat, inhaled and exhaled ten times then pinched the bridge of my nose. “OK” I said taking her in my arms and squeezing her. “We’ve got this! You’re going to be fine and where praytell is your husband today?” 
 
“This is his week to be in Dallas. He’ll be back tomorrow. That was the other thing I needed. I have to go to the lab for some blood work in the morning. Can you pick him up from the airport at 8am?” She asked smiling like she’d won the lottery. 
 
The waitress walked over then placing our drinks down and asking us if we wanted to order any appetizers buying me some time. I didn’t want to pick Trevor up from the airport. He was a sorry excuse for a human being. Cheat on my friend? Shame on you. Cheat on my angelic, always positive cancer having friend? A pox upon your soul. Do I tell her? Would I be a good friend if I told her? Or should I pick Trevor up from the airport and confront him?
​​​​

Adrien Julious is an author and poet, originally from Newark NJ, now residing in Tampa. She recently had her first book of poetry Brownish Green Female Sheep published by Vital Narrative Press. She hosts her own blog authenticallyadrien.com. She's competed as a storm poet in the Women of The World Poetry Slam, had her short fiction included in the Fantastic Ekphrastic Art Show, and is currently finishing her debut novel.

This year's presidential election is vital, but in addition to making your voice heard about the national leadership in this country, you also have the opportunity to make your voice count in regards to many state and county races, too. Direct action, boycotts, social media sharing, engaging friends and family, donating to causes and organizations you care about, and VOTING are all ways to affect change. Contribute where and how you can.

​For more information about voting in Florida, VISIT https://dos.myflorida.com/elections/for-voters/voting/

​When I think of why Kitchen Table Literary Arts was founded, I think of writers like our Spring Micro-Fiction contest winner, Bryanna Sanders.

In April, Kitchen Table Literary Arts center hosted our first writing contest, exclusively for Creative Writing Society members. The Creative Writing Society is an online platform established to provide a safe environment for Black women and women of color writers to meet and engage through online literary courses, submission calls, writing challenges, and more. 

I had the pleasure to sit and talk with our first contest winner Bryanna Sanders on her writing journey, her thoughts on writing communities, and the inspiration behind her winning story, "First Love," which can be read at the end of the interview.

​Q: Was this your first contest? 
​
A: Yes, my first contest and the first short story I wrote. 

Q: Many writers including myself fear submitting even to smaller publications and contests. What encouraged you to submit to our Spring Micro-Fiction contest? 

A: I am a really anxious person and I overthink things like a lot. It’s going to sound weird but the thing that encouraged me to submit was that I had never done this before. And so, I was like, you know what? I am not going to win this at all. I have no confidence in myself. So, we are going to submit because who cares, and in the end it will be good practice. The thing that encouraged me was not expecting anything at all. 

Q: What advice would you give to other Black women and Women of Color writers looking to take the next steps in their writing journey in the form of submitting?

A: Like Nike say, just do it! Because you never know how it is going to come out. Like, I said I get real bad anxiety over my work and I have this inferiority complex and nothing is ever good enough. So, I understand the anxiety that is associated with submitting but at the end of the day you never know what is going to happen. I went into this with no expectations at all; and now I am here doing this interview like a real writer. 

It is important to believe in your work, and in yourself. Understand you do have something to say and something worthwhile to put out there. We need to hear more of our voices! Submit, if for nothing else but for the next Black woman to come along who might read your work and be inspired by it.  If you can’t submit it for you, submit it for that person who it can possibly affect in a positive way. 

Q: Why do you believe it is important to have a writing community, especially for Black women and women of color? 

A: It is imperative to have these spaces. I went to a HBCU, but I didn't grow up around a lot of people that look like me. As I get older I see that there aren’t a lot of places for us. This is a healing space for me, I feel safe here.
​
I wrote a poem about George Floyd and everything that has been happening for centuries in our community, and the Kitchen Table Creative Writing Society was a safe place where I could share it. There are not a lot of places where I can express my anger, frustrations, and emotions. Sometimes I am afraid to express emotions and be vulnerable because of the perceptions people have about Black women and People of Color. This place is everything to me. We need places where we can speak freely amongst ourselves. And, getting that encouragement from everyone in the writing community! 

Writing is hard. Putting yourself out there, sharing personal pieces. It’s not a lot of places I feel comfortable doing that, but this is one of them. I am beyond appreciative of it! I need this space. 

Q: What was the inspiration for your micro-fiction story, “First Love”? 

A: OH GOSH! I am southern but I am not from Louisiana but I have always really loved New Orleans and Louisiana. It’s beautiful, so that’s my backdrop. I am also bisexual. Yes, I love me some women! I wrote about someone I had a crush on. We weren’t childhood friends or anything, and I tried to image what it might have been like if we were in this situation, then the one we were in when I met her; you feel me? I drew from my own childhood experiences with crushes then along with her as a person and went from there. That was my inspiration. So, love, Spanish moss and New Orleans!

Q: What can we expect from you in the future? Are you working on any current writing projects? 

A: During National Poetry Month, those 30 days of writing was the most I have written in my life! I have a lot of pieces just sitting in my drive, so I am currently working on a poetry collection. I also started working on a romance themed novel because I am a romantic at heart. I just finished the first chapter and by the end of this year I am hoping to have at least three more chapters finished. 

​I enjoyed my conversation with Bryanna Sanders as much as I enjoyed reading her story "First Love" and her poetry. Her poem, “Mixed Bags” was featured on Kitchen Table Literary Arts Instagram during National Poetry Month. To read more work by Bryanna Sanders please visit her instragram: @bry_yourself8
​

​​

Bryanna Sanders is a writer hailing from Charlotte, NC. She holds a Bachelor’s of Science degree from Savannah State University. She typically explores topics related to love, trauma, and family legacy. Bryanna has been performing spoken word in and around Tampa, FL since 2019 and joined the Kitchen Table Literary Arts Creative Writing Society in March 2020. She is currently working on a collection of poetry and her first novel. Her favorite authors include Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, and Roxane Gay. 

The second book of Dr. Nnedi Okorafor’s Binti series is a story of return and growth. Binti: Home takes places a year after the protagonist Binti experiences the death of all her classmates on their way to Oomza University. The first scene is in mathematics class, when she begins to feel intense emotions. At first she’s confused then realizes that it’s her connection to her Meduse friend, Okwu. Knowing that his rage will result in killing his professor, she rushes to his weapons’ presentation to deescalate the situation. Soon after, Binti decides to return home in order to go on pilgrimage in hopes to calibrate herself, ridding her of the conflicting emotions she’s felt for the past year. While at home, she quickly learns that not everyone is excited to see her and were angered by her leaving. Things go from bad to strange when a figure shows itself to Binti that typically only reveals itself to men. This prompts a group of people, her grandmother included, to arrive at her doorstep ready to whisk her away to destiny.

The author carries on the originality of the first book while delving deep into sensitive topics. The reader gets to see Binti’s growth while understanding her challenges. There’s an incredible amount of time spent on mental health. From instances of panic attacks to night terrors. Often times in science fiction when disasters occur, the protagonist is sad for a moment then goes on to save the day. The reader is able to see her strength through moments of pain.

There’s even a moment when Binti challenges her own preconceived notions.

During the first book, the reader is only given a glimpse of familial ties and man does she give the whole picture in this one. We get to see Binti’s siblings exactly how they are and how their bond has been shaken by her leaving and near death experience. There was a moment I was so angry and sad for the protagonist because the moment was so real and raw. Okorafor gives us such strong fiction, we can’t help but feel the human truths.

With one hundred sixty two pages to work with, the author uses simple, concise sentences for the majority of the book until she deems it absolutely necessary to expound. She slows the narrative down in the big moments to allow the reader to fully soak up what’s happening. 

The plot progresses quickly. There’s quite a bit of movement in this book, especially compared to the first which took place mostly in one location. This book goes from university, to ship, to home, to desert, to the priestess, back to Binti’s home. Entire days are covered in a few pages but never does the journey seem rushed; the element of urgency and  plot occurrences keeps the reader from feeling hurried.

This book is an ode to growing up, letting go and evolving. The first book was about leaving home and the second is about returning. A navigation of balancing who you were raised to be and becoming who you are and want to be. Coming home after being on your own is very hard (ask any college grad who’s had to move back in with their parents after graduation). This book was about how moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting the past but also not being afraid of becoming who you were meant to be, even if it makes people uncomfortable.

Binti: Home is the story of every golden child who has fallen from grace. It’s about family and culture. How following your dreams can feel like turning your back on a collectivist home. I found myself genuinely tearing up at some of the more pivotal moments. There’s a level of beauty in the rawness. The author doesn’t shy away from giving you a complete view of Binti in her strength and weakness. This book is an encouragement to anyone scared to branch out from their traditional family. When I finished, I couldn’t wait to get into the third book to see how this character’s story ends.

Binti, the first book of the Binti Series, by author Dr. Nnedi Okorafor is a refreshing breath to the science fiction community. Following the footsteps of Octavia Butler, Dr. Okorafor features a black woman as the centerpiece narrative. The world of Binti marries African culture with the future.
 
“My science fiction has different ancestors - African ones,” says author Dr. Okorafor in her November 2017 TED talk. She’s an American born daughter of Nigerian parents born on April 8th, 1974. She began writing while recuperating from a surgery to resolve scoliosis and has since published multiple books and stories which reflect West African heritage and American life.
 
This particular book is about a young woman named Binti leaving home for the first time to attend a university very far away and without her family’s blessing. The reader is immediately presented with the human struggle of establishing oneself outside of their family. At just ninety pages, this Afrofuturist, young adult novella packs a lot of punch with its marriage of African tradition and technology, linked through the theme of human truth.
 
Binti is an incredibly well-rounded character. Her motivation is obvious, and the protagonist begins as one thing then evolves into another while remaining clear and concise at every point of the narrative. She’s believable, her plight relatable. In a world of transporters, astrolabes, and alien species, there is a constant thread of humanity concerning class and race relations, self- discovery, and personal growth.
 
The plot moves swiftly, as a novella should, and stays on task through each page. Sentences are concise yet incredibly poetic. There are lines so well written, I found myself just putting down the book to process. Binti describes her people as: “We prefer to explore the universe by traveling inward, as opposed to outward. No Himba has ever gone to Oomza Uni. So me being the only one on the ship was not that surprising. However, just because something ins’t surprising doesn’t mean it’s easy to deal with.” Lines like this made me understand Binti, and her people, on a spiritual level.