On theme is a production of iHeartRadio and fair Weather Friends Media. I'm Katie and I'm Eves. In Today's episode is a love letter to Black Stories. Dear Black Stories, I have known you in so many ways, so I have loved you in so many ways. I have known you through the yellowed pages of dusty books with beat covers, through VHS tapes that I stuck one eager forefinger in to rewind start over. I have known you through tiny TV screens and loud radio segments, ones that were too
grown for my own good. I have known you to be full of cusswords and rich dialects, and odd terms of endearment, and sayings that made no sense and perfect sense at once. I have heard you rang through old homes with wood panels as walls, reverberate, through spaces full of warm things like crooked pictures of family members and overwarm plaiq couches. I've heard you told indulcet tones and
booming bases. I have seen you be the center of attention and background noise, and both ways you were welcome. You filled me with love, and so I return it in kind. I pour back into you blood and ink, though it wasn't like I fell for you. It was more like I rose, climbing carefully until I could witness your splendor from up high. Awesome, terrible. In all your glory, you forced me to imagine worlds, both true and invented,
that were shaped by sorrow and sweetness. I drank them in and found that there was a place in my gut for everything. I could love all of you, even when you didn't sit well with me. You wove tales where families were torn apart and raggedly sewn back together, where people spent a lifetime trying to answer a single question, where joy was intentional, not optional, and where friendships bloomed and faltered. You lit in me an eternal flame that could not be put out by the wind of any
spiteful whisper. I stand in awe of your complexity and beauty and flair. I revel in the wake of your honesty and your creativity. I am here because the same souls who imagined you dreamed me up and made me real. They spoke, they wrote, they conjured, and now I do the same, thankful for the spirits that they bottled in you, Grateful for the knowledge that you've carried across time and space, the thoughts that would have vanished if not for your
care and safe keeping. I want you to know that you are loved, not just because the world offers you love with asterisks, but because you are love material. You are proof of life and its continuity. You are magic made manifest, born from the dust of everyone's bones. You are a call to wake and a call to rest. Because of you, I have laughed in bed, cried in sunlight, smiled in darkness. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't
know who I am. Thank you, Lorraine, Zora, Paul James, Harriet Oscar, Alice, Maya, Phyllis, Francis Ida, Sidney, Richard, Tony, Alex. Thank you for the other names we know and all the ones we don't. Thank you for all the names that you have yet to create. Thank you, Love Thieves, Dearest black Stories.
I want you to know how much I love you. You are the beating heart of our culture, the soul of our community, and the legacy of our ancestors. You are the wisdom of the elders, the dreams of the youth, and the hopes of the future. You are the fire in our bellies. The rhythm in our feet and the melody in our hearts. You are the history that was erased, the voice that was silenced, and the spirit that was broken. You are the resistance that fought back, the resilience that survived,
and the revival that thrived. You are the joy that was shared, the pain that was healed, and the love that was celebrated. You are the drum beat of Africa, the blues of the Delta, and the jazz of Harlem. You are the poetry of Langston, the prose of Morrison, and the drama of Wilson. You are the art of Bosquaiacht the dance of a Lee in the film of Lee. You are the memory of our ancestors, the legacy of
our heroes, and the inspiration for our children. You're the names most people don't know too, the Grandpa's and the uncles bouncing us on their knee, the grandma's and the aunties bouncing us on their hip, telling stories of days, people and places past. You're the names most will know soon too. Friends with a mic and a dream. You are the power of improvisation, the beauty of creative freedom,
and the empathy of understanding. You are the connection of community, the arc of history, and the empowerment of self definition. You are the mirror that reflects our image, the window that opens our minds, and the door that leads us to our dreams. You are the reason why I write, why I read, why I listen. You are the reason why I teach, why I learn, why I grow. You're the reason why I love, why I respect, and why I honor. We are because you are with love and gratitude.
You're devoted admirer, Katie.
Snaps.
So what feelings came up for you as you were writing your letter?
So I overwhelm because I had to reckon with all of black stories and all of black storytelling and what that is and how it showed up in my life as a person who writes black stories and also consumes and enjoys them right and who is surrounded by black stories through my own family. So I just had to reckon with the breath of black storytelling but also being in the process of being a Black story who's currently
in creation. And it was kind of layers of meta for me because it's like, I am a Black story that's currently in creation because of other Black stories that have come before me. Right, But I also am that in that I write stories as a black person, right, And so it's like this weird inception or beautiful inception, however you want to think about it of like honoring both of those things at the same time.
Yeah, hearing your letter, I really felt like the word story could have been replaced with like humanity or like black people in general. And it's like how you interact with stories, it's like a very personal thing. You were preat known a lot, like the stories are known, you've known them in this way. You know them in that way in different time periods in your life, different settings,
like they're always there and they're always known. I thought that was like showing that relationship was very interesting.
Yeah, that is interesting because I think it is it's both conscious and unconscious, because I think you and I have talked about this before to where I didn't grow up super intentional about the way that I consumed black stories, but always like have been a fan of stories in general. So I do think it's something that is like it can be developed or learned, but also it's just like
part of my life. So I can tell from your letter that you have been entrenched in black stories because you talk a lot about all the different ways that they show up for you and the different kinds of emotional resonance that they have for you, and like roles that they've played in your life, an impact that they've had. So I know that you've been entrenched in it.
Yeah, for a long time, maybe just because of the way we grew up, which I think in the earlier years were very different. Like you grew up in really black areas and I did not interesting. So it was like my mom had to go out of the way in a way to make sure that I did see those black stories. So it wasn't just like, oh they're around.
It's like, Okay, I have these kids, and we are the only black people in town, and I need to go get the J. Jcpenny catalog and order these things because they're not going to be at the store or they're not going to be on TV or you know. So I think we came to it, but in very different ways.
Yeah. Yeah, Like when I think about my childhood, I was like, I feel like I had a black ass childhood. You and I were just talking about the Candy Lady, and like the Candy Lady was always a thing you know, we were eating hot pickles, hot fries, hot cheetus. I don't know if hot cheetos were we were eating more hot prospect then, but you know we were doing that like being around other black ass kids in the neighborhood at the pool, you know, doing black ass things. So, yeah,
it is interesting to point that out. What impact do you think in general that black stories have had on your life?
Definitely, in different times in my life they've had, you know, a variety of impacts, but I think overall it is like a companion maybe also like a blueprint or a map. Sometimes. I think memoirs and biographies really are good in that way,
seeing how other black women have navigated different things. And you know, there's that James ballwind quotes like I'm paraphrasing, but thinking like you're the only person in the world who's felt a certain way, and then you read and then you get that connection, and it's like it feels so personal, you know, it feels so individual, and then
someone says the exact way you feel. It's kind of like, oh, dang, I'm really connected to these people that existed in a different time and place, Like there's no overlap, you know, between us and a lot of these storytellers that we really resonate with, Like you know, James Bodwin had passed like maybe a decade before we were born. Links and
Hughes had passed decades before we were born. But reading their works sometimes it's like, oh, I felt that exact same way, and you were like on a boat headed to Morocco and I am in Atlanta, Georgia in my room.
And they are able to articulate it in ways that makes sense to us too, because that's the other thing about the artistry is like they found a way to translate it from this feeling that we have and to make it something that is a lot more concrete.
Yeah, I feel like that's when you talked about like the conjuring and the magic. I feel like that is what it is, because it feels magical when you counter something because like I wouldn't know how to put that intowards but now I saw you and that's exactly what
I feel. So it is that like magical moment where it's like, oh, he's in my head or she's in my head that I think really like clicks and makes me want to like create stories and maybe if I'm lucky enough to give that feeling to somebody else.
Perfect segue, because that's exactly what I was thinking. How both legacy came up in both of our letters, Like the idea of that, and you know you thinking I would never be able to say that, but seeing somebody else write it can function as an inspiration to you, and so you're like, Okay, this person did it, Now I know that I can do it. But it's also like it's internalized once you consume it into your own lins.
So now it's in your spirit, it's and your soul, and even if it's not something that you're cognizant of, it's kind of like you absorb the idea. But like I've seen another black artist or black storyteller elucidate this ways that I thought were impossible and understand me. It shows that I thought were impossible. And if you are a person like I know you are, who's a storyteller and an artist, it can feel very empowering just from a base level just to like read stuff that you enjoy, right,
It's like, oh, that was that was great? Like I enjoyed that.
Yeah, I think it's a it's like the layering of our stories too, Like you said, reading listening to a story, and it just kind of it's just like text in the back of your mind, like maybe you're not always thinking about it, but it's like it's part of that collective archive, and it's always like building and compounding from you know, what I read to how I speak with you, and then our conversations, and then it just keeps growing and growing, and it's like this very big archive that
no one could really archive completely, but it's there, and it's just kind of like between us as people who consume and create worries.
Yeah, yeah, it is also overwhelming to think about how much is in existence and how much we don't know about, not just the names but the actual works, because there are all these names we don't know. But then that means there's a larger number of works that we don't know about anymore, and that we're continuing to build upon that archives so we have like more work to look forward to in the future.
It has overwhelmed me to in that same vein think about the stories that we're not created, and I think about like slavery in particular. I think it's a very like concrete example of like you know, hundreds of years, so many people who would have been creating stories or doing a lot of different things, but there would be
storytellers in the mix that just did not happen. And it's like, you know, I think the United States in some ways and sometimes acknowledges that the United States would not be the superpower that it is if it weren't for slavery in the labor, the free the unpaid the labor,
and like the torture and the abuse of slavery. But also it's like there could have been so much more better things if those people were you know, able to I don't know, be creative or do what they wanted to basically in the world, not just America focused, because those people wouldn't have been in America, but you know what I mean Like that also likes like.
It's kind of how we think about when we think about the impact that people being enslaved in the what is now called the United States, Like we think about that in terms of physicality and the things that are built versus other kinds of intellectual pursuits. Are the artistry of black people as it stands currently, Is that kind of what you mean?
Yeah, just like what was lost, and we won't ever know, and we can't ever know, but we know that a lot was.
Yeah, a lot was lost. Yes, yes, But you already know how I feel about this telling stories about enslaved people. You already know I have a whole episode planned on that and how we need more of them, because as tired as some of us may act like we are of stories about enslaved people, the reality is we only call them enslaved people now because we know that they were enslaved, but they are also still individual people who individual Black people who lived here, just like we are
all individual people now. And we would never say anything like we have enough stories about black people, because we don't. They're infinite. As long as black people continue to be born, we have more Black stories coming from the minds and
new stories that are being created. And we have all these stories, as you mentioned, about people who were enslaved, who were just people who lived lives, who were artists as well, who had stories that could have been born of their imagination, but also stories that were based on their real lives that are singular.
Yeah, I think tell those to your line about proof of life, I really like that, because stories are a proof of life, and for people say we have enough of these types of stories, it's like that's enough of acknowledging your existence.
When you put it like that, it sounds like like that doesn't make any.
Sense, that breaks on it. Yeah, So yeah, black stories are a proof of blacke of black people, and there are a lot of different types of black people. So yeah, I think God was a really beautiful way that you put that.
Thanks. I was also thinking about self definition and your usage of that. Can you tell me more about using that specific diction in that moment?
Yeah, So I think it's like the empowerment of being able to say who we are, Like Black people are always being told who we are by people who are not us in people who often times do not like us, do not see our humanity, do not want us to be here, did not imagine us in this moment, like didn't imagine us in the future, like going back to slavery, Like we wear tools and tools aren't supposed to be
anything but like for your use. So I think with black storytelling, that self definition piece is really powerful because not even just counteracting narratives, but just writing your own narrative, like this is who I am this is what I'm about, This is who and what I care about. I think is really important and it allows for black story tellers and people who are consuming the stories later on to
have that aha moment that we are talking about. Right, You're not going to really have that aha moment of someone who doesn't see your humanity describing you. And if you do, there's therapy out here, you know.
And thinking as a storyteller, that's something that I reckon with on the page too, Like, because the idea of race and what blackness means to me is something that is part of my agenda, but it's also just part of the consciousness of living in the United States in this moment as a black person, like that has been forced upon me. I have no choice but kind of to think about that as a person who is conscious of these ideas. Like sometimes when I'm writing, I'm like,
am I coordinaing off parts of myself? And although it's parts of myself, part of my blackness that I'm courtening off when I'm writing? Or is this true to me? I find myself thinking in my writing, like throughout my process about what parts of my blackness are showing up on the page. And what does that say about how I process things, how I feel about my own self definition when I'm writing. So now I'm like, do I Sometimes I'm like, do I need to up the ante
on this blackness? How many more ants do I need to put in here? How many more bees do I need to put in in here? Like? Is that performative? Or like, am I like trying to correct for the thing that I was being shielded by all these other things that I have that I've been conditioned to, you know, kind of fall in line with white superiority or whatever other trapping of racism in the United States that I've
been unintentionally conditioned to speak out of. Because it's like, there are these pure forms of expression, you know when I write, and then they change in the process of editing, which is its own thing. Because it's like, what am I editing when I'm writing as a black person? Yeah?
Like are you editing out or a pure blackness? Yeah? I don't think I've thought about it that way. That's what I think about, because we do have like our own dialect and we talk in it, but how do we write in it? How do we publish things in it?
And is there a right way to translate that? Right, Yeah, I do. And does it make us any less authentic if we do it one way or the other?
Thoughts questions that need answers.
So, if the works themselves have given you this ability to be able to see different expressions of self definition and helped you reckon with that more for yourself, how do you think that showed up for you? Like how do you self defined in the world. Do you feel more empowered in that or that you're able to do it with a little bit more confidence like your own self definition of yourself and your blackness in it.
I think what Black Story has given me the confidence to do is to be comfortable with like adding to that self definition and not feeling like, oh well I thought this at one point, so I have to always think this. In the process of writing this book that I'm writing, I feel like I can feel myself changing like every day, which is a very jarring experience because like sometimes you look back five years and like, oh
I changed from five years ago. It's not like you're looking back like last Wednesday, I was a different bitch,
you know. So I feel like that's what it's given me the power to do it's like, Okay, while I'm learning more from these stories, from these people, from these elders, from these peers, so I'm going to give myself the permission to like add to my self definition or take away some things from my self definition that aren't really resonating with me anymore and not feeling like I'm like stuck into this one thing that I've like maybe announced before.
Yeah, and I think that I really like seeing the similarities that showed up between our letters too, because you said we are because you are in it and that was kind of like similar to what I said too. It's like if these stories didn't exist, like I wouldn't exist right as a person, but also as a writer an artist. Yeah, it's very like cyclical, I'd say, yeah.
And it's like storytelling has given so much to us, so I think with this podcast is kind of an offering giving back to other black storytellers, but just giving back to the art of storytelling in general.
Yeah, the art and the archive. And it feels good to be able to do that. Yeah, you know, in the pursuit it is, and that it makes me think of one of the I don't know if we've talked about this quote before, but the one from Lorraine Hansbury where she says something along the lines of like do I remain a revolutionary? Like an intellectual for sure, but like am I willing to put my life on the
line for this? And of course these conversations always arise around art and how that writing specifically and how those feels contribute to movements for social change. So that is one thing that comes up for me, like I always that quote just always pops up in my mind because it makes me think about how even all of the activism that Loraine Hansbury herself was involved in and the spheares that she moved in, but also like the great artistry that she created, it was something that was top
of mind for her. So connecting the dots back, I think that's kind of what I was thinking of when I was saying, like a call to waken, a call to rest, because it's like in that quote, Lorraine Hansbury clearly was very concerned with her contributions from an activism and a political perspective, a socio political perspective, And it's also like a part of me that's like, we've done enough not to negate or to neglect the way that
we should show up for our different communities. But it's also like the pressure that we as black people in the United States so specifically and so often feel to change the fucking world, you know, to do these like grand things, to always have something to do, something to contribute. And the question is what does it look like to not feel the pressure to have to think about it in that way.
I feel like every movement or social change, a lot of times we think of the people who make the change of like the people on the front lines, like you know, the people getting beat up by the police, the people you know, protesting, And I do think that's a part of it, but I think every movement has so many pieces to it. Like thinking about the bus boycott. They're not riding a bus, A lot of them are walking, a lot of them are car pulling, and for some reason,
they all wore them. They all dressed up real nice like that, so they have these dress shoes on. So a part of being a part of the movement is the guy who fixes everybody's shoes, you know what I'm saying, The person who coordinates car pulling, the person who's a mechanic because your cars are having more wear and tear on it because you're picking up eight groups of people a day instead of just driving yourself to work. And
the storyteller is also a part of that. It's the photographers, it's the people who were writing about this, because we wouldn't know about it really if it wasn't for the storytellers who captured all this going on. So I feel you, but I feel like there's a lot of ways to enact that change. And I think it's okay to feel that pressure, but to find where you fit in where it's not like so overwhelming. Back to our theme.
Of this, Yeah, And not to say that I feel that pressure, it's just that I recognize that in a general sense, like I think it has been a kind of burden on black people to feel the pressure because of the struggles that we've gone through to have to in our lives find the way that we are going to make the change. So it's like, whatever field you're in, it's like, what you're gonna do for black people? Right,
you gotta answer. And I just think that stands out from her perspective where it's like whatever you do is enough. I mean, and Lorraine Hansbury definitely did things, but that didn't even have to extend to the activist fear if it didn't need to, Like, all you got to do is show the fuck up, and that's good. You're good. You're here on this earth as a black person. Now chill, and what does it look like to chill? What does it look like not to be burdened by the question
of what do I do for black people? And for me? I think about it because through realizing that like I am here on this earth and I have no idea why, and I'm literally trying to figure things out every day, I've reached a point where I like, I'm okay with that, you know, I understand that I have that understanding and clarity. But I can see how because a lot of us in different ways, we're all individuals, but feel personal responsibilities for the way that we contribute to society, and that
guilt can show up for being in that way. But yeah, I do want to affirm the role of storytellers in the world, and black storytellers within our various black communities as well, because and just tell storytellers that, like, you're perfect as you are, not that we don't have things that we all work on. We can all work on,
but it's not that serious. It's not period. I noticed music came up a lot in your letter, too, like things like melody and like even when it wasn't expressly about music, like the bouncing and the rhythm of like
bouncing on the hip, bouncing on the knee. And I was like, I can help but smile when when you talk about about something hippen any because that just feels so familial, convivial, And I just think about moments around of being around a lot of black people, like cookouts, like family reunions, where black story stories are being created in those moments.
Yeah, yeah, And it's like I think, and sometimes I'm not living in the moment because I'm thinking like, oh, this is a moment. We're gonna remember this, we're gonna be talking about this, or I mean recently, something that's been kind of jarring to me is like pictures that I have taken being in obituaries and I'm like, I remember when we took that picture and we were like all alive and happy, and now it's on an obituary. So now I'll take a picture like is this going to be on a picture?
Oh? My god, it's terrible and it may be, but that's okay. That's the celebration of life.
Right, I don't know me sad so but yeah, so like being in these moments that are just life until they're a story. So yeah, I'm not very present sometimes, but we can work on that, Yeah, meditate or something. You have the line where it's like you didn't fall for a black storytelling, but you like rose who said that was it? Tony Morrison? Like I didn't fall in love.
I rose in it, I think so.
Yeah, I love how like quotes like that you can like remix them and they're just like those iconic quotes. Yeah, they kind of like seep into your into your bloodstreams, Like.
Yeah, I feel that and that and I and I did because I really did feel like that though, like it wasn't like a tumble into it. It wasn't a quick thing for me. I had to rise to the occasion. I felt like over time. Yeah, it was like a thing that I had to learn right, and then I eventually started thinking about a lot more intentionally. So I really did feel that way too. So it was like perfect. So, Katie, what kind of black story do you want? To tell with this podcast.
I would like to tell a multifaceted black story that doesn't take itself too seriously, that experiments, and that it's in conversation with other storytellers, both here and past.
How about you. I think I want to tell a story with this podcast that different people can interpret it differently. So I don't want to define anything for anybody else. I want to leave room open for questioning. I've been thinking about this and like my guiding principle in life, and like that's being applied to this podcast. It's like care and curiosity. Care and curiosity because that allows for
the experimentation that you're talking about. I agree with you there, but it's like care I think makes space for a mistake, and like self improvement, gentleness, growth, and I think all of those things are necessary when we're talking about something that is shifting so frequently and means so many different things to so many people. It means different things to
us in different moments. And then the curiosity, and like I love, I love, and I've made a career and a lifestyle out of like learning things all the time, and I like that I'm able to go on that journey through this podcast and also like open up other people to that journey as well and share that with them, and so like there's a share sense of curiosity in that, and that means that we are able to go on this journey together of understanding and of changing and of
transforming and creating new magic in the magic that we are experiencing together. Yeah, did I answer the question? We did? Okay, And we're excited to go on a journey with y'all. Yeah, come along. We've got snacks, Katie got the drive Mango, and I'm definitely coming. Okay.
Now it's time for roll credits, the segment where we give credit to a person, place, or thing for the week. Eves who are giving.
Credit to I like to give credit to all of the unnamed people who we don't know about who are black storytellers. So all of the people who have folk tales, all of the stories that were passed down through oral storytelling, all of the people who died before they could document the stories that they knew. Oh that's a big one.
All of the enslaved people who weren't able to express themselves in the ways that they wanted to, all of the misremembered wrongly remembered and the purposefully disregarded people who had stories to tell. That's why I like to give credit to today.
I'd like to give credit to the folks who are a little bit scared, a little bit scared to tell their story right now. And that's okay to be a little scared. And I think that's an important part of telling your story, is like not telling it at first. So I want to give credit to the folks who are like, should I tell it? Should I? Should?
I wait?
And I think perfect timing comes when you're ready, and only you'll know when you're ready. But I want to give give a shout out to them and let them know that I'm excited to hear it once they decide to share.
Lovely, So we'll see you all next week. Bye. On Theme is a production of iHeartRadio and Fairweather Friends Media. This episode was written by Eves Jeffco and Katie Mitchell. It was edited and produced by Tari Harrison. Follow us on Instagram at on Themeshow. You can also send us an email at hello at on theeme dot Show. For more podcasts from iHeartRadio, visit the iHeartRadio app, Apple podcast, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows,