A man is entitled to a few secrets.
At the very least, we want everything to go on hold for a while because there is this feeling that we’re heading down a path in a way that we never, ever intended when we were 18 and dreaming of what life would be like.
Blacks essentially play the race card, when necessary as a counter to white privilege.
Don’t sit and wish for some ideal; the grass is not always greener with the big house and cars and artwork.
Every writer secretly hopes that what he or she has written will endure.
I have an obligation as a writer to tell a story as interestingly as possible, but with integrity and not inserting false drama… I’m looking to be subtle, but being a wordsmith does not interest me – I want to communicate.
In writing non-fiction about people who are living, you are always walking a fine line, carrying a burden to be fair that, in my opinion, should always be there.
Race is a subject about which there are points of agreement, and about which there is no agreement; a subject that is either spoken of reluctantly, or not spoken of at all.
Race is used, by all of us, in the most manipulative ways, is often force-fit and reduced to something it isn’t, to something that gives us a sense of comfort, a false one. Many of us thought – needed to feel – the whole business was ‘settled.’ But it’s not, never has been. Laws have only taken us so far.
There is a sense that women are more anchored than men in our society.
Though it’s impossible for us to legislate one’s thoughts and feelings, we still need things like affirmative action in place because without measures like it, people in charge would not have, sadly, enough impetus to do, as cliched as it sounds, the right thing.