since when are you a writer
A few weeks ago, I was on the phone with a confidant when our conversation turned to writing. He said something that stayed with me.
“I don’t see why someone would pay to read about someone’s life.”
Memoir as a literary genre is more than just significant experiences; it’s about the connection to humanity that readers feel. The Autobiography of Malcolm X transported me to the streets of Boston with Detroit Red and on pilgrimage to Mecca with Malik Shabazz. Dreams from my Father made me reminisce about my family trips to Ghana and the meaning of returning to ancestral homes. Black writers do not need to be revolutionaries or advocates for change—we have impactful life stories worth telling. Yet too often, our stories go unwritten.
All our stories connect us more than we realize. There’s a reason why telling stories around a table or bonfire brings people together across cultures and generations. We need each other’s stories for inspiration and motivation—to teach us about God, ourselves, and one another. Reading the lived experiences of others is like learning new possibilities for life. They resonate long after the ink is dry.
Writing While Black
In The Souls of Black Folk, Du Bois paints vivid pictures of the very grim life that African Americans lived in the late 1800s. He wrote that Black Americans must live through two perspectives—a “double consciousness.” We must be conscious of how we view ourselves, and conscious of how the world views us.
This makes writing and sharing life stories a more thoughtful process. I don’t lose sleep over what to share, but I think about how the message will be received. For me, putting words to page isn’t just expression—it’s a responsibility to give back. I push against the stereotype that Black writers are limited to tell a certain kind of story, one originating from the projects, single-parent homes, drugs and gang violence. There’s an expectation for us to tell stories that conform to the themes of struggle and survival in America.
I was born in New Jersey to Ghanaian immigrants. My values are rooted in a rich heritage of tradition and ceremony. In Ghana, Sankofa is an Akan word meaning “to go back and get,” symbolizing the importance of looking to the past to build a better future. It’s commonly depicted as a bird with its head turned backward while its feet face forward—a reminder that even in reflection, we are poised to move ahead.
The concept of double consciousness can be a double-edged sword. It helps me understand why I share the stories I value, while also making me aware of how readers perceive me for doing so. I walk a fine line between writing what matters to me and what the audience wants to read. For years, my published writing was limited to 140 characters. The bright lights of the big city and a fresh perspective changed that.
The Blog
In the spring of 2018, I founded a sports and entertainment blog called Please Shut Up (plzshutup.com). I covered a wide range of topics including sports, music, and media. I posted articles once or twice a week, writing under the pseudonym “Vito.” Sometimes, I featured guest posts written by friends and family as well.
I traveled to New York weekly for work, spending most evenings in my hotel room. One week, I read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. The book’s central theme revolved around the concept of “Resistance,” which he described as the internal force that prevents us from pursuing creative endeavors. He romanticized the idea of reaching a higher purpose, a greater sense of self, when Resistance is overcome. The book struck a chord with me because I knew I was capable of more, and I wanted to do more. I decided not to let Resistance stop me from sharing my thoughts and ideas on topics that sparked my interest.
Excerpt from “The Role of Athletes as Content Creators,” May 24, 2019. Please Shut Up.
At the same time, I discovered Fire Joe Morgan, a now-defunct sports journalism blog that mocked ignorant baseball journalists. Founded by a group of friends, the blog’s sole purpose was to make each other laugh. The idea of creating a platform for long-form writing to build community intrigued me, especially since their efforts led to incredible opportunities—the blog’s creators went on to write critically acclaimed television including The Office, Parks and Recreation, and Master of None.
I ran Please Shut Up for a year and a half before starting law school. Though the website is no longer active, I still retain the archives—over 100 articles and ten podcast episodes. Creating the blog taught me valuable lessons about journalism, website design, digital marketing, SEO, and, of course, writing. The blog also led to an invitation to write for the online music publication EARMILK and collaborations with college football journalists covering Florida schools. The blog was my way of putting myself out there, getting comfortable with discomfort. I had briefly overcome Resistance, but it would inevitably return.
Since When
“If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.”
—Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
Not long after I published the Valentine’s Day story, I was on the phone with one of my boys from abroad:
“You’re a pretty private guy,” he said. “Why are you sharing all this personal stuff all of a sudden? Are you dying or something?” he added jokingly.
I laughed. He wasn’t wrong—I rarely post on socials. “Why not? That’s what writers do.” I responded.
“Since when are you a writer?” he asked.
I suppose it depends on how we define "writer." By Stephen King’s standard, I’m not yet a talented writer—though people tell me otherwise (maybe they’re just being kind).
The dictionary defines a writer as anyone who writes, whether professionally, creatively, or for personal expression. This broad definition can cause friction in writing communities, as it implies that most everyone is a writer. The key distinction, I think, is that writers share their work.
I have a short book in my library called Show Your Work! by Austin Kleon, a guide to self-promotion and sharing creative work. He encourages artists, writers, and creators to be transparent in their creative process. I read it in the fall of 2022 while living in DC.
At the time, I felt I didn’t have the time or energy to write and publish consistently. I still wrote occasionally—articles, short stories, songs, and reflections, all tucked away in Notes or Word documents. Still, I didn’t publish any of it, convincing myself I lacked the time. But sometimes, I have to make time—and make time for others.
People also ask me to review and edit their writing. Friends have sent everything from personal statements and cover letters to screenplays and drafts of strongly worded emails to landlords, all asking for feedback and edits. At my former firm in DC, one of the rainmaker partners once said, “You’re a better writer than me,” before adding a backhanded compliment. A partner at my current firm once described me as a “natural writer.” Affirmations like these reinforce my belief in the importance of sharing my work—whether it's my own or helping others with theirs.
Story of My Life
"I see you’ve picked up the pen again," an old friend said while we were catching up last weekend.
I mostly published sports and music articles on Please Shut Up, but these days, my writing focuses more on life itself. I feel most compelled to share memories and reflections. The reason is simple: I find more solace exploring my lived experiences than in reporting stories or writing fiction.
Starting this newsletter was a way for me to set aside my ego and express myself in the best way I know how. I was drawn to this platform because it lets writers focus on their craft, free from the distractions of design, mailing lists, and subscription management. It also fosters a supportive community of writers.
After I published the mat drills story, a close friend asked, “So, what’s next?” I told her that I had some ideas, but in the end, whatever moves me. I want to continue making an impression on communities, which means sharing my work regardless of the audience. I write to keep my stories alive—the ones that are hard to write and the ones that make me smile. And I’ll keep writing, whether or not my words see the light of day. Writing isn’t just something I do—it’s who I’ve been, since way back when.
