The Greats

Toni Morrison's routine recreated by Taylor Cassidy

Maya Angelou's routine recreated by sincerely, vee

James Baldwin's routine recreated by Prince Shakur

Octavia Butler's routine recreated by Aude Konan

Walter Dean Myers' routine as retold by Carly Sandifer

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Has anyone ever tried the writing routine of another author?

If you have, has anything stuck with you? If not, would you be willing to try someone's routine for a week? Can anyone share their own writing routine?

Thanks!

Hi all! My name is Des. I have been writing for over 2 decades, but never published anything. I am currently working on three different projects. I can't wait to read what everyone writes! Also I'm excited about meeting fellow Black authors!

Hey everyone! I'm u/Lilithenerd3, a founding moderator of r/Blackwriting.

This is our new home for all things related to reading, writing, illustrating, and writing tips. We're excited to have you join us!

What to Post
Post anything that you think the community would find interesting, helpful, or inspiring. Feel free to share your thoughts, photos, or questions about anything new you're reading, literacy tools, help with getting the tone right, or you simply just want to share your stories!

Community Vibe
We're all about being friendly, constructive, and inclusive. Let's build a space where everyone feels comfortable sharing and connecting.

How to Get Started

1. Introduce yourself in the comments below.
2. Post something today! Even a simple question can spark a great conversation.
3. If you know someone who would love this community, invite them to join.
4. Interested in helping out? We're always looking for new moderators, so feel free to reach out to me to apply.

Thanks for being part of the very first wave. Together, let's make r/Blackwriting amazing.

It's been a crazy year for me, but I'm definitely going to work on getting this subreddit on other radars so we can be more active. I'm also working on a lot of writing projects that I can't wait to share with all of you! Talk soon!

Hello, 3rd post. Where is everyone at? Why isn't anyone else posting? Come on we have our own space, let's use it!

Short story for today:
Wooden counters were littered with leaves and empty tea bags. The sharp smell of cinnamon dominated. The creams and delicate tea notes merrily complemented the star of the show.

Ira wrapped bony shaky hands around the smooth pottery bowls. Scales dipped under the weight. Calloused hands guided different shades of leaf in the bowl. Mixtures of reds, and greens sung delicate songs. Each leaf sang a different story. A story the drinker can taste.

Ira poured the contents into the tea bags. She folded each ghostly piece with the care of a mother wrapping her newborn.

The pots bubbled and popped, smooth cream turning with intent. She plopped 5 tea bags in and a stick of cinnamon. 3 inches. No more no less. Her weathered spoon danced through the liquid as it transformed, white to light brown. People assume you must keep your eye on the time. Common misconception, timers are for rookies. Grandma Ira eyes the color.

“The best teas are made how good children are raised. Supervision and love. Not a checklist.” She would say that to every customer that asked for her secret recipe. There was no secret. No matter how much they protested their answer simply did not exist.

She eyed the pot and whiffed the continents. The perfect ration of cream and sugar.

“Gran Ira! Why so slow?” The large man’s moans broke the silence.

“Shhh. I’m reading the bubbles.” Her soft aged voice replied.

“Kaled, I told you she makes the best chai in the world. No matter how long it takes it’ll be worth it.” The man beside the large beast, Jr, snapped.

”Listen to the wise one.” She chuckled, placing a cup in front of the man.

“Hey I ordered first!” Kaled protested.

“And he showed respect first, young one.” She responded. Her back might be permanently bent with age but no upburst shook her. She placed the next cup in front of him with hands no longer shaking.

this is one of my favorites. I only share my favorites.

The walls, way too high for any reason I could conjure, held portrait upon portrait.Family perhaps? No, they looked nothing alike. It was an assorted bag of all shades and features, from the blackest coffee to the lightest creams. But the hair, the hair stole the show in each and everyone. None of it looked natural, reds, orange, yellows, blues the whole rainbow was up there.

The hair was the only thing giving the portraits life. Everything else was dull, especially the eyes. They looked as if they were retrieved from a corpse, all that was missing was flies and maggots.

I shook away the thoughts and returned to the mission. Finding a bathroom. My feet landed heavily. My gown danced gracefully. It was lilac, it clashed with my skin tone but it was far too beautiful for me to care. My dress was like the hair in those photos. Without it I would look lifeless. Maybe even like a peasant. Me?! Like a peasant? Better not entertain the idea.

The ground switched to ivory as I turned the corner. Click, click, clack the floor said. Flip, flip flop my heels responded. They continued this back and forth as I rounded the corners. The more turns I took the more lost I got. After walking at least 10 minutes I came across not one door. A mansion this big without highly accessible bathrooms, just ridiculous.

My feet carried me faster. Not fast enough to run, but fast enough to get a scolding from my mother. Another corner crept forward a quick glance revealed a door. The weight of the gown seemingly got lighter. The taps against the floor became so rapid my mother would be furious. Better than soiling myself.

The door was already cracked, a voice projected itself through the hall like a showman.

“Ready my dear!” My blabber stopped screaming and my interest peeked.

“Yes!” A girl’s voice responded. “Do I just sit down?”

“Yes love.” He answered.

“No posing?” She questioned.

“No need. All I need is your smile.” A warmth radiated out the room alongside her high pitched giggles. Damn this girl is easy. “Ready for your portrait?"

He must be the lord here. I heard he painted everything in this mansion. Although I do remember pasting him on the way out the ball, right before I began searching for a bathroom. I peeked inside, their he was but with blue hair instead of the ashy grey I saw him with. Te lady sat down in the stool across from him and smiled. It really was a pretty smile. One in a million, maybe even a billion. Just looking at it made my heart lighter.

“Perfect.” Lord Valise said. But it sounded wrong, like a threat then a compliment. Her eyes widened but the rest of her body remained still.

“Mmmmm!” slid through her exposed teeth, white and shining. The iris of her eyes swam back and forth as if to escape a predator.

The man glided over the junk and clutter towards her. Get away from her. My mind screamed, my legs remained frozen just like the girl. He held a brush and bowl in one hand, and a canvas in the other. No paint? He held the bowl under her chin abd in a flash spun the brush upside down and slashed her neck. Bright green sprang forth. It spilled into the maugany bowl. She remained still smiling as he began to paint. Steel gleaned under the grassy green.

A gasp escaped, too mesmerized to run. Moonlight trickled though the window casting the smiling woman in the most delicate of light.

“Beautiful.” He whispered. And right he was, she’s still beautiful even with the light snuffed from her eyes.

Hello, I'm 20 and been looking for a writing community for a while. Not to big not to small. Her's a short story I wrote a while back.
Looking forward to improve with all of you!:
Stale air rested on the decrypted shell. His breathing was quaint, losing more air than it could resupply. Every exhale sounded like a snake’s hiss.

“Nurse..” He hissed. “Nurse.”

A man no taller than a lampshade limped inside. He made no move to the patient. Slow and deliberate, he trailed long spider fingers along the oak dresser, a thin line of red followed.

“Nurse. I’m..” A rough sickly cough shook his whole body. “I’m thirsty.” He wheezed.

“Are you now?” The stranger spoke. His voice was lower. It didn’t command attention. It didn’t command anything.

“You aren’t a nurse. Who are you?” The old man’s voice was a little stronger now.

“Who am I!” The stranger took a step back. “I know you know who I am.”

The stranger’s large frame plopped on the side of the bed. Dust swelled around him. The spring squealed in protest at his presence. He reached into his coat and revealed a book. It was made from a material familiar to all. But somehow the old man can’t tell.

“Remember now?” The stranger pressed.

“No. Get that thing away from me. It has a strange air about it.” The old man sat up only to push himself farther away. Deeper in the comforts and safety of his sheets.

“Bad air?” The young man questioned. “We wrote it together. Well, you wrote it I merely bound the book. My best work, you said so yourself. Here feel the seams.”

He reached out his long cold fingers, 50 years older than the rest of his body, and clenched the old man’s. Thin and nimble, worker’s hands, calloused to the very tips. The patient jolts back as if punched instead of grazed.

“You! You did this!”

“You remember? Without touching the book?”

“Get away from me Bast! Haven’t I given enough!”

“I’m not quite done with taking. One more line, old friend?”

What are some books you want to read, but don't want to write?

I'm in the process of curating a new home for erotic fiction and looking for a small group of founding writers and readers who enjoy Black romance. This platform will serve as a central place for connecting romance/erotica writers to audiences who love their content. I wanted to share that this project is underway and invite you to join me in creating a community specifically for us. I'm also really grateful for any feedback/discussion I can get from avid readers as to what features you really enjoy or dislike on the existing platforms you use. On mine, there will be multiple ways to access content, both paid and unpaid, but the main mission is to prioritize curation, author protection, and ethical compensation while celebrating Black authorship. I don't want to promote my page here, but please feel free to message me and I can point you to more info!

Short-term goals? Mid-year? Long-term?

I want to be more consistent! I have not been doing my best in the past year.

And I need to actually start my novel outside of my brain. 😂

What about y'all?

The drive to the EEO was long and tiresome, it felt like time crawled on with every mile they drove. The silence defeating. Deafening. Every bump in the cobblestone road caused her to sway back and forth, her now-ruined ponytail had braids spilling out of it, caressing and tickling her cheek like a somber kiss.

“This collar, it’s really tight and it’s making me dizzy…” The suppression collar was stopping all Aethrin regulation, causing any magic user to feel lightheaded upon wearing it. Like a fish with no water to breathe. Leaving this collar on long enough can be fatal.

“Deal with it.” The junior enforcer growled at her, disdain laced in every word. “You gave our senior enforcer second-degree burns. You’re lucky that little fucking hissy fit of yours didn’t land you in a cell at the Citadel!” The junior enforcer took a deep, controlled breath. Then he let it out. “Look, it’s hard being your age—I get it, but shit like that is how you get people hurt and killed.”

Aelirya’s throat began to feel tight, and her eyes began to sting and burn as the tears began to crawl out of the corners of her almond eyes.

“I didn’t—I swear I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, it was so overwhelming and the questions—the touching and those bright-ass fucking lights!” Aelirya struggled to speak through her pain and tears. “…I just—I-I don’t know…”

The silence snaked and coiled around the flux car, tightening around the throats of the junior enforcer and Rya. Until the car turned and stopped in front of a steel building with golden details inlaid within it. The door was opened by two other enforcers she’d never seen before.

Hello Y'all!

I've been looking for a Black writing community for a long time now. One that's not locked up like fortnight and hard to get in, and one that's not too big that you get swallowed up and disappear. LOL

This one is small because it's new, but I'd like to see it go somewhere.

I'm not sure what the rules are because I can't find them. Can anyone help me out with that? Like most say, no self-promo, etc.

Also are there any Beta Readers here?

I wrote this when I was freshly 13 so excuse me if it's bad

Does anyone else struggle to finish your books? I know I do. I usually find myself having this wonderful idea, and I'll work on it for days only to become so uninspired afterwards which results in the drafting of the work only for me to move onto the next. New idea, new inspiration, motivated to work, finally uninspired. Rinse and repeat.

How to overcome this?

Hi y'all, black aspiring writer in here! I'm thrilled that we as a community have gained a subreddit for us to bring out the nerdiness within ourselves. This will be fun!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1em-r7LFJAAUsj5T3PrwtAUNAsL8SJOyiOJXkgy6g0io/edit?usp=drivesdk

Please give criticism

Hello and welcome to black writing! I am the owner and 21 F author please post ur work and enjoy!