Reflections from the #AWP24 HBCU Fellowship Program

The AWP HBCU Fellowship Program kicked off its second year at the 2024 AWP Conference & Bookfair in Kansas City, Missouri, on February 7–10, 2024. Supported in part by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, AWP again awarded fellowships to two faculty and four students from historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs) across the country.

This year the program was led by our wonderful creative advisor, Rion Amilcar Scott, Howard University alum and author of the story collections The World Doesn’t Require You and Insurrections, winner of the 2017 PEN/Robert W. Bingham Prize for Debut Fiction and the 2017 Hillsdale Award from the Fellowship of Southern Writers. Scott got to know the six fellows during a private discussion over lunch. Ideas for establishing creative writing communities within HBCUs and branching into all genres as a Black writer were topics of conversation.

“I’ve been asked to meditate on the HBCU tradition,” Scott said in his public lecture, “which is to meditate on the visionary idea that a gathering of Black people in fierce intellectual pursuit can tear down the sturdy concrete walls of the castle of white supremacy and build in its place a Yard, an open greenspace for humanity, to shout, dance, hold hands, argue, sing, and flourish.”

Both faculty fellows served as mentors to their student fellow mentees for the duration of the conference. These supportive relationships are meant to last beyond the conference, and this support is the core of this program, whether through mentorship or the larger AWP community. What was once a visionary idea has become a tradition, thanks to the wholehearted participation of our creative advisor and fellows. Below are words of reflection from all participants of the second year of the AWP HBCU Fellowship Program.

Rion Amilcar Scott

As creative advisor for AWP’s second HBCU initiative, I’d been asked to reflect on what it means to be a writer in the historically Black college and university tradition—publicly with a lecture during the 2024 AWP conference in Kansas City and privately with a select group of professors and undergraduates at the same conference.

What a daunting task. I can hardly imagine American literature without giants like Toni Morrison, Lucille Clifton, Ralph Ellison, or Jericho Brown, all who’d cut their teeth at HBCUs. I can think of no strand of American education more noble than the HBCU tradition, existing in part as a bulwark against the violent grind of white supremacy. It has always felt like a special privilege to be born, as I was, into the HBCU tradition. My parents met at Howard University in the sixties. My older brothers and I followed as students at the institution in the nineties. As an undergraduate, I felt embraced, held, sometimes even paralyzed by tradition. It was a mantle I wore willingly, but not always well, often taking my education for granted and settling for good enough instead of good. Years later I found my first teaching job at Bowie State University, the oldest HBCU in Maryland.

To meditate on the HBCU legacy is to meditate on succession, and being part of a continuum. Grasping a baton from earlier generations and attempting to sprint in the direction of freedom. In composing my lecture, that theme came to me swiftly. I imagined as a framing device, between sections of my speech, I’d invoke the names of writers who’d been students or faculty at HBCUs. I thought first of my colleagues at Bowie State who taught me how to teach, then I reached back into literary history to the writers who created a blueprint for so many of us; I thought then about peers I looked to in admiration, and even to the young undergraduate HBCU initiative fellows whose turn it would soon be to try to change the world, as poet and HBCU grad Gil Scott-Heron might say. This list quickly became long and unwieldy, unworkable as a framing device, lest my entire lecture consist of a list. The writers I’d listed were both illustrious and obscure; they represented all points along the ideological spectrum, displaying the richness and diversity of black thought and creativity. Even after I determined that no such list would appear in the final piece, I kept adding to the tally as I worked. This listing gave me a sense of how vast and awe-inspiring a continuum I am a member of.

This vast family was very much in the room when I met with faculty and student fellows at the AWP conference this past February. Historically, many HBCUs have been routinely plundered of their resources by the very states that are supposed to provide them funding. The reputation of these schools is that they are institutions of practicality with little to say to an endeavor as dreamy and unstable as creative writing. The fellows in the room contradicted that reputation. They represented schools from different parts of the country, wrote in differing genres, and took up different literary concerns. Listening to the undergraduate fellows discuss their work and what they hoped to contribute to literature, I heard in them the same passion I had as a Howard student in the nineties. I envied their confidence and direction, qualities I lacked at their age.

I left the conversation with a sense of hope for the future novels, stories, essays, and poetry that would arise from the nurturing arms of the HBCU continuum. With continued work and conversations such as the ones had in Kansas City, this powerful thread within our national literature can only strengthen with time.

Latorial Faison

As a Black poet who believes that being in the company of and in fellowship with other poets, writers, and artists is the equivalent of what many Black folks call having church, I can testify that AWP 2024 was indeed just as spiritual as much as it was academic, creative, or even literary business. For writers, a convening of this nature is much like a family reunion, a meetup, a revival, maybe even a megachurch conference of sorts. I was elated to serve as one of two AWP HBCU faculty fellows for the 2024 conference. I came to Kansas City with the charge of mentoring and fellowshipping with HBCU students who see themselves as aspiring writers. As a 2024 HBCU faculty fellow, I was honored to meet, mentor, and learn from some of today’s most brilliant students from Morgan State University, Xavier University, and Prairie View A&M alongside writer and Jackson State University professor Danielle Littlefield, also a 2024 HBCU faculty fellow. We took every opportunity to engage with student fellows by sharing our own writing journeys, opportunities, challenges, and successes.

We attended AWP sessions with our mentees and listened to their writing aspirations, experiences, and talked about almost everything under the sun. It was a rich experience to be able to spend time with the young people we once were. In the writing world, mentorship and community can make all the difference, and this HBCU fellows program gets students off the ground floor of it all. Our HBCU student fellows were engaged in seminars about mentorship, building community as writers, and the challenges of writing from marginalized places and spaces. We were honored to sit down with the student fellows over brunch and listen as well as provide mentorship, discuss writing ideas, current projects, dreams, and aspirations of writing—time well spent. The 2024 fellows gave so much hope; they shared interests in science fiction, storytelling, creative nonfiction, writing to change lives, and centering the narratives of people of color. It was a joy to get to know them.

Danielle Littlefield

I first heard of AWP the summer after undergrad, when by way of potential and good fortune, I wound up at the Callaloo creative writing workshops in Texas. That time was the first I ever spent in the company of Black writers, some of whom were already and others who quickly became bestsellers, prizewinners, and state laureates. That two-week space of exchange gelled a burgeoning vision I had of myself as a writer. I believed I could see down a straight path from that week to my future. Twenty years, two kids, and four presidents later, I found myself again immersed in that number at the 2024 AWP Conference & Bookfair in Kansas City, Missouri. The experience was nostalgic and mildly intoxicating, having aged so long, bottled up in hypothesis.

The lecture delivered by Rion Amilcar Scott was as meticulously insightful as Scott tends to be in his work. The stories he shared, especially coupled with a later panel of former HBCU fellows, held us in memory of our shared experiences and bound us in a sense of common purpose moving ahead. We asked and answered collectively: What was my experience as an HBCU writer/student/professor? How can we together change the landscape for HBCU writers, students, and faculty of the future? 

To that end, one of the most rewarding aspects of the HBCU faculty fellowship was working with our student fellows. They are at the precipice of their potential, and hearing their dreams and questions had me offer my perspective from twenty years forward, but also caused me to revisit my former self at their ages. Engaging in that intergenerational discourse was mutually beneficial and will hopefully lead to long-term mentorship.

Evan Johnson

Reflecting on my nineteen years of life, I can unequivocally assert that the 2024 AWP HBCU Fellowship Program stands out as one of the most enriching experiences I’ve had thus far. The immersive environment, myriad opportunities, and diverse array of individuals I encountered during the conference were beyond measure. Engaging with esteemed authors and agents not only provided invaluable insights into the intricacies of the writing industry but also offered profound personal narratives that resonated deeply with me. Their guidance imparted a more nuanced understanding of the path to becoming an author and ignited within me a heightened sense of inspiration.

Among the numerous highlights of the AWP conference, the welcome lunch and fellow discussion led by Rion Scott stands out as a particularly memorable moment. This inaugural gathering served as a catalyst for the realization that this day would be etched in my memory. Surrounded by fellow participants and esteemed mentors, I found myself immersed in conversations that illuminated the diverse backgrounds and journeys of those present. The opportunity to share aspirations and dreams with fellow writers further underscored the wealth of talent and potential within the room. It became evident that the fellows in attendance possessed the drive and determination to achieve literary excellence, serving as a compelling source of motivation for my own aspirations.

In essence, being selected to participate in the 2024 AWP HBCU Fellowship Program has been an immense privilege for which I am profoundly grateful. I wholeheartedly believe that any aspiring writer seeking to establish themselves in the literary realm would greatly benefit from attending, not only for the invaluable connections forged but also for the wealth of knowledge gained.

Zamariah Strozier

My experience as an HBCU fellow at the #AWP24 Conference & Bookfair was an opportunity that I will never forget. An opportunity that made me aware of an MFA (master of fine arts) program and degree where I could potentially explore and evolve my poetry and fictional writing. Exposure to other possibilities of lifestyles and careers that I could have outside of the norm. I had never been in an environment where there were so many writers of all genres, professions, skill sets, etc. that dedicated their time to wanting to learn more, discover more, and see more.

Not only this, but my mentors in the program were absolutely phenomenal. They shared a lot of knowledge and key details to help us thrive and grow as writers. They also were very open-minded and created a beneficial environment that allowed us a space to express our perspectives on the world of poetic writing and also within our historically Black colleges.

I was able to experience Kansas City, Missouri, and everything that it had to offer. The culture, food, people, and even the architecture was absolutely amazing. From this opportunity, I was able to find a variety of writing programs that I will be able to keep in mind after college. It has encouraged me to continue writing. As it is never tiring or impossible to work in fields where your passion is what drives your creativity and impact among the world.

Lauren Patrick

My experience at the AWP conference in Kansas City, Missouri, was the equivalent to opening the blinds to the first morning of summer. It was warm and stirred feelings of endless possibilities inside of me. As an HBCU fellow, I was blessed with the opportunity of learning from mentors with experience finding a community to rely on. They taught me that writing is not something that can be crafted in seconds but something that takes humility and vulnerability. I gained a mentor I can call upon if I have any questions about my journey to become a better writer, and I met students who are so incredibly talented in so many ways. I got to share my poetry and gained valuable feedback and confidence that I did not know I was missing. My experience at AWP extended to the panels and tables that they had every day of the conference. There were so many speakers throughout the week. It felt impossible to decide which ones to go to. While making my daily schedule, I was wishing I had the ability to make clones of myself so I could experience everything all at once. Every panel I attended left me feeling a burning in my fingers and a desire to write everything on my mind. The tables that were set up at the bookfair were amazing as well. I got to learn about so many publishers and writing organizations that I had never heard of, like Obsidian, Cave Canem, and Furious Flower. On the last day of the conference, I took a sticker from one of the many tables I visited. It said, “Hello I’m hoping to get my first publication.” My experience as an HBCU fellow and the knowledge I gained from the talented mentors, authors, and poets made the words on that sticker feel like a declaration instead of a recurring childhood dream.

Morgan McGinnis

Before AWP my stories were hidden behind the cracked screen of my iPhone’s notes app. You ever dreamed of something so heavily you start to fear it? Gaslighting yourself into thinking that the thing that occupies your mind and directs your faculties is not for you? Because fearing what you’ve always wanted is easier than seeing it in front of you and realizing it could get taken away. I was afraid of my dreams being killed before I had a chance to breathe life in them. A desire burning in your head like the hot comb mama used to cherish. With God’s Grace, he placed me in AWP, where everyone helps each other breathe life into their ideas. AWP was a sanctuary firing up all the faculties of our minds. Sharing one lung. Everyone was colorfully painted outside the lines of societal boundaries. With the help of my fellow dreamers, our voices rang to the heavens. One band, one sound working together to embrace the curiosity that was seen as an invasion or an aggression, not as an opportunity to be encouraged or dreamed. We all have been victims of oppression; it’s founded on stripping us of our original humanity and replacing it with a slave mentality. Enslaved to green screens of freedom that tell us that the real picture is not pretty enough. So much so that we started treating ourselves like possessions. A mentality that puts us in a sunken place where dreams only hold parameters within the eye. Then we are introduced to the literary Promiseland where such imprisonment would be blasphemous. Where you shouldn’t be anything but unapologetic about who you are and where you come from. The last day of AWP while I was steady making promises to God and everyone I met to not lose my voice, my brother had his taken away. Incarceration physically, mentally, and spiritually. Found with a kilo, an unmarked gun, car, and dream. I wonder what his dream was. Where he was heading and how he wanted to be seen. And if his dreams have remained the same within the parameters of his six-by-eight-foot room. And if my brother’s mind can break through those bars man placed, I surely can break through the imprisonment of a notion of myself that doesn’t exist. When I left for AWP, it was my first time getting on a plane, and when I departed it felt like my feet never touched the ground. Thank you, AWP, for releasing my wings. I feel like I can fly and the view is amazing from up here.

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