why i'm writing a book about black women in science fiction and fantasy fandoms

a letter to my future readers, but more importantly, a reminder to myself to keep writing this damn book

for years, i dreamed of attending san diego comic con to see my literal (and metaphorical) heroes as they wowed the audience about their incoming projects. specifically, i wanted to be there for the golden years, which i refer to as the early to mid-2010s, during the prime of the original avengers cast and the peak seasons of the vampire diaries and teen wolf.

i was a fairly impressionable teen, so naturally, I imprinted on any show that came across my tumblr feed. i followed the somewhat-sinking ships for the two male leads in most of this media—whether they had on-screen chemistry or not—because I loved the feeling of noticing the connection others had made between these characters. ships that saw me include stucky (chris evans’ steve rogers and sebastian stan’s bucky barnes), sterek (dylan o’brien’s stiles and tyler hoechlin’s derek), and destiel (jensen ackles’ dean winchester and misha collins’ castiel). i promise that 14-year-old noella wasn’t strictly focused on yaoi, but i can’t promise that she wasn’t intrigued. i say that with my chest now, because i’m a loustat truther.

but there’s something different about loustat, and it’s not the turmoil and trauma that sam reid’s lestat put jacob anderson’s louis through in season one of amc’s interview with a vampire. louis de pointe du lac, played by the talented jacob anderson, is a black southern gay man with a louisiana accent as thick as a bowl of cold grits and a smile as bright as the sun he can no longer see.

in throes of increasing wonder (season one, episode one of amc’s interview with the vampire)

in the pilot of interview with the vampire—frequently and correctly referred to as one of television’s best pilots—viewers are introduced to louis in the heart of new orleans, louisiana in the early 1900s. his family consists of his brother paul, sister grace, her husband levi, and mother florence. mid-pilot, a heartwarming scene of louis and his family includes charming clips of him and paul dancing, and you’d think this retelling of louis’ life wasn’t about to encounter a bold awakening.

enter lestat, a centuries-old vampire with a luscious bob and insatiable appetite for louis. their seductive love story starts here, and as much as i’d love to write fanfiction about it, it’s not the sweetest tale.

i refer to interview with the vampire as my favorite show, because it intertwines two of my favorite things: vampires and the south. season one is quite captivating in my eyes for many ways, most of which are related to the inherent blackness of the show. there are thick cajun accents left and right, grace’s wedding features the symbolic african-american tradition of jumping the broom, and you can soak up the essence of new orleans. non-black fans jump through hoops to mistakenly label lestat the main character of season one when it’s silly to call anyone but louis the star of the show.

this is a tactic i’ve seen in multiple cases for a black character acting alongside their white costar. sometimes, the white character is the lead, but they have a black character acting circles around them, often entertaining more love and fans than the lead. the beloved bonnie bennett, played by kat graham, comes to mind. she was sacrificing herself every other episode for the white leads in the vampire diaries between her best friend elena gilbert and frenemy damon salvatore, and it got to a point where i was screaming at the tv and closing my eyes to avoid seeing it happen again. this trope is typically referred to as the magical negro, and she wasn’t the only one on that show.

bonnie bennett in the vampire diaries

her ancestor, a witch named emily, also possessed magical powers that served a higher purpose to come to a white character’s aid. would you believe me if i said that this is the plot of every black person in the vampire diaries universe? the cycle repeats itself: a black character is introduced, they interact with one of the white characters, and they drop dead by the end of the episode or plot. my recent rewatch of the supernatural teen drama left a nasty taste in my mouth, and it reminded me why bennett inspired me to write this book.

the magical negro is one of many stereotypes that the only black woman character in a cast is subjected to, and it sits alongside the disposable black girlfriend, the angry black woman (not to be confused with sapphire, the sassy black woman), labor mule, jezebel, mammy, and my personal favorite, the token black friend. usually the token is often much cooler than their white friend. although I am a fan of science fiction, fantasy, and superhero fiction, these stereotypes aren’t limited to my favorite genres. young adult media frequently deal with the disposable black girlfriend across all genres—think about the black girls in you, the summer i turned pretty, invincible, and riverdale; meanwhile, multiple genres have some form of the token black friend.

as i mentioned before, i was an impressionable teen. i see something, and i like it, so I obsess. it’s a simple formula that led me to beyhive, pokémon, and this book. there’s a popular tweet that says something along the lines of, “be careful what you become obsessed with when you’re 14. it never leaves.” and they’re right. what they didn’t mention is that something clicks once you’ve been a fan of something for at least a decade, qualifying you to hopefully apply a critical lens to the media you’re consuming.

dissecting shows, albums, movies, and books is the fun part of media consumption that romanticizes the feeling you’d develop after writing a stellar book report in middle school. it’s even better when you can relate the media to your lived experiences and daily interactions, and each second i’ve spent in front of the television has led to this book.

the disposable black girlfriend trope is one of many inspirations for misogynoir & multiverses. there has to be something done about this misrepresentation of young black girls and black women in media, because the man-made horrors don’t stop there. within our own community, we suffer from colorism, homophobia, texturism, fatphobia, classism, transphobia, etc., and it’s not every day that we receive a work of art like sinners that steers away from these harmful narratives.

in eight chapters, misogynoir and multiverses: a black girl’s guide to fandom culture spans the racism and sexism weaved throughout science fiction and fantasy communities, both online and offline. with a mix of personal experiences, cultural criticism, and sharp interviews, readers will learn why i spent so many of my formative years on tumblr. essays range from a close lens on the state of comic conventions according to their black attendees to the hypervisibility of black women in race swapped roles, and you’ll only read a few pages without a mention of vampires.

blerds, defined as someone who identifies as a black nerd, are an underrepresented class in fandom, regardless of age. this book simultaneously acts as a call to action for hollywood to offer better resources and opportunities for black writers, showrunners, directors, producers, and actresses. shows starring black leads are greenlit to be subsequently canceled, halted mid-production, or receive little-to-no marketing. often we see ourselves on screen, only to be mocked or belittled with a poor plot or misguided storyline.

through this book, readers can expect to hear dated tumblr slang like otp (one true pairing) and the woes of being a chronically-online black girl. once i share my lore, i dive in to answer the question, “why do we cling to fandoms?” with advice from psychologists and pop culture experts. other chapters explore niche intersections of race, gender, and sexuality—pointing to the queer-coded x-men movies or the inherent erotic nature of vampires.

in the last year, i experienced two layoffs and recovered from a major surgery, and this trio of life-altering events led to a total rebirth of my imagination and innovation. at the beginning of the summer, i read a quote by toni morrison that says, “struggling through the work is extremely important—more important to me than publishing it.”

as i struggle through every revision, edit, and outline for anything i write, a sense of appreciation develops for the evolution of my work. five years ago, i was writing just about anything for a college class, combining my interests where i could. i didn’t know i was capable of writing a book in my twenties, let alone a book about my decades-long observations as a fangirl. i spent a portion of my high school years feeling ashamed for my fascination with “white people interests,” i.e. superhero fiction, science fiction, and fantasy. to my surprise, this silly statement derives from a lack of inclusion for non-white people with similar interests. i no longer feel embarrassed to be a nerd.

Laid Off: A Traumedy of Overwork and AI

this year, we’ve seen the trump administration completely gut resources for the country’s population that isn’t wealthy, white, straight, and male. I’m one of 300,000 black women suffering from job loss as a result of layoffs, federal budget cuts, quiet firing, or plain ole racism in the workplace. we’re witnessing people lose their ability to think for themselves with the integration of artificial intelligence services like chatgpt, gemini, and grok. it’s impossible to miss the connection between anti-intellectualism and the misogynistic, racist rhetoric in science fiction and fantasy communities.

as the government distracts us from their firm presence in the genocidal attack on gaza, a combination of symbolic media and white supremacist propaganda is dangled in front of us. how do we navigate this version of escapism influenced by late-stage capitalism? is there a way to enjoy lighthearted television shows and compare it to our lived experiences? misogynoir and multiverses encourages readers to approach the nuanced dialogue in mythical media with an queer feminist afrofuturist lens. in pleasure activism, adrienne marie brown refers to “organizing [as] science fiction—that we are shaping the future we long for and have not yet experienced.”

with over half of a decade as a writer and double that as a fangirl, my years of internet culture consumption explain why black nerds are not a monolith in misogynoir and multiverses. i am a black, queer gen z woman with southern and caribbean roots, so my work is influenced by my upbringing, politics, and pop culture opinions. therefore, this essay collection is a love letter to misunderstood nerds and friendly black hotties with a tumblr origin story. whimsy and curiosity drive my imagination to reside in a multiverse absent of malicious media. until we can reach this, i present misogynoir and multiverses as a guidebook on how to start.

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icymi: i’m hosting a panel at thee new york comic con this thursday at 5-6pm est, and we’re live streaming on twitch!!!!!!!!! it’s in partnership with the new york public library, and my lovely panelists include kaitlyn mcnab, jordan brown, and nadira goffe. if you don’t have a badge to access the professional programming at nycc or aren’t able to join the twitch stream, don’t worry—we are recording it for my youtube channel! if you’re attending nycc, please reach out in the comments because i’ll be there all weekend (cosplaying, duh!) and would love to meet up.

wish me well! i am so nervous y’all hehehe until next time, xoxo