"So you're afraid to change cause you don't want people to call you strange. So I sort of get that. But I grew up in a very different situation. I'm actually always surprised that I'm even in communication with my parents at all. I didn't think anybody in my family would want to have anything to do with me cause that was the message I got from the world when I was a kid, that people do not want to have anything to do with queer people other than queer people. That was what I understood, that queer people themselves didn't even want to have anything to do with one another. And so I was putting myself in training, you know, from the age when I figured out that I was into guys, which was very young. When I was in elementary school, I was in training for the day I leave my parents' house, they find out I'm gay and never speak to me again.

Now, that's not how things went, but if you have that idea, if you already have the idea that everyone in your life is going to reject you, then that makes it easier to write your trauma because you don't think you have anything to lose. And part of our fear about writing that which is intimate or personal or traumatic has to do with the fact that we are afraid that, yeah, I'll have the good piece of writing, but I lose this really wonderful relationship in my real life, and I don't want to lose my relationships.

Moving forward in time, I think it's different for me now. And I think it's easier for me to write into a kind of risk because I have trained myself to a point where I don't think about that risk as I am writing. I put myself in a position where I only have to think about that risk once I am at a point in a draft. And by that time the poem is so good, I don't care about that relationship. But in the beginning, my goal is lines. Oh, that sounds good! Oh, that sounds good. Oh, this is interesting. Oh, I might be able to use this piece. If you take things down to the word, to the fragment, to the line, in some cases, to the sentence, to the paragraph, and you start putting things together, then you can begin to put them together because they go together, not cause they're about you in any particular way."

How do you find your voice? As a writer, how do you take what you know and what you believe to share your stories with the world? How do we let young writers know just how powerful they are and that what they do matters?

In How We Do It: Black Writers on Craft, Practice, and Skill Pulitzer Prize winning, and National Book Award finalist author Jericho Brown brings together more than 30 acclaimed writers, including the likes of Tayari Jones, Jacqueline Woodson, Natasha Trethewey, among many others, to discuss, dissect, and offer advice and encouragement on the written word. Brown is author of The Tradition, for which he won the Pulitzer Prize. He is the recipient of fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study at Harvard, and the National Endowment for the Arts, and he is the winner of the Whiting Award. Brown’s first book, Please, won the American Book Award. His second book, The New Testament, won the Anisfield-Wolf Book Award. His third collection, The Tradition won the Paterson Poetry Prize and was a finalist for the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award. His poems have appeared in The Bennington Review, Buzzfeed, Fence, jubilat, The New Republic, The New York Times, The New Yorker, The Paris Review TIME magazine, and several volumes of The Best American Poetry. He is the director of the Creative Writing Program and a professor at Emory University.

www.jerichobrown.com
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