By Beth Cranford
There are a handful of authors I will openly and unabashedly fangirl over, if given the chance. New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Brenda Jackson, is absolutely one of them. Since I began reading romance back in 2012 (I swear, it was just yesterday), I've had a lot—and I do mean a lot—of her books make their way on to my Kindle. They are of the kind that make me want to read romance, with fast-paced plots, big loving families, protective alpha heroes, and smart, strong heroines. Catnip, I tell you.
As I told her almost the moment we met over Zoom, I had approximately 1,001 questions for her. From her own love story—which I am looking forward to sharing later this month in honor of Valentine's Day—to what she has planned for the Westmoreland/Outlaw family to her own favorite authors, I was practically bursting with curiosity.
There was one topic I particularly wanted to broach because it is too important not to: her experience in a romance publishing world that hasn't exactly been well known for its diversity. (Yes, that is a massive understatement.)
Unless you've been living under a rock over the past few years, you'll know that Romancelandia, as the online romance community is colloquially known, has had to confront its failings on issues of race and equality. Repeatedly. And it will continue to have to do so because the need for representation isn't going anywhere. And nor should it. For readers like myself—and yes, by that, I do mean cisgender white women—romance has always reflected our experience.
The question is, how did we as a community get to this point? And the answer is, with the hard work of authors like Brenda Jackson who, along with Beverly Jenkins, Rosalind Wells, Sandra Kitt and more, began to break down the white walls of romance to give Black love a voice.
Mrs. Jackson's first novel, Tonight and Forever, was first published in 1995. Interestingly, it was— and always will be—titled Always Tomorrow as far as the author is concerned.
"I wrote that story just based on ["Always Tomorrow" by Gloria Estefan] . . . so even though it's Tonight and Forever, in my heart, it's Always Tomorrow because he [tells the heroine] there's always tomorrow to give her hope and encouragement."
Title change notwithstanding, the book was not originally intended for publication, let alone to become the start of a storied career that helped to bring down barriers.
"I wrote it because whenever I went to my class reunions, my classmates, who I used to entertain with my writing in the eighth and ninth grade, would always say, 'Did you ever write a book?'"
Wanting to have something to show them, her book started to take form. And her friends—impressed with the story and her writing—would go on to inform her that she needed to consider getting it published. But, as Mrs. Jackson told me, "There [were] no publishers publishing black romances," so the process took time. Eventually, with the assistance of her beloved husband, Gerald, advice garnered from a workshop held by Romance Writers of America founder Vivian Stephens, and the launch of Kensington's Arabesque line of romances, Tonight and Forever made its debut.
With the advent of self-publishing in the years since Tonight and Forever's release—and the slow move toward diversity we've seen over the years—publishing has become a far more attainable goal for all authors than it was 25 years ago. In light of that, is there anything that Mrs. Jackson wishes she'd known upon her debut? Advice she would've given her 1995-self or changes to her personal journey that she would have made?
"I think it was meant for me to go through the process I went through. Maybe not being rejected for reasons that I was rejected—not that it wasn't a good story, but because the color of my hero and heroine—I would have loved to avoid that aspect of it," she explained, adding that yes, she had learned a lot over the years. She also acknowledged that she believed she still had more to learn. "You never, ever, know everything. There's always things you can learn."
Despite her belief that fate had a hand in her journey, there are things that she would "go back and change" if given the chance, such as hearing that Black authors shouldn't bother to submit their work because they were Black. "One seminar I was in," Mrs. Jackson told me, "An editor [sent by a publishing house] said, 'I don't even read Black romance, 'cause they're not well written.'"
While that particular editor didn't back down, even after admitting to never having read any Black romance, Mrs. Jackson didn't let that stop her. Rather, she turned it into a reason to work harder, to be all the more successful. If she had listened to that editor's opinion, she said, "I would never be a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestseller. I would never be up to 140-something books."
That editor was, she added, "what the coach was to Michael Jordan, who said he would never play basketball . . . [she] made me want to do it."
Do it, of course, is keep pushing for the publication of romance stories that feature Black characters. Not as secondary or "token" characters, the smallest nod to diversity one can muster, but as heroes and heroines. Men and women—families—who define love in their own ways. And to do this, it had to be done out loud, by pushing.
But what about now? How does a woman who actively participated in a romance revolution feel about the current state of things in Romancelandia?
"Change takes time. I know that; that's my thing. I have to also accept that some of the roles that we went through and the mountains we had to climb . . . the new writers should not have to be climbing those same mountains 25 years later. To me, that's crazy."
Noting that the inclusiveness the current generation is working toward is different than the one that the trailblazers of romance already fought and won, Mrs. Jackson acknowledged that "[being included] wasn't even a thought for us . . . they (the romance community) were letting us know, 'Oh no, it won't happen.'"
And yet it did. So, to new writers, the "young ladies" currently at the epicenter of the second wave of revolution, working not only to be included but on a level playing field, she says, "Just tear down the frigging mountain. We've climbed it for you. In those areas that you see there is a mountain, tear it down, 'cause it shouldn't be there. If someone tried to re-erect that mountain in 2020, '21, '22, '23, tear it down. You don't have time for foolishness."
Good advice from a woman who has carried the mantle of trailblazer, of pioneer, for years. When asked if she felt comfortable being called such, she explained that she and her contemporaries stood their ground, refusing to give in to those who said they couldn't and shouldn't do it.
"We kept moving forward. We didn't let the naysayers stop us," she said, adding that even when they felt unwelcome, they kept working, kept putting their best foot forward. "We showed up at RWA, even though sometimes we felt like we were ignored, ridiculed. And finally, we got an opportunity to show what we could do. If that makes us [trailblazers], then yes, I've earned that title."
As someone who believes respect is earned not given and being a trailblazer "doesn't stop with just what happened in the past," her work is far from over. Her pioneering continues by supporting her fellow authors and, she says, "by writing good books," something I can confidently say she is managing with aplomb.
Mrs. Jackson's words continue to enthrall readers from across the globe, ensuring that she regularly hits bestseller lists, finds new readers, and gets the chance to tell the love stories she wants to tell, about the characters she wants to write about.
Is it any wonder my urge to fangirl over her was so strong?