You often say that “fiction is your first love,” yet you write in so many forms. Is there a place fiction cannot take us?

 

If there is a place fiction cannot take us, I hope to never find it.  Fiction can take us anywhere our imaginations allow us to. It is a very malleable genre which is one of my favorite things about writing fiction.

 

In your memoir Hunger you showed us how deep vulnerability can spark conversation and change. Coincidentally your book was published mere months before the rise of the #metoo movement. Since #metoo, how have you experienced so many women sharing their long-held truths?

 

As someone who writes about gender, bodies, and sexual violence, people do tend to share their stories about their experiences with these things. It can be really overwhelming and it is a constant reminder of how much suffering there is in the world. I’ve had to develop strong boundaries because I am not a therapist and while I try to hold space for people who confide in me, I cannot help them beyond offering them empathy. And there are days when I cannot hold their stories and mine, too.

 

As a Haitian-American, are you following the diaspora wars? When it comes to Black issues, is understanding “origin” (African-American, Jamaican, Nigerian, etc.) necessary?

 

I’m certainly aware of diasporic tensions. I think war is a bit much. Regardless of where we come from, we do have our blackness in common but we also have our differences and I try to celebrate those differences and learn from them rather than place them in opposition. Origin matters to a great many people, and certainly, as a Haitian I think our history of liberation is critical to understanding who we are. Nothing productive comes from trying to create diasporic hierarchies. Solidarity is important and it is in our best interests to work together instead of against each other.

 

As a critic, you often investigate pop culture and its relationship to feminism, equality, and social justice. What themes or part of American history do you wish someone disrupted for you when you were a young Black woman?

 

I wish I had known more about the richness and depth of black literature growing up. I was raised by Haitian parents in Nebraska. Their cultural foundation was Haitian and the cultural foundation of my education was predominantly white. It wasn’t until high school and college that I was exposed to black writers and intellectuals beyond the mainstays. I feel like I am still catching up, in some ways.

 

How has Twitter fame impacted your writing? Does your popularity online push you to become more candid than you would like to be?

 

Twitter fame hasn’t really affected my writing beyond the time I waste online that I should be spending with my work. I am exactly candid as I want to be and, in fact, have very firm boundaries around what I will and will not share. Popularity has no influence on my candidness. In fact, it makes me reticent to be open because it feels like too much exposure.

 

Black authors are often asked to explain or resolve the world’s problems. How do you prioritize your wellbeing, especially your joy?

 

I try to remind myself, and others, that I am only human. I can only do so much. My work cannot speak to everything or everyone. And I am finally at a place in my life where I do experience some joy and I try to hold onto that joy, fiercely. I try to protect it and make choices that allow me to have that joyful time with my wife, our family, our friends together and separately. I try to remember that I am not defined by my work and that it is the people in my life that matter because work is fickle.

 

Okay, we’ve got to know, what’s been your embarrassing pandemic binge watch?

 

I am not embarrassed by what I watch. I’ve recently enjoyed the utterly irredeemable Bling Empire on Netflix. It’s a lot of fun.