Needless to say, day-to-day, I run the gamut of emotions.
As an artist, it’s difficult not to reflect the time. My first published pieces were essays and thought pieces in response to the changing sociopolitical climate. I started to feel foolish for wasting so much time suppressing mine. He had so many dreams he wanted to fulfill. My brother, who was ten years older than me and 38 when he passed, was deeply introspective with an imaginative, childlike love of life. After three years of working as an attorney, my older brother passed away unexpectedly. Although I took every writing class I could, I chose to go on to law school and make a living as a lawyer. I went to college and got a BA in English. Writing professionally didn’t equal stability. It had been engrained in me to seek stability. My parents were both lifelong government employees, so for a long time, I didn’t see my writing as a means to make a living. Though, my older brothers would likely say it was an insatiable noseyness. I guess you can say, curiosity fueled my early love of writing. I loved imagining what and who people went home to and what they did when they thought no one was watching. I used to love sitting on buses and subways with a notebook describing what I saw and experienced. I was raised in Queens, New York in the eighties and nineties which was a hodgepodge of languages, foods, music and dialects. As an African American female genre author, I am able to explore sides of our humanity in spaces and ways our stories are not typically told. After personal tragedy and well-needed soul searching, I had the guts to stand firm in who I am as an artist. It took a long time for me to come to terms with my identity as a writer. I majored in English in college and went on to practice law. My name is Faye McCray, and I am a writer.
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