Welcome to my new blog dedicated to the launch of my memoir, Black Girl From a White Suburb: Finding My Light, Using My Voice. (Releases September 2, 2025)
I’ve wanted to tell my story in book form for years now. I’ve started, restarted, given up, given in, lived a little, and lived a lot.
On this blog, I will share deleted scenes, audio chapters from when I thought I'd make it a podcas t, behind-the-scenes info, and musings on current events and pop culture related to the book. I’ll share all sorts of content about the book, my process, and the highs and lows.
If you’re interested in reading an ARC (advance reader copy) and sharing your review on Goodreads, StoryGraph, or social media before the release date, send me your email and I’ll send you details and a link to an ARC. (richardtania3@gmail.com)
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Here is the prologue that no longer appears in the book. I got feedback that it wasn't a prologue because it captures more of the book's essence rather than previous events.
I still love it, though.
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Prologue
I have a recurring dream. I’m in high school, and for months, I’ve been wearing street clothes instead of the required uniform. Nobody ever mentions that I’m not wearing what I should be wearing. At some point, I realize I ought to be in a uniform. I search for it in my closet and find it at the bottom of a pile of laundry, or I never find it at all.
In real life, my uniform and white Oxford shirts were never clean by Sunday night. I had to recycle dirty, wrinkled shirts that only slightly passed the smell test. The polyester gray plaid skirt was wrinkle-free because polyester. I never felt good wearing that uniform. On the rare occasion I did my laundry in time, I’d feel like everyone else must have felt all the time. Or at least how they felt: crisp, fresh, clean. White. All I had to do to feel crisp, fresh, clean, and white was do my laundry. In my dream, I wear my everyday clothes instead, hoping no one will notice. They never do. I go through the school day feeling like I’m getting away with something, paranoid of getting caught.
I fancy myself a dream interpreter. When someone can’t figure out what their dream means, it’s hard not to scoff and say, “What are you an idiot? It’s obvious.” When I’m done being judgey, here’s how I help them extract meaning. First, I ask them to consider how they feel about the events in their dreams. For instance, a person might say they were swimming in their reverie. I’ll ask them how they feel about swimming. Do they like it? Do they hate it? Do they fear it?
Next, I walk them through events in their current life that bump up against the feelings and symbols, and at some point, they have a revelation of their own making.
I don’t, however, interpret my own dreams. I like to stay in all-American denial. Recently, however, the meaning of my uniform dream forced its way through, and I realized that it’s a metaphor for what it felt like to be a Black girl in an all-white suburb who went to an all-white grade school and high school.
My street clothes represent my skin color. Showing up in my street clothes was like showing up Black when everyone else was white. The fact that nobody noticed symbolizes how I felt unseen. My effort to look for my uniform shows how I wanted to blend in, but couldn’t. I’m going to go lie down now. Send snacks.
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Stay tuned for more!