I recently presented at my middle school’s Career Day. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but it turned out better than I imagined.
I shared slides about a typical day in an author’s life, the education path, salary ranges, what I love about writing, the challenges I face, and whether my current career matches what I thought I’d be doing back in middle school.
Then I shared something more real.
A typical day as an author? I don’t really have one.
I work two other jobs. I’m a teacher and a part-time librarian. So writing usually comes last—fitting into late nights, small gaps, whatever time I can find when everything else is done.
That’s where most of my writing lives: in the margins.
When I do sit down, I lock in. My laptop is open with Scrivener, and I’ve got AutoCrit and Grammarly running. For me, AutoCrit is a tool that helps tighten my writing—catching passive voice, overused words, and moments where the flow or pacing feels off. It lets me measure my work against published books and sharpen my voice without losing the raw, honest tone that defines my stories.
I told the students that some days I’m outlining. Some days I’m writing. Other days, I’m revising—trying to get closer to the truth of the story.
No coffee. Just water. Fingerless gloves on because my hands get cold when I click-clack on the keyboard. Small details. Quiet habits. The kind nobody sees—but the kind that keeps me writing.
I said I wanted to be a writer and a teacher back in 7th grade. It sounded simple then, but It wasn’t.
I stayed close to writing—language arts, journalism, creative writing. I earned degrees from Webster University and the University of Phoenix. But I didn’t become either version of myself right away.
I became a teacher at 37. I published my first book at 51. That space in between? That’s what invisibility feels like.
People see the finished book. They don’t see the time you don’t have. The energy you don’t have. The doubt.
As a self-published author, I’m responsible for everything—the writing, the costs, the marketing, the pressure to be seen. There’s no big publishing company backing me. But that doesn’t make my stories smaller.
I keep writing because I know what it feels like to be unseen.
On the contrary, if I’m being honest, it sometimes feels like I’m a celebrity walking the halls of my school. Students find me online—TikTok, TV interviews, newspaper clippings, the music videos, the merch—and suddenly I’m not just their teacher anymore.
It’s flattering.
It’s also a little unsettling.
I don’t always know if they’re genuinely hyping me up or gaslighting me. Either way, it reminds me that visibility comes with responsibility. Writing requires vulnerability. You do not know how people will react to your work. You don’t know who will connect with it—or who won’t. That uncertainty brings pressure.
But it’s pressure I accept. Because the drive to tell these stories is stronger than the fear.
Balancing it all is hard. Teaching takes everything out of me during the school year. Writing gets what’s left. But I still show up. Because this isn’t just about time. It’s about making sure ALL the young people I encounter see themselves in stories. It’s about being an example—especially as a Black male educator—that their future can be bigger than what they see right now.
Seventh-grade me said I wanted to be a writer and a teacher. It took time. Longer than I expected. But I got there.
And if you’re still waiting, still working, still feeling unseen, you’re not invisible.
You’re just putting the finishing touches on a work of art that will come to life because it needs to be seen.