Family Reunion: A Personal History of Fire & Ink

The Fire & Ink writers festivals felt like a Black, queer wonderland for people who loved writing, editing, critiquing, promoting, or publishing books. Like many of those who attended these festivals and events, I had been in many rooms before that were exclusively Black or exclusively gay, but never both, and never lesbian, trans, bisexual, and queer all at once. This was especially true of the writers’ gatherings at that time. Founded in 2001, Fire & Ink: A Writer’s Festival for GLBT People of African Descent was devoted to increasing the understanding, visibility, and awareness of the works of LGBTQ/Same-Gender Loving (SGL) writers of African descent and heritage. Convening four national festivals in Chicago (2002), Austin (2005 and 2009), and Detroit (2015), Fire & Ink brought hundreds of cultural creators, new and seasoned, together to share their knowledge, ideas, creativity, community, and published or in-progress work. Fire & Ink mapped out a new landscape to bear witness to our lives and work.

Like many Black institutions, Fire & Ink was born out of necessity. In 1998, Lisa C. Moore, founder and publisher of the Black lesbian feminist RedBone Press (1997–2024), and a few other Black queer writers attended OutWrite, a gay writers’ conference in Boston. As with many writers’ conferences, panel discussions featuring and/or of interest to Black writers were held at the same time, which proved frustrating. “At the end of that conference, [several] LGBTQ writers of color gathered in the hotel bar, and we talked about our shared frustration over the scheduling.... None of us could attend each other’s events,” Lisa lamented. “Looking around, we all realized that there were enough writers there, and others that we knew personally, to create our own conference.” The experience was repeated in 2000 at a different gay writers’ event in Philadelphia, where the seeds of Fire & Ink were firmly sown.

“A group of us adjourned to a sub shop/carryout [in Philadelphia] and put our heads together to discuss what would become Fire & Ink,” poet and librarian Reginald “Reggie” Harris remembered. “We felt the overwhelming whiteness of the event and thought there was a real need for us to pull together to talk about our experiences and challenges as writers.” Chicago-based poet and performer Dr. Carla “C.C.” Carter recalled that “the overall conversation didn’t reflect, nor would organizers consider acknowledging, the intersections of race, gender, and geography of the LGBTQ writers who were in attendance.”

Multidisciplinary writer and theater artist Sharon Bridgforth, whose debut book, the bull-jean stories, was published by RedBone Press in 1998, spent time on the road with Lisa promoting the book and learning firsthand about the publisher’s commitment to and vision for Black queer writers. Sharon remembered, “When [Lisa] mentioned the idea of a writers’ gathering for queer writers of African descent, I was all in! Especially since, by then, many of us had been attending OutWrite and Behind Our Masks queer writers’ conferences—which I appreciated—but they were fo’ sho’ not Black.” The idea began to take off. Lisa, C.C., Sharon, Reggie, and several other poets and writers including Samiya Bashir, Dorothy Randall Gray, and G. (Glen) Winston James, continued talking.

After three years of planning and fundraising, the first Fire & Ink: A Writer’s Festival for GLBT People of African Descent took place at the University of Illinois–Chicago, September 19–22, 2002. Black queer poets, fiction writers, academics, playwrights, screenwriters, experimental writers, journalists, and humorists from throughout the United States and a few from overseas converged at the university for four days to meet, work, eat, and build networks and partnerships that continue to bear fruit.

“Around 300 Black LGBTQ+ writers found their way to Chicago,” remembered poet, artist, editor, and librettist Samiya Bashir. She also recalled the communal nature of creating the first Fire & Ink. “We’d found a way ... to secure vans and drivers, volunteers from our own community, to get folks from airports and bus stations, to get folks from hotels to campus event spaces, and back. Fundraising required phone calls, relationships, and wild amounts of worthwhile sacrifice. We funded ourselves to do this [work]—and we didn’t have any money! We had next to no foundation assistance, no wealthy donors to support us or our work. What we did have was us. Our own communities came together to make and create these spaces for us. Our labor was compensated by the experiences we created.”

All of us who were there knew that what was happening was special. Everywhere you looked, people were hugging, laughing, and exchanging contact information. Reggie told me later, “It [was] like seeing my bookshelves come to life.” “Commitment and optimism like Lisa’s are infectious,” said Glen, “and that helped to hold the Board together and foster understanding among conference goers when aspects of the festival did not go as planned.” Large gatherings often encounter problems, and the first festival was not without its challenges. Lisa’s apartment—including years of archives—was destroyed by fire just days before Fire & Ink began. Most of us learned about it only at the closing ceremony on Sunday afternoon. “What comes most immediately to mind, though, was Lisa’s commitment to realizing Fire & Ink,” Glen recalled. “I remember feeling in awe of and empowered by the other organizers,” Sharon fondly remembered, “the beautiful swagga of our first keynote, Thomas Glave! And I remember receiving heart-bursting inspiration and instruction during the gathering.” Which is why Fire & Ink continued. And why, in fact, it needs to continue still. We needed to be with each other our way. Shortly after the gathering in Chicago, Fire & Ink incorporated to become an all-volunteer, self-sustaining 501(c)3 organization, through which organizers produced three more gatherings. They began with a small gathering in Austin, Texas, in 2005, and returned there four years later for a full festival, “Cotillion: 2009.” Poet Nikky Finney’s 2009 keynote address raised the roof. The most recent gathering, “Witness: 2015,” was held in Detroit, Michigan, where the late, great Randall Kenan exploded hearts with his keynote.

From 2008 to 2012, Fire & Ink also produced Fire & Ink Presents!, sponsored by the International Federation of Black Prides—now known as the Center for Black Equity—offering writers’ panels and readings at Black Pride events throughout the United States. The struggle to put on and especially fund the festivals and associated events was very hard work, beyond exhausting. The repeated question, “When is the next Fire & Ink?” from returning and eager-to-attend new festival goers always made me both smile and crumble. My fellow board members and I spent a great deal of time approaching friends, family, and networks, taking out loans, maxing out credit cards, and doing whatever it took to make sure we kept our promises to our authors, our generous lenders, and our community. “It was devastating [work] on some level,” Glen offered, “but also heartwarming to see how many authors were willing to chip in and help reduce the financial shortfalls.”

“The legacy of Fire & Ink affected way more people than we know,” Lisa said. “I think the genealogy of Fire & Ink [continues] to trickle through relationships and writing created and strengthened at those gatherings, [but] any kind of gathering of artists needs to be fully funded, including honoraria, lodging, and airfare: that support has to be tangible, as it equates with honor and respect. We did our best at the time to create that model of support for our artists. And, yo, it was hard.”

In 2018, Lisa and I contacted the DC Public Library to donate Fire & Ink’s archive to them, ensuring that our organization’s story would be told by those who helped build and sustain it. Our records include working files for the writers’ festivals, programs, and events, as well as correspondence, emails, analog and digital photographs, and raw footage of material from festivals and events on mini discs, VHS, DVDs, CDs, and digital files, and a copy of our website. As an archivist myself, I am eager to see Fire & Ink realize its potential in creating and sharing access to the archival materials of our writers.

We’ve lost far too many writers who participated in, funded, or cheered Fire & Ink on from the sidelines, including Donna Allegra, Jonathan Bailey, Dr. Shirlene Holmes, Sterling Houston, Dr. Gloria Joseph, Andre Lancaster, Colin Robinson, Reginald Shepherd, Ana Sisnett, Thomas Wirth, and Vincent Woodard. In their honor, and in the names of all the groundbreaking writers before and since, the history and future of Fire & Ink must be recognized and secured. The explosion of Black LGBTQ+ artistic production continues.