I re-did my website recently—mostly because it’s an annoying thing we need these days and mine was wildly out of date—but it did put me in a position of going through my writing history. It’s easy to fall into the publishing trap of only-the-new-matters, but our backlist is important and just because a book’s been out for a few years, doesn’t mean there isn’t a reader who could pick it up today. Especially with kid lit. We have the benefit of a constant, renewing stream of readers who might find your book at the exact time they need it, years after it fell out of your brain and onto the page. It’s bizarre, because the internet is so obsessed with nostalgia and yet our industry likes to pretend books that came out last year no longer matter.

To that end, I thought I’d share a short story I wrote back in 2018 to celebrate the release of The Belles by Dhonielle Clayton as part of a campaign that looked at what beauty meant to us. It was, I think, technically my first piece of published fiction and one that I haven’t revisited in a long time. I don’t like to think about things I’d do differently with text that’s out in the world, so I’ll let this one exist as is.

Unfair & Lovely

I’m five

I’m covered in powder-blue tulle, with black patent leather shoes on my feet. I’m surrounded by aunties and uncles who are pinching my cheeks and picking me up. I keep squirreling away and standing outside the kitchen door. I know it’s time for cake and candles and singing soon. The door opens and Mummy comes out with a loud laugh in her mouth and a tray in her hands. Kiran, she says to me, let’s make a wish! She places the tray on the table before lifting me up. Even though I’m seconds away, I still crane my neck so I can see it as soon as possible.

My cake is a ragdoll with peachy pink frosting skin, blue eyes, and yellow hair. She looks delicious. She looks nothing like me.

I’m seven

My school is a sea of whiteness. My braided black hair hangs heavy, my skin is the color of dirt. I didn’t realize it was the color of dirt, but my best friend Sarah tells me it is. She’s very smart. I sit on the playground and look at my palms. The only part of me that is pale like Sarah. I see the brown lines etch through the white, disrupting it with jagged streaks. I turn my hand sideways. There’s a clear line of division between my white palms and the brown skin on the back of my hands. I smile. I think it makes me more interesting. And dirt’s pretty fun to play in, anyway.

I’m ten

There’s a new boy in my class and I think he has a nice face. He’s named after a city far away, and he looks like my Ken doll’s younger brother. One day we’re playing on the jungle gym. I’m moving from one bar to the next ahead of him, the metal cool against my skin. I make it to the other side and I hear him drop to the ground behind me. Hey, he says, can I ask you a question? I nod, butterflies in my stomach saying words I don’t understand. He waits a beat and then he asks me why my arms are so hairy.

I’m twelve

I’m at a slumber party and we’re doing makeovers. We sneak into Mrs. Johnson’s bathroom and grab as many bottles and tubes and pouches as we can carry. It’s a treasure trove of light pinks and berries and slightly tan powders. One by one, the girls sit in front of Sarah and she works her magic. They become glowing Disney princesses. Finally it’s my turn. Sarah puts up a powder against my face and frowns. I don’t think these will work on you, Kiran, you’re the wrong color.

I’m thirteen

We’re visiting friends on a coast. They take us to the beach. The air is warm and the sand is hot under my feet. It feels so good and freeing. I’m wearing my favorite swim suit: it’s checkered black and blue and has bows up and down the sides. I can’t wait to jump in the water. The rest of my family runs at my side, my father, my brother, my cousins. My mother sits back underneath the umbrella. She’s wrapped in a robe and has her sunglasses on. Kiran! She calls out, Kiran! Come back, you’ll ruin your complexion! Too dark! I’ve almost reached the water, but I stop and turn back.

I’m fourteen

It’s homecoming and I’ve never been to a dance. I’m wearing peacock green and yellow-gold. My mother tells me I’m glowing. We spent hours getting ready. She taught me how to bleach the hair on my face to make it disappear. It was a coming-of-age moment, she said. She told me how her mother taught her to do it when she was a girl. She cups my chin and turns my face from side to side. See, she says, you can’t see any of the black. She tells me she loves me and to be home by ten.

I’m fifteen

I take the bus every day to school. There’s a boy who gets on before me who won’t look at my face. His eyes are permanently cast down, staring down into the ‘v’ of my collar. He snickers when I shift away from him. I like your shirt. I frown and put my coat on. I shrink. I feel betrayed by my own body.

I’m sixteen

You should read this. My cousin hands me a copy of a book written by a woman whose name feels comfortable on my tongue. I’m lost in its pages for weeks. Then I’m reading and I’m watching and I’m finally looking for girls who look like me. I’m trolling and lurking and saving. I find blogs and videos and movies and books and I begin to feel seen. I learn the language of beauty as it is and not as it should be.

I’m seventeen

Ma, I say, I’m fine. We’re back at the beach. I’m in the sun, I can feel my skin toasting darker and darker. I’m humming with happiness. I feel warm and whole. Kiran, my mother sighs. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand my short hair or clean, dark skin. But she’s starting to learn that she can love me any way.

I’m eighteen

Graduation is over. I’m home getting ready for the surprise party my parents don’t think I know about. I can hear my friends waiting in the back room, light and white and sweet. I push my hair back from my face and look in the same bathroom mirror we’ve had since I was a child. I’m antithetical. I’m dark and heavy and spicy. I see every imperfection, every mark and mole. And I smile any way. Tomorrow I might cry and curse, but today?

I’m defiant and I’m beautiful.

Words, Words, Words

So, the news is out. I’m writing a Jubilee one-shot for Marvel Comics! VAMPIRES ARE NIGH! (…It’s part of Jed MacKay and Pepe Larraz’s BLOOD HUNT, a very dark and fun vampire event.) I’m particularly thrilled that Enid Balám will be handling the art part of things.

When the editor (Annalise Bissa, who is undeniably the best) approached me about this, I sent her back several pitches… but I am so freakin’ excited about the one we decided to go with. I can’t go into details, obviously, but please know that the past doesn’t always stay in the past.

I also have a new, secret thing coming soon to Marvel Unlimited (like, soon-soon. Sooner than summer soon.) Keep an eye out there, because it is a doozy.

Things I’m Into That You Might Be Into

After pulling me in with what is quite possibly the catchiest anime opening song of all time, I finally sat down and started watching Mashle: Magic and Muscles on Crunchyroll. It asks the question: What if Magic School but Main Character Secretly Cannot Do Magic and Also He Is Not Very Smart but He Is Very Wholesome and Also Monstrously Strong And He Loves Cream Puffs to the a Troubling Degree?

I watched the first episode of Netflix’s One Day adaptation (based on the 2009 novel by David Nicholls) and found it thoroughly charming. You have South Asian-British actress Ambika Mod playing Emma across Leo Woodall’s Dexter, how could I not check this out? To be honest, I was an absolute sucker for the novel when I read it in 2009 because I was/am a big fan of feeling feelings and crying, apparently. (Please do not mention the 2011 movie to me. I beg. Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.)

Cool Things from Cool People

Every month, I’ll turn a corner of the newsletter over to a friend who has a project that you readers might be interested in. This month, Swapna Krishna is here to talk to you about SPACE and AD ASTRA.

EndorFUNs

Extremely obsessed with the song “Demon’s Banquet” by Tomonari Sora. The lyrics are a trip and not what I expected when I first heard this very chill track a few weeks ago. A sampling from the official Youtube description:

御釈迦が蜘蛛の糸垂らす
The Buddha is hanging down the silvery thread of a spider
遅くはないわ　御出なさい
“It’s not too late, come to me”
地獄の聲が耳を打つ
Voice from hell strikes my ears
踏み外すのも惡くない
“It’s not bad to go off-track”

あゝ真っ盛りや此ノ宴
Ah the height of this feast
今宵、今宵は帰日曜
Tonight! Tonight, you can’t go back though it’s Sunday
宴も酣　あかよろし
The feast is a blast, in full swing
堕ちるとこまで堕ちなはれ
Go all the way down

Alright, that’s it for February! Again, let me know if there are other things you want to see from this newsletter, or if this is scratching the itch you signed up for. Otherwise, see y’all next month where I will hopefully have a cover-shaped-thing to throw in your inboxes ❤️