fiction

The Afro-Surreal Manifesto

| Sheree

Considering D. Scot. Miller’s essay , Afrosurreal Manifesto
“I was there…” – Black is the New Black, a 21st century Manifesto.

In an introduction to prophet Henry Dumas‘ 1974 book Ark Of Bones and Other Stories, Amiri Baraka puts forth a term for what he describes as Dumas’ “skill at creating an entirely different world organically connected to this one … the Black aesthetic in its actual contemporary and lived life.” The term he puts forth is Afro-Surreal Expressionism.

Dumas had seen it. Baraka had named it.

This is Afro-Surreal!

This was my first brush up against the term Afro-Surreal, even though as soon as I read what it means/ what it is, I knew in my bones that I’ve been living it, I’ve been experiencing it from time.

Miller takes the time to lay out what Afro-Surrealism is NOT.

Afro-Surrealism is not SURREALISM or AFRO-FUTURISM

SURREALISM is a white, European, literary and artistic movement that attempts to express the subconscious. It’s dreamlike, fantastic imagery and an illogical juxtaposition of subject matter.

Leopold Senghor, poet, first president of Senegal, and African Surrealist, made this distinction: “European Surrealism is empirical. African Surrealism is mystical and metaphorical. Jean-Paul Sartre said that the art of Senghor and the African Surrealist (or Negritude) movement “is revolutionary because it is surrealist, but itself is surrealist because it is black.”

AFRO-FUTURISM

Afro-Futurism is a diaspora intellectual and artistic movement that turns to science, technology, and science fiction to speculate on black possibilities in the future. 

Afro-Surrealism is about the present. There is no need to speculate about the disasters that are coming our way or are just around the corner, somewhere in the future. The worst case scenarios of bombs, genocide, floods, fires and destruction are here now.

What is the future? The future has been around so long it is now the past.

Afro-Surrealists expose this from a “future-past” called RIGHT NOW.

RIGHT NOW. Trump is President of USA and is destroying/ dismantling democracy over there, at the same time as creating wars and genocide around the world.

RIGHT NOW, Afro-Surreal is the best description to the reactions, the genuflections, the twists, and the unexpected turns this “browning” of White-Straight-Male-Western-Civilization has produced.

Miller, at the time of writing this manifesto, professes that San Francisco is the land of Afro-Surreal poet laureate Bob Kaufman. San Francisco where black artists are changing the narrative , “to transform how we see things now, how we look at what happened then, and what we can expect to see in the future.”

Briefly, the ‘A MANIFESTO OF AFRO-SURREAL’ includes:

  1. The unknown worlds and wonders are emerging in the works of Wifredo Lam, Jean-Michel Basquiat,Frantz Fanon to Jean Genet, Zora Neale, Chester Himes etc.
  2. Afro-Surreal presupposes that beyond this visible world, there is an invisible world striving to manifest, and it is our job to uncover it.
  3. Afro-Surrealists restore the cult of the past, revisiting the old ways with new eyes. Appropriating symbols of the past, conjuring the ancients for now.
  4. Like the collage of Romare Bearden and Wangechi Mutu, the use of excess is used as subversion. Hybridization is a form of rebellion, refusal, disobedience.
  5. Afro-Surrealists strive for rococo: the beautiful, the sensuous, and the whimsical. We turn to Sun Ra, Toni Morrison, and Ghostface Killa. We look to Kehinde Wiley.
  6. The Afro-Surrealist life is fluid, cannot be pinned down. Afro-Surrealists are ambiguous and reject servitude.
  7. The Afro-Surrealist wears a mask while reading Leopold Senghor.
  8. Think Prince. The Afro-Surrealist seeks definition in the absurdity of a “post-racial” world.
  9. In fashion (John Galliano; Yohji Yamamoto) and the theater (Suzan Lori-Parks), Afro-Surreal excavates the remnants of this post-apocalypse with dandified flair, a smooth tongue and a heartless heart.
  10. Afro-Surrealists create sensuous gods to hunt down beautiful collapsed icons.

This Afro-Surreal Manifesto is Afro-Surreal.

i still ain’t smiling

| Sheree

i’ve been spending the last week or so really diving deep into what my word for 2026 will be.

2025 was all about fugitivity, dreaming and conjuring. And this will continue into 2026. But i need some direction. Something that will encompass my purpose with room enough to expand and explore.

i learnt a few lessons in 2025 in adopting a persona/ a mask in order to protect myself / to create some safe space for myself so ‘ i may not see myself as others see me.’ Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison

i’m fixing to create ( or is it continuing to create?) new narratives around blackness in order to expunge the past dominant narratives we’ve been fed around blackness up until NOW.

i think i’ve found my word for 2026 – AFROSURREAL.

Crime Fiction – Page 1, redraft

| Sheree

Yesterday I shared the first page of a crime novel I’m attempting to write one page at a time. And who know when or where this is going to happen, I just know I’m going to try.

Page 1 – The redraft

The beach is empty. The sky cloudless, grey moving to blue with the sun being up for over an hour. The usual dog walkers are out marking the sand with prints and shit. Some clean up after their dogs like good citizens. While others never look back.

Littered with glossy seaweed and feathers, as if a bird battle has gone down, the beach is flanked by a rotting pier. Or wooden construction used in the past to mark out bays within the sea for long forgotten trade. Now just an eye sore and gathering point for the bored youth trapped in this seaside resort.

But down there within the shadows and the shallows is one naked white blue – black body. A woman, lying on her stomach, arms beside her sides, palms turned up. Her blond black head is turned towards the sea, tangled threaded with seaweed and sand. The sun beams down on her bare arse resembling a dark conch. Her swollen face reveals gaping blue lips around cracked teeth.

It’s a chocolate lab sniffing out crabs around the pier who finds her body. Barking to its owner to come see, gulls flocking down to squark the find too. Then they circle, eyes piercing the sea, maybe looking for her missing feet.

The Commentary

Redrafting page one was a no brainier for me. I didn’t want to follow the stereotypes of crime fiction. The white female victim found alone in her flat or down a dark alley.

Yes I’ve kept some of the usual characteristics of the genre, the victim is female but Black. This is what I crave in crime fiction, Black characters, be them the detective, the victims, the society.

I found a few. Like I love Elouise Norton, the Black female detective series by Rachel Howzell Hall. And then the books by Attica Locke. But I’m craving me some Black British crime fiction. On my doorstep.

It seems natural to base the novel within my region and my space of familiarity the seaside as then I don’t have to go to any far flung place for research and authenticity. If I’m walking the coast, all is fodder for the one image at a time process. #onwards.

Writing Crime Fiction – one page at a time

| Sheree

I think from the time of my MA in Creative Writing, 2003 at Northumbria University, I’ve had the dream to write a crime novel.

Reading crime fiction is a guilty pleasure of mine from being young. They scare me and thrill me at the same time. I don’t try to guess who’s the killer or kidnapper or criminal. I’m just there in the thick of it; engrossed.

There has been times through the years, where I’ve said, this is the time, I’m going to write the crime novel. Start the reading and taking notes, fleshing out the story. Only to get a few weeks down the line and my patience has worn thin. I’ve lost the spark. I’m hit with the massive FEAR of failing.

It’s like a don’t give myself the time and space to crash and burn. That I jump to the end and make it all crap and useless, only after writing a few pages. That it’s okay to fail as nothing is perfect, super deluxe on the first pass.

But I think I’ve come up with an idea. What if I trick myself into thinking all I’m doing is writing a page. Not a whole crime novel, just a page. How would that work out for me?

Page 1

The beach is empty. The sky cloudless, grey moving to blue with the sun being up for over an hour. The usual dog walkers are out marking the sand with prints and shit. Some clean up after their dogs like good citizens. While others never look back.

Littered with glossy seaweed and feathers, as if a bird battle has gone down, the beach is flanked by a rotting pier. Or wooden construction used in the past to mark out bays within the sea for long forgotten trade. Now just an eye sore and gathering point for the bored youth trapped in this seaside resort.

But down there within the shadows and the shallows is one naked white body. A woman, lying on her stomach, arms beside her sides, palms turned up. Her blond head is turned towards the sea, tangled with seaweed and sand. The sun beams down on her bare arse resembling a conch. Her swollen face reveals gaping blue lips around cracked teeth.

It’s a chocolate lab sniffing out crabs around the pier who finds her body. Barking to its owner to come see, gulls flock down to squark the find too. Then they circle, eyes piercing the sea, maybe looking for her missing feet.

Redraft with commentary coming tomorrow!

Summer Writing Intensive

| Sheree

Many moons ago, I went to Washington State to visit a new friend, Sarah Spaeth, who I met while picking grapes on Monteleone in Lazio, Italy. That was over 10 years Aga now and we’ve been friends ever since. We’ve had some adventures in the States, over here in Scotland and also Iceland.

While I was in residence with the Jefferson Land Trust, where Sarah was the Executive Director at the time, I fell in love with Fort Walden which was just down the road from where I was staying. It’s a national park with the sea, beach and trees and a creative centre, called Centrum.

I remember Sarah talking about this centre while in Italy and how much I would love it there and to come and see. She was right, I felt right at home there. And when I took my family over there, we spent plenty of hours hanging out there. It was my dream to sometime return and do a writing retreat there, or attend their summer writing program.

The summer writing program is just like going back to college for a week. Writing workshops in the morning and afternoon and then evening readings. To be immersed in writing for a whole week, with other writers, bliss. Obviously this year, it’s had to be cancelled. So instead they’re offering a Summer Writing Intensive but virtually. The next best thing. And something I could so attend.

So I am, starting tomorrow, I’m going to writing college and going to spend the week in poetry and fiction workshops. Go to some readings in the evening, but totally live the writer’s life and I do so from the comfort of my own home. And what’s even neater is that I’ve been given a scholarship to take part for which I am so grateful.

So apologies not is you don’t see me here next week, as I’ll be soaking up the writing atmosphere and vibes from across the pond.

 

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