I'd barely hit puberty when I discovered my first Harlequin romance novel . My aunt kept stacks upon stacks in her bedroom and the backseat of her Jeep, where they'd slide around during car rides, tempting me as a young, nosy bookworm. I wondered what could be so great about those pint-sized books featuring passionately-embraced white couples with long hair and toned muscles. Eventually, curiosity got the best of me, and I soon learned there was much more to these stories than their covers suggested—not to mention sex scenes that were, um, far more detailed than my favorite YA reads .

As I got older and roamed bookstore and library shelves for my next romance, I noticed I didn't see many stories with characters who looked like me. In fact, I didn't even know where to find them. It wasn't until a few years ago, thanks to some Google deep-dives, that I discovered a diverse world of romance with Black protagonists, written by Black women.

Soon, I was devouring novels by the likes of historical romance master Beverly Jenkins, whose prose shows Black Americans thriving in the 19th century, rather than suffering at the hands of slavery. Or the boundary-pushing Alyssa Cole, who writes about everything from Civil War spies to epidemiologists-turned-princesses, and Jasmine Guillory, a contemporary writer with a penchant for delightful bestselling romantic comedies. Now, I spend my evenings tackling my lengthy "to-read" list, which also includes rising authors like Kwana Jackson, who's behind one of 2020's buzziest romances .

It's the existence of these women that make the unraveling of the Romance Writers Association (RWA) baffling. Writers like the aforementioned are widely respected in their own right; they're necessary Black voices during a time when many of their peers are screaming from the rooftops— and from social media —that diversity in romance is not a radical idea.

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I don’t know exactly what went down at RWA but I know what it looks like: another manifestation of the ways in which organizations invested in white supremacy would rather destroy themselves than benefit from inclusivity. — Alyssa Cole on Semi-Hiatus (@AlyssaColeLit) December 26, 2019

The 9,000-plus member RWA defines itself as "a nonprofit trade association whose mission is to advance the professional and common business interests of career-focused romance writers through networking and advocacy and by increasing public awareness of the romance genre."

Yet the genre has a long history of fighting for proper racial representation, which reached its tipping point in December 2019 when the RWA suspended its ethics committee chair, novelist Courtney Milan. Milan, who is of Chinese-American descent, had accused editor and author Kathryn Lynn Davis of perpetuating racist stereotypes of Chinese women in her 1999 novel, Somewhere Lies the Moon, in a Twitter thread. Davis, along with publisher Suzan Tizdale, filed complaints about Milan's tweets, which led to her expulsion.

The public backlash to Milan's ousting was swift. #IStandWithCourtney trended on Twitter on Christmas Eve, and even well-respected sci-fi writers Mary Robinette Kowal and N.K Jemisin vocalized their support for Milan. Authors of color and former members of the RWA, like Cole and Jenkins, also publicized their own grievances with the organization's treatment of minority writers.

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Christ, this has made me sick. But still, #IStandWithCourtney

I'm withdrawing The Write Escape from the #RITA. I've sent the email to @romancewriters just now. I don't know why I held out as long as I did, but like Dr. Aiden Byrnes, I'm "cutting the rope." — Charish Reid: Writing While Black (@AuthorCharish) January 4, 2020

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Since then, criticism surrounding the RWA has publicly played out in extensive Twitter threads , the cancellation of the RITA awards , boycotts of the annual RWA conference , board resignations , the ousting of a controversial president, and a criticized independent ethics audit. Meanwhile, major book publishers —along with celebrated authors like Nora Roberts —publicly doubled-down on their disapproval of the group. In late March, the RWA held a special election for a brand new Board of Directors, with New York Times bestselling author Alyssa Day taking over as president. And on April 2, the organization issued an apology: "RWA has broken your trust, and the impact of that was devastating. We are sorry for this. We will do our best to heal these wounds and regain that trust."

While the drama has rocked the community internally, it hasn't affected its robust fanbase's need for tales of love and happily-ever-afters. (Or HEAs, as we like to call them.) When it comes to sales, the billion-dollar industry is only second to thrillers in adult fiction , with 82% of romance readers being women. And Guillory , Jenkins, Cole, and Jackson continue to tell their stories, because there is a need for them—especially for readers like me who'll always want to see themselves reflected in their favorite books.

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If you think about it. We’ve always looked to RWA to advocate on our behalf. But this time, we’re forced to advocate for ourselves. And no, this isn’t over, but damn I’m proud of us for standing up for what is right and telling the world: THIS IS WHO WE ARE! It matters. — Beverly Jenkins (@authorMsBev) January 9, 2020

But the question remains: How can we rest assured that the recent turmoil wasn't all for nothing? Below, I invited four writers to reflect on the revolution in their industry—and their passions for romance. And with people of color writing just 8.3% of romance novels that hit shelves in 2019, they've got a message for publishing: It's time for you to step-up.

A writer of historical, sci-fi, LGBTQ, and contemporary romance, Cole's work has been recognized by The New York Times and the American Library Association. As an outspoken voice for representation and accountability in romance novels, she broke the news of Milan's suspension from the RWA in a viral Twitter thread last year. Her newest book, How to Catch a Queen, will be released December 2020.

I grew up in the Bronx and Jersey City. There were not that many white people around when I was growing up. My viewpoint of the world is not, "I'm gonna add diversity." My world is already diverse, and I just want my books to reflect that. If people have a problem with that, it's a them problem.

I always wanted to be a writer. I didn't assume I'd be a romance writer. But everything I wrote, no matter how dark it was, usually had a romance element—or what you could call a "happy ending." Even when I was a kid, I would buy all the tabloids at the super market, and some of them would have short romance stories in them. I would take Wite-Out and take descriptions of the white characters, replacing them with brown skin and brown eyes for when I was re-reading.

In a lot of ways, I think it's the same for most writers. You end up writing things you wanted to see yourself in when you were a kid. But the thing is, from 1982, the year I was born, you can find an article—I think in Ebony magazine—about Black romance writers trying to write while dealing with racism. That's what makes this whole RWA thing so crazy. My entire lifetime, publishing has been dealing with this crap, and they still haven't figured out how to handle it.

"I would take Wite-Out and white-out the description of the white character and replace it with brown skin and brown eyes."

People say, "It's not that important, it's just romance." But I feel on a fundamental level this genre has the power to show people whether or not they are worthy of being loved. And even if everything else in their life or story that they wanted to achieve doesn't actually happen, the happily ever after is actually finding someone to weather the good and bad things with. I think for me, I enjoy the happily every after—but I also enjoy the getting there.



Guillory, a former lawyer, is now a New York Times bestselling author. She has published four contemporary romance books since her 2018 debut, The Wedding Date. Her second novel, The Proposal, was a Reese Witherspoon "Hello Sunshine" book club pick, and her fifth, Party of Two, will be released this June. In 2019, Guillory did not renew her RWA membership because of what she called "blatant racism" from fellow members.

The problem has not been that Black women haven't been represented in romance, but that publishers weren't doing enough to lift those voices up. You see a difference in the way Black and other writers of color's books are promoted and marketed by publishers, versus the way white authors are promoted and marketed. There has been some movement that I've noticed in the past few years...but some movement is not a lot. I want more. I want more Black women to get big publishing deals, and I want to open my Kindle and see ads churn out for them.

I've been really lucky. My publisher [Berkley] is wonderful, and I just want other people to get what I've had, and more. My first book The Wedding Date only came out two years ago. But the more I learn, the more I see that all an author can do is write a great book—and then there's so much out there involved in getting it into the world.

If you look at the rest of publishing, how many Black editors are on marketing or sales teams? If the publisher sees your book and loves it, they will push it hard. And that makes a big difference. If you have Black women on these teams who can say, "Yes, this is a story that I love. These are the people who will read it," that makes a big difference. Those are the people we need to help and support on the way.

"If you look at publishing, how many Black editors are out there on marketing teams?"

It's been a hard few years for women of color. What keeps me going is writing something hopeful about people doing good. People falling in love and figuring out how to make it work no matter what—and they can go through a lot in romance. There are so many ways you can tell those stories. I want people to read my books and be happy. To make them think, and want to go out there and tell someone that they love them.

Many romance writers and readers alike list Beverly Jenkins' books as must-reads. She's referred to as a "Queen," "icon," and "legend" (take your pick) and has published 49 novels, many of which offer enlightening historical perspectives of African Americans. She received the RWA Lifetime Achievement Award in 2017, but announced her resignation from RWA on Twitter in February.

I'm a voracious reader of practically everything—fiction, non-fiction—and discovered romance in seventh or eighth grade. Of course, back then it was all white. In the mid-80s, I wanted to write one for me, but I had no idea how to go about publication because mainstream mass market fiction was basically closed to us at that time. I had a white colleague who had just gotten a romance published, and we were celebrating her. I told her about this little story I was working on, and she asked me to bring it in. I did; she loved it and said that I needed to get it published.

I wound up hooking up with Vivian Stephens, who was a ceiling-breaking editor in New York at the time. She was the first to publish Black women like Sandra Kitt and Elsie Washington. I showed her my raggedy manuscript, and she called me back less than a week later saying she wanted to represent the work and me.

It took us quite a while to sell it. New York didn't know what to do with it. In their minds, anything with 19th century African Americans had to be slavery-based. What I had written was a 19th century love story set in an all Black town in Kansas. For me, there is a fascinating history behind it.

"I can get racism anywhere, so why would I pay for it?"

I'll always remember June 3, 1993. Ellen Edwards, who was the executive editor of Avon Books, called and said she wanted to buy the story. It was published the summer of 1994, which we called "The Summer of Black Love" because that was the year that Arabesque [Kensington Publishing's line of African American Romance] also started. You had women like Donna Hill and Brenda Jackson and Rochelle Alers. Sandra Kitt was the first Black woman to write for Harlequin, and she opened up the gate for us, as did Elsie Washington. I stand on their shoulders.

Here I am 27 years later, still kicking 'em out, still loving what I do. I think my job is to support these young women that are coming up behind me. I want people like Vanessa Riley, Rebekah Weatherspoon, and Alyssa Cole, and brown women like Sonali Dev and Alisha Rai, to get the accolades and the critical acclaim they deserve, because they are writing kickass books.

I was a member of the RWA for around 16 years and went to my first RITA awards ceremony in 2016. I didn't feel welcome. I didn't really start being active until the last five years, because I had no reason. I can get racism anywhere, so why would I pay for it?

I write to give my readers stories that they can be proud of. When my husband passed away in '03, part of the reason I was able to come back into the light was because of them. That support and knowing they're out there waiting for that next book. I also have so many books in my head, and it's going to take a couple of lifetimes to get all these people on paper. But I'm very, very proud of what I do and I'm proud to celebrate the history I present. And I'm still learning everyday.

A former fashion designer, Jackson began self-publishing novels under the name "K.M Jackson" in 2013. Real Men Knit, her first title as Kwana Jackson, will be released by Berkley Romance this spring.

I've been a member of the RWA since 2003. I remember telling myself then, "Let's write a book." I wrote a book, it was not good. The naive me thought I was gonna send it out anyway. I started getting rejections back and told my husband, "I'm not doing this, it's too hard." And he looked at me, shrugged and said, "You give up too easy," and walked out of the bedroom. (He knows how to piss me off.) I said, "Well, I'll show him." Around 13 years later, I'm still writing.

I grew up in Harlem in the projects, and my grandfather actually built a bed in his apartment. It had a shelf on the back, and my grandmother had her Harlequins back there. I would just take them, when I was 11 or 12 years old, and read them. That started my love of romance.

After attending Stuyvesant High School, I got together my portfolio and was accepted into FIT, which started my fashion career. I did that for 10 years, and then I ended up having twins. And once I had twins, the fashion life was a little busy for me. I lost my babysitter. I needed to leave work—I was the head designer for a mid-level fashion house—a half hour early in order to pick-up my kids. I then had to quit that job because I offered to stay and just leave a half-hour early and take work home, but my boss said no. And that's when I started writing. I was doing some freelance work, but not enough. Working retail, and doing different things for long hours, but still a lover of romance.

I often say to my friends that as a native New Yorker, you know you're Black. But I never knew how Black I was until I became a writer—especially a romance writer—because suddenly, everyone wants to put a tag on you. My stories are African American romance stories, but the fact that you have to label them and make me other...are you saying my books are only for African Americans? That, to me, is a problem.

"The fact that you have to label them and make me other...are you saying my books are only for African Americans?"

All my heroines have been Black women, but I didn't come into this to be an activist in any kind of way. I started the hashtag #WeNeedDiverseRomance in November 2014, going off of, #WeNeedDiverseBooks, after my grandmother passed away. It was a grief thing, and then it just snowballed into something more. I say, "You must be laughing at me now Nana, because I'm the most reluctant activist that ever was."

I am still a member of RWA right now. Though I don't know most of the people on the new board, I do know some, so I have decided to take a hopeful wait, watch, and see approach. RWA has never been perfect and has a long way to go, but I'd like to see what strides they attempt to make towards diversity and inclusiveness. And as of right now, there is no other organization to advocate on behalf of romance writers, so I'm hoping they can succeed.

I have no doubt that romance as a genre will be okay. It's such a wonderful and hopeful genre. There are so many talented people who do it. There are people fighting so passionately for it, and above all else, that's what can really give you hope.

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