Beyond Acquisition: A Children's Book Author and Bookstore Owner's Journey Through Publishing's Promise and Reality
As both a children's book author and owner of Liberation Station bookstore, I've witnessed the gap between the publishing industry's stated commitment to Black stories and reality from two critical vantage points. My journey as an author—from self-publishing through a collaborative institutional press, to working with a boutique traditional publisher, and finally being acquired by one of the Big Five—has shown me that acquisition is merely the opening act. But my experience as a bookstore owner has revealed the stark differences in how publishers follow through on their commitments, from those who truly cultivate stories and authors to those who simply ship books in unmarked white envelopes.
The children's book space holds particular significance in discussions of representation. These are the stories that shape young minds, that tell children who they can become, and that either affirm or erase their place in the world. When publishers acquire Black children's stories but fail to support them properly, they're not just missing a business opportunity—they're failing entire generations of young readers who desperately need to see themselves reflected in literature.
The View from Behind the Counter: What Publishers Reveal About Themselves
Before diving into my author journey, I need to share what I've observed from behind the counter at Liberation Station. As a bookstore owner specializing in diverse literature, I've developed relationships with publishers across the spectrum, and their approach to bookseller outreach tells you everything you need to know about their commitment to Black stories.
Some publishers understand that independent bookstores—especially those serving communities of color—are crucial partners in getting diverse books into readers' hands. These publishers send advance reader copies with thoughtful notes explaining the story's significance, cultural context, and target audience. They provide marketing materials, author information, and sometimes even offer to connect me directly with their authors for potential events.
Then there are the publishers who send books in unmarked white envelopes with no context, no promotional materials, no relationship-building—just the bare minimum to say they've "reached out to diverse booksellers." These packages tell me immediately which publishers see diverse bookstores as an afterthought versus those who recognize us as essential partners in literary community-building.
This difference in bookseller outreach mirrors exactly how these same publishers treat their Black authors—some with genuine partnership and investment, others with performative minimalism.
Three Paths, Three Lessons: My Author Journey
The Collaborative Foundation: Self-Publishing with Institutional Support
My first publishing experience came through self-publishing with a collaborative institutional press. This path taught me what genuine partnership looks like. The institutional support provided not just financial backing, but educational resources, community connections, and a deep understanding of the cultural context of my work.
The collaborative approach meant that every decision—from cover design to marketing strategy—was made with my input and cultural authenticity in mind. This wasn't just about getting a book to market; it was about ensuring the story reached its intended audience in a way that honored both the narrative and the community it represented.
This experience became my benchmark for what publishing support should look like: comprehensive, culturally informed, and genuinely collaborative.
The Boutique Experience: When Publishers Truly Care
Working with a boutique traditional publisher revealed what happens when a publishing house genuinely invests in the heart of a story. This publisher didn't just acquire my manuscript—they partnered with me in its development. Editorial conversations went beyond surface-level suggestions to explore the deeper emotional and cultural resonances of the narrative.
The development process was thorough and respectful. My editor asked thoughtful questions about cultural details, helped me strengthen character development, and worked to ensure that the story's authenticity remained intact while making it accessible to a broad audience. Marketing efforts were creative and targeted, reaching beyond traditional channels to connect with communities that would most value the story.
Most importantly, this publisher treated my book not as a diversity checkbox but as a valuable addition to their catalog deserving of their full attention and resources. The result was a book that felt authentically mine while benefiting from professional expertise and support.
The Big Five Reality: Acquisition Without Engagement
My experience with a Big Five publisher has been starkly different and deeply revealing. After acquisition, the hands-off approach became immediately apparent. While the initial excitement of being signed by a major publisher was intoxicating, the reality of minimal engagement has been sobering.
The editorial process was perfunctory at best. Suggestions felt generic, lacking the cultural sensitivity and deep engagement I'd experienced with the boutique publisher. Marketing efforts have been minimal, seemingly designed to check a box rather than genuinely promote the book. Most telling has been the lack of ongoing communication or investment in my development as an author within their catalog.
This experience has shown me the hollowness of acquisition without genuine commitment. Having my book in the catalog of a major publisher means little if it's not supported with the resources and attention necessary for success.
Ironically, when my Big Five-published book arrived at Liberation Station, it came in one of those unmarked white envelopes—no context, no promotional materials, no relationship. Even as the author, I had to provide my own bookstore with the background and marketing support that should have come from the publisher.
The Bookseller's Perspective: How Publishers Sabotage Their Own Investments
From my position at Liberation Station, I've watched publishers undermine their own diversity initiatives through inadequate bookseller support. Here's what I observe regularly:
The Publishers Who Get It Right
The best publishers understand that independent bookstores, particularly those serving communities of color, are their most important partners for diverse literature. When they acquire Black authors, they follow through with comprehensive bookseller outreach. I receive advance copies accompanied by detailed information about the author's background, the story's cultural significance, and suggested marketing approaches. These publishers offer promotional materials, facilitate author connections for events, and maintain ongoing relationships that help me effectively advocate for their books.
The Publishers Who Don't
Other publishers—often the largest ones—treat diverse booksellers as a checkbox to tick rather than partners to cultivate. Books arrive in those unmarked white envelopes with no context, no promotional support, and no relationship-building. These publishers seem to believe that acquisition alone fulfills their diversity commitments, failing to recognize that without proper bookseller partnership, even the most beautiful Black stories will sit unnoticed on shelves.
The irony is stark: publishers spend money acquiring diverse voices, then undermine those investments by failing to equip the very bookstores that specialize in getting those voices to their intended audiences.
The Real-World Impact
As a bookseller, I can tell you that publisher support directly impacts how effectively I can promote books. When I receive comprehensive materials about a Black author's work, I can create compelling displays, make informed recommendations, and host meaningful events. When books arrive with no context, even I—as someone deeply committed to diverse literature—struggle to position them effectively for customers.
This bookseller experience mirrors what I've observed as an author: the same publishers who provide minimal support to their diverse bookstore partners are often the ones providing minimal support to their Black authors.
The Children's Book Imperative: Why This Matters More
In children's literature, the stakes of inadequate support are particularly high, and my dual perspective as author and bookseller has made this crystal clear. Young readers are forming their understanding of the world, their place in it, and their potential within it. When publishers acquire Black children's stories but fail to promote them effectively, they limit the ability of these crucial narratives to reach the children who need them most.
At Liberation Station, I see parents, teachers, and librarians actively seeking diverse children's literature. They come in asking for books that reflect their children's experiences, stories that will help all children understand the richness of human diversity. When publishers fail to provide me with the tools and information I need to effectively promote Black children's books, they're not just failing the authors—they're failing these families and educators who are hungry for representation.
Children's books also have unique distribution challenges. School libraries, classroom collections, and educational institutions represent major markets that require specific outreach and relationship-building. Publishers who take a hands-off approach to Black children's books often fail to navigate these crucial channels effectively, leaving excellent stories invisible to the educators who would champion them.
What True Support Looks Like: Lessons from Experience
Based on my varied experiences, here's what publishers must do beyond acquisition:
Editorial Partnership, Not Processing
Real editorial support means engaging with the cultural context and emotional depth of Black stories. It requires editors who ask meaningful questions, understand the communities being represented, and work collaboratively to strengthen narratives without sanitizing them.
Marketing That Matches Mission
If publishers truly believe in the value of Black stories, their marketing investments should reflect that belief. This means budgets that allow for comprehensive promotion, creative strategies that reach diverse audiences, and long-term campaigns that build author platforms.
Distribution Advocacy
Publishers must actively advocate for Black authors with bookstores, libraries, and educational institutions. This requires building relationships, providing educational resources, and ensuring that diverse books are visible and accessible where children and their families shop for literature.
Career Development Investment
Supporting Black authors means thinking beyond individual books to long-term career trajectories. This includes multi-book deals when appropriate, mentorship opportunities, and ongoing engagement that treats authors as valued partners rather than one-time acquisitions.
The Path Forward: Learning from Success
My boutique publisher experience proves that size doesn't determine quality of support—commitment does. Small publishers with genuine dedication to their authors can provide far more meaningful support than major houses going through the motions.
For the industry to truly change, publishers must examine their practices honestly:
Are editorial teams equipped to work sensitively and effectively with diverse authors?
Do marketing budgets and strategies reflect stated commitments to diversity?
Are distribution efforts reaching the communities most hungry for diverse literature?
Are Black authors being retained and developed as long-term assets?
The Deeper Question: Who's Really Building the Table?
But here's the question that keeps me up at night, both as an author and as a bookstore owner: who's really building the table in publishing, and what kind of invitation are we actually extending?
The metaphor of "bringing everyone to the table" assumes that the table already exists, constructed by those already seated. But what if the very structure of that table—its height, its shape, its location—was designed to accommodate only certain bodies, certain stories, certain ways of being? What if the invitation to "take a seat" is actually an invitation to contort ourselves to fit furniture that was never meant for us?
In my experience across three publishing models, I've seen different approaches to this fundamental question. The collaborative institutional press didn't just offer me a seat—we built the table together. The boutique publisher renovated their existing table to make genuine space. The Big Five publisher extended what felt like a formal invitation, then left me standing while they continued their meal.
At Liberation Station, I've built my own table—literally and figuratively. I've created a space where Black stories and Black storytellers don't need to wait for permission or perform palatability. I've watched customers' faces light up when they see themselves reflected not just in individual books, but in the entire curated environment I've created. This is what it looks like when we stop waiting to be seated and start building our own tables.
The Choice: Chairs or Tables?
So the question becomes: do we bring our own chairs to tables that weren't built for us, or do we build new tables altogether? My journey suggests that both approaches have value, but we must be honest about what each requires and what each costs.
Bringing our own chair means entering existing systems with the strength to maintain our authenticity while navigating structures that may not support us. It means demanding not just acquisition, but genuine partnership. It means refusing to accept unmarked white envelopes as adequate support. It means calling out the difference between invitation and inclusion.
Building our own tables means creating alternative systems—independent presses, collaborative ventures, community-supported publishing models, and bookstores like Liberation Station that center rather than accommodate diverse voices. It means recognizing that sometimes the most radical act is refusing to participate in systems that extract our stories while offering minimal support.
The Both/And Solution
The truth is, we need both approaches. We need Black authors and allies pushing for systemic change within traditional publishing while simultaneously building alternative systems that don't require us to compromise our vision or our values.
As someone who has experienced the full spectrum—from building collaborative tables to being minimally supported at established ones—I believe the future lies not in choosing between these approaches, but in leveraging both strategically. Sometimes we bring our chairs and demand better treatment. Sometimes we build our own tables and invite others to join us.
Conclusion: From Invitation to Infrastructure
The children's book industry has made strides in acquiring Black stories, but my dual perspective as author and bookstore owner has shown me that acquisition is just the beginning. True progress requires us to question not just who gets invited to the table, but who built the table, what it's made of, and whether it can actually support the weight of genuine diversity.
Our children deserve better than performative invitations. They deserve to see themselves in stories that are not just acquired but celebrated, not just published but promoted, not just available but accessible. They deserve to grow up in a world where Black stories aren't treated as special occasions but as integral threads in the fabric of literature.
The question isn't whether publishers can afford to provide comprehensive support—it's whether they can afford to continue undermining their own diversity investments through inadequate follow-through. The future of children's literature depends on publishers moving beyond acquisition to genuine partnership, and on authors and booksellers continuing to build alternative tables when existing ones prove inadequate.
As someone who has experienced both the promise and the reality of inclusion in publishing, I can attest that the difference between invitation and infrastructure is not just measurable—it's transformational. Publishers who embrace comprehensive support don't just fulfill moral obligations; they participate in building a literary ecosystem where Black stories can truly thrive.