Author’s Note: On Writing Three Black Boys

I didn’t write Three Black Boys to explain Black boyhood.

I wrote it to sit with the parts that rarely get named—the silences, the contradictions, the quiet negotiations that shape who we become long before adulthood officially begins.

Storytelling, for me, has always been a way to examine identity without flattening it. I’m drawn to what lives beneath the surface: the pressures we inherit, the expectations we navigate, and the ways culture, memory, and environment quietly inform our choices. My work explores these themes not as abstractions, but as lived experiences—often unresolved, often uncomfortable, always human.

Three Black Boys follows three lives moving through different worlds, each shaped by circumstance, masculinity, and survival. At its core, the series is less concerned with spectacle than with truth—how it’s carried, how it’s hidden, and how it reveals itself over time. I’m interested in the moments that don’t announce themselves as pivotal, but later prove to be exactly that.

As a writer, I approach fiction with the same discipline and curiosity that has shaped my work as a cultural critic and editor. I’m less interested in tidy conclusions than in emotional accuracy. The characters in this book are not meant to stand in for anyone; they are meant to feel real enough to recognize.

Beyond my work as a novelist, I’m the founder and editor-in-chief of Bong Mines Entertainment, an independent media platform dedicated to spotlighting emerging artists and documenting global music culture with intention and integrity. That proximity to real voices—artists, creators, and audiences—has deeply informed my writing. Engaging daily with stories rooted in authenticity has reinforced my belief that storytelling, whether through music, journalism, or fiction, has the power to preserve nuance in a world that often resists it.

Recognition for my work has been meaningful, but it has never been the goal. What matters more is resonance—when a reader sees something familiar in these pages, even if they can’t quite name it. If Three Black Boys connects, I hope it does so not by offering answers, but by making space for reflection.

Because becoming is rarely clean.
Rarely complete.
And always human.

Learn more about my work → About Zangba Thomson