06/16/2026
I cried out to God for direction.
He answered in four words: Atlanta Black Theatre Festival.
I was so certain it already existed. It didn't.
Fifteen years ago, I had lost everything to the 2008 recession. Six figures. Our savings. Even my children's college fund. I was a Howard graduate, an NYU graduate, a wife, a mother of four โ and I had nothing to show for any of it.
Then in February 2012, Trayvon Martin was killed. And the festival God had named became a mandate: to tell our own stories. To shatter the myths killing our community. To heal what politics could not.
My sister Wanda and I pooled everything we had left. October 2012, the first ABTF opened at the 14th Street Playhouse. 2,500 people came.
Today, fifteen years later โ 160 playwrights from 27 states and 5 countries, 3,200+ artists, debt-free.
The 15th anniversary festival is this Labor Day weekend. I'll be telling the rest of this story all month. Follow so you don't miss the chapters that come next.
To God, we give the glory.