Jonathan Cunningham wrote an interesting article about the (disputed) queen of Urban Lit, Vickie Stringer a couple of years ago. (via jewel’s vox blog)

I enjoyed this article because it got past the glitz and glamour of the drugs to jail to top of the urban lit industry, international publisher, rags to riches story that everyone pumps.

Don’t get me wrong, it covered that ground as a prelude to the Vickie before that time.

Did you know:

• She wouldn’t curse as child. (Way different from now)
• She used to carry a bible in her backpack everyday.
• She went to college and never went to a single class because she fell in love with a drug dealer.
• She’s from Detroit? (I thought she was from Ohio…)

On the flipside, her life makes for a good story but not a good experience. A lot of time stories like these makes people believe you have to have a terrible life to be validated in the Urban Lit industry.

I would go as far as to say that Urban Fiction is like that rap game: you have to be hood to be good.

In that regard, Ms. Stringer is like my boy O’Shea Jackson. Who? Oh, my bad… Ice Cube. He had both parents, grew up in a middle class household, gang free, blah blah blah… But look at him now. One of the kinds of gangster rap. Go figure.

I digress. It’s good to know that Vickie Stringer is human like the rest of us and has turned lemons to a big tall glass of million dollar lemonade.