In a dimly lit auditorium, where the audience sat in quiet anticipation, two authors took the stage under the sharp glare of spotlights. At the Bookmarks Festival in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, Rickey Fayne and Nathan Harris gathered for a session titled At the Crossroads of History, moderated by April Ruffin Adams. What followed was a rich exploration of how fiction can serve as a vessel for cultural memory, historical reckoning, and emotional truth.

For both Fayne and Harris, storytelling began not in classrooms or workshops, but in the intimate spaces of family life. Fayne’s earliest influences were the stories told by his father woven with Southern idioms and spiritual folklore. These tales, often dismissed as quaint or eccentric, later revealed themselves to be cultural artifacts, rooted in African traditions and Black Southern experience. His literary journey became a way to trace these threads, to understand how belief systems and oral histories shaped his identity.

Harris’s introduction to historical fiction came through a different route. A childhood gift from his father, a copy of Gone with the Wind, sparked a fascination with the Civil War and its aftermath. Harris became captivated by the Reconstruction Era, a fleeting moment when the nation teetered between healing and regression. His fiction is driven by a yearning to explore what might have been – a romantic pursuit of possibility amid historical fracture.

The session’s title invited reflection on the nature of historical turning points. Fayne offered a compelling metaphor drawn from Harlem Renaissance writer Arna Bontemps, “time is not a river, but a pendulum.” This image reframes progress not as a steady march forward, but as a cyclical motion, each swing deeper than the last, each return a reminder of unfinished work. It’s a perspective that challenges the notion of linear advancement and invites a more nuanced understanding of historical change.

Harris emphasized the resonance between past and present. In his research and writing, he often finds that the relationships, tensions, and aspirations of historical characters mirror those of today. Fiction allows readers to experience these echoes firsthand, to inhabit the emotional landscapes of another era while grappling with contemporary questions.

In an age when historical narratives are increasingly contested, both authors view storytelling as a form of resistance. Fayne invoked the idea that every moment in history deserves to be remembered and made accessible. His work seeks to recover those moments, especially those erased or marginalized – and bring them into the present. He sees the writer’s role as one of reclamation, of making the invisible visible and the forgotten unforgettable.

Harris spoke of fiction’s capacity to offer escape and optimism. His characters, often separated by war or circumstance, strive to reunite and reclaim their humanity. These journeys, though imagined, reflect real struggles for freedom, connection, and healing. In crafting these stories, Harris hopes to inspire readers to reflect on their own relationships and histories, and perhaps to find hope in the resilience of the human spirit.

The conversation also delved into the realities of being a writer that includes rejection, perseverance, and the slow, often solitary process of creation. Both authors shared stories of early drafts, failed attempts, and the small victories that signaled growth. Fayne described a breakthrough moment when a character’s voice emerged unexpectedly, transforming a short story into a novel. Harris recounted traveling to the Texas-Mexico border to research a scene, immersing himself in the landscape to bring authenticity to the page.

Their reflections revealed a shared commitment to craft and a deep respect for the communities that support their work. Though both have experienced periods of isolation, they emphasized the importance of literary fellowship and the value of exchanging drafts, ideas, and encouragement.

When asked what they hope readers take from their books, both authors offered humble yet profound answers. Fayne wants readers to feel something—to connect with the small, vivid details that make a story real. Harris sees his work as part of a larger conversation, one that continues long after the book is closed. For both, fiction is not a static artifact but a living dialogue between writer and reader, past and present.

As the session ended, it was clear that Fayne and Harris are not just storytellers – they are cultural archivists. Their work reclaims histories that have been buried, reframes narratives that have been distorted, and reimagines futures that remain unwritten.

In a time of division and erasure, their fiction offers a quiet but powerful reminder that stories can heal, that memory can guide, and that history when told with heart and honesty can illuminate the path forward.♦