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Renee Watson is a Portland, OR native who mainly write young adult fiction. Watson enjoys writing about her experience growing up black in Portland and many of her works center around her upbringing. She has a background in poetry and teaching theater, she often describes herself as a teaching artist. Watson's works typically involve themes and plots surrounding relevant topics such as race, culture clashes, coming of age, gentrification, female body issues and overcoming adversity. Watson currently resides in New York City and continues to write today.

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*NY Times Best Selling Author
One of the nation's leading newspapers best seller lists which is a preeminent compilation of the nation's best selling books.
*Coretta Scott King Award
Annual award given to exceptional African American authors and illustrators which exhibit regard for US culture and human values.
*Newbery Honor
prestigious award for authors contributions to children's literature in the US.
*NAACP Image Award nomination in children’s literature
Award nomination for NAACP recognized literary superstars since 1998.

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In my opinion, the odds are split 50-50 in regards to students reading her texts inside and outside of the classroom. I find her writing to be very effortless, but poignant which makes it accessible to readers ages 15-21.  Watson’s gift for articulating her experiences in simple language makes her writing approachable and easy to digest although the topics are heavy at times. Teachers can fill in the gaps about social structures in which she refers to if students are not acquainted with the realities she lives in.  The structures of her books are linear and the vocabulary is appropriate for teenage American students to comprehend, and the real strengths of her books lie in the dialogues she sets up for classrooms. Her characters are searching for their identity, where they belong, how they belong in this world...in an article by Caskey and Anfara, they cite from research by Scales, "Research suggests distinctive characteristics of young adolescents with regard to their physical, cognitive, moral, psychological, and social-emotional development, as well as spiritual development (Scales, 2010)." From the books I read, Watson's narrators are constantly grappling with the development of their moral compass which is a developmentally appropriate topic for readers ages 15-21. Not only are her books intriguing, they are relatable through many lenses which makes great reading for in and out of the classroom!

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Watson’s books are contemporary works of literature and focus on relevant issues pertaining to American culture, especially the experience of being black in America.This Side of Home focuses on two black twin teenagers living in a racially and culturally changing Portland, OR. The book centers on the twins whose parents are pillars in their community, which was predominantly black, and how the narrator, Maya, is conflicted with the gentrification process taking place on her street. The twins’ best friend is Essence, and her alcoholic mother are forced to leave their apartment to make way for higher paying white families coming into the neighborhood. Maya and her sister are twins, yet have differing opinions of what is happening to their neighborhood. Maya is holding strong to her black roots, while her sister Nikki is open to the change surrounding them. When a white family moves into Essence’s old house, Maya is surprised to find herself falling in love with Tony who attends her school. Nikki becomes best friends with Kate, Tony’s sister much to Maya’s dismay. The book navigates Maya’s struggle with her black identity amongst the changing faces of her school and neighborhood, while allowing herself to branch out of her comfort zone to discover love even though the face of what she thought she wanted may not be what she expected.  

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Watson’s books are contemporary works of literature and focus on relevant issues pertaining to American culture, especially the experience of being black in America.This Side of Home focuses on two black twin teenagers living in a racially and culturally changing Portland, OR. The book centers on the twins whose parents are pillars in their community, which was predominantly black, and how the narrator, Maya, is conflicted with the gentrification process taking place on her street. The twins’ best friend is Essence, and her alcoholic mother are forced to leave their apartment to make way for higher paying white families coming into the neighborhood. Maya and her sister are twins, yet have differing opinions of what is happening to their neighborhood. Maya is holding strong to her black roots, while her sister Nikki is open to the change surrounding them. When a white family moves into Essence’s old house, Maya is surprised to find herself falling in love with Tony who attends her school. Nikki becomes best friends with Kate, Tony’s sister much to Maya’s dismay. The book navigates Maya’s struggle with her black identity amongst the changing faces of her school and neighborhood, while allowing herself to branch out of her comfort zone to discover love even though the face of what she thought she wanted may not be what she expected.  

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Piecing Me Together takes place in Portland, OR and the story is narrated by Jade an overachieving black teenager attending a mostly white private school on scholarship in downtown Portland. Jade lives in the predominantly black neighborhood of St. Johns and considers herself an outsider in her school environment. The story follows her journey of piecing her identity together and searching for that just right place where she feels comfortable in her own skin. Jade’s reality of living in a world where police brutality is common, and people of her status are seen as a project frustrates Jade endlessly. When she is volunteered for a female black mentoring program, she is paired with Maxine an alumnist of her school. Jade immediately recognizes her experience as a black woman to be vastly different from her mentor who is described as an “Oreo.” Oreo is a derogatory name for someone who is black on the outside and white inside. The reader journeys with Jade while she advocates for herself and fights to not be seen as the poor black girl from the bad side of town who needs her hand held every step of the way. 

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Piecing Me Together takes place in Portland, OR and the story is narrated by Jade an overachieving black teenager attending a mostly white private school on scholarship in downtown Portland. Jade lives in the predominantly black neighborhood of St. Johns and considers herself an outsider in her school environment. The story follows her journey of piecing her identity together and searching for that just right place where she feels comfortable in her own skin. Jade’s reality of living in a world where police brutality is common, and people of her status are seen as a project frustrates Jade endlessly. When she is volunteered for a female black mentoring program, she is paired with Maxine an alumnist of her school. Jade immediately recognizes her experience as a black woman to be vastly different from her mentor who is described as an “Oreo.” Oreo is a derogatory name for someone who is black on the outside and white inside. The reader journeys with Jade while she advocates for herself and fights to not be seen as the poor black girl from the bad side of town who needs her hand held every step of the way. 

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Black Like Me is an article from Rethinking Schools, a personal narrative recounting Watson’s experiences growing up black in the Portland Public School system. She attended during the time when PPS began busing black students to white parts of town to integrate students. She describes her experience not only looking different because of her skin, but also because of her body type. Watson recalls how people treated her differently and how their preconceptions created many obstacles while building relationships, “Being seen—truly seen—is to feel that all parts of who I am are recognized not as compartmentalized pieces of myself, but blended truths of my identity. So when my white friends told me they didn’t see me as a black girl that meant they didn’t see me. When white teachers seemed shocked to hear me speak black vernacular in the hallway with my friends when I “spoke so well in class,” what they didn’t understand is that code-switching came natural to me—I talked both ways and I wasn’t trying to fit in with my friends or impress my teachers. I was being myself.” The article then transitions into a poem articulating her experiences of how her teachers and peers viewed her and the impact on her psyche.

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When I was in middle school, I was bused to the other side of town for my education. Portland Public Schools wanted to integrate middle schools in Southeast Portland. This meant that a handful of black students-most of us from Northeast Portland who had attended elementary school together-boarded a yellow school bus before sunrise to ride across town. We sat at the back of the bus laughing at the boys stinging on each other with yo momma jokes. My best friend and I shared the headphones to her Walkman so that we both could sing along to Bell Biv DeVoe and Mariah Carey. For the 30-minute ride we were ourselves and there was no shame in the way we talked or related to each other. No one made a big deal about seeing my hair in braids one day and straightened the next. We bragged about how well our mommas cooked and shared our leftovers with each other at lunchtime, even though one day a white girl loudly whispered to her friend that "black food smells bad."

We had pride and there was a care we took with each other. Though there were normal middle school cliques and dramas, there was also a strength and loyalty among us. On that bus, we were family. I felt like I belonged.

But when I got to school, I felt invisible. Which is ironic because I was a plump dark-skinned girl with hair that would kink and curl at one drop of rain.

I stood out.

So how is it that I felt no one saw me?

Being seen-truly seen-is to feel that all parts of who I am are recognized not as compartmentalized pieces of myself, but blended truths of my identity. So when my white friends told me they didn't see me as a black girl that meant they didn't see me. When white teachers seemed shocked to hear me speak black vernacular in the hallway with my friends when I "spoke so well in class," what they didn't understand is that code-switching came natural to me-I talked both ways and I wasn't trying to fit in with my friends or impress my teachers. I was being myself.

One day, on our way to a field trip to see the Oregon Symphony, a teacher tried to assure me that if I "gave the music a try" I might really find that I liked it. I told her that I loved classical music. That I loved jazz, too. Her smile told me that she thought this was a good thing. When she said, "Well, that's good because that rap stuff is not music," I told her that I loved hip-hop and R&B and gospel and country, too. My family was a musical family. We had a collection of records that included Tennessee Ernie Ford, Mahalia Jackson, Marvin Gaye, and the Jackson 5. My sister played in a jazz ensemble that traveled to Europe. My grandfather played the piano at church.

She didn't seem to value the variety of music I enjoyed. There was clearly one that was better than the others and I took this to mean that the black parts of me were better off hidden. There was a shame that came with owning up to the parts of me that fit the stereotypes and assumptions of what people expected black children to be like.

In middle school I learned that some adults saw me as an "exception to the rule." To be called confident for an overweight, dark-skinned black girl was to say that overweight, dark-skinned black girls had low self-esteem. If I was smart for a black girl that meant the rule was black children weren't normally smart.

It was one thing to feel different, to be different. It was another thing to be judged on those differences. To realize that people had expectations of me because of what I looked like or the neighborhood I was from.

I often excused racist or insensitive remarks and actions, and instead blamed myself or thought that maybe I was taking it the wrong way.

But there was no excusing away what my 7th-grade science teacher said the day she passed out the tests we had taken a few days before. She walked to the front of the room and yelled, "I am so disappointed in all of you!" She paced the floor, walking between our desks. "None of you passed the test. You will be taking it again. Right. Now."

I looked down at my paper. Saw the capital A scribbled in red ink across the top of the page.

"I will give you a chance to look through your notes and then you will retake the test."

I looked back at my paper. "But I have an A," I said. First to myself and then out loud when I raised my hand and asked, "Do I have to retake the test?"

"Oh, that's right," my teacher said. "You got an A." She turned her back to me and addressed the rest of the class. "And this is why I am so disappointed in all of you. You let Renée Watson come all the way over here from Northeast Portland and get a better grade than you in science!"

I have often replayed that day in my mind. I have thought of new endings where I stand up for myself and walk out of class refusing to be humiliated. I have wondered what would have happened if she asked me to be a tutor for the other students in class. What if she taught me-and the rest of the class-about black scientists and their revolutionary discoveries? What if she had allowed space in her narrative for black children from Northeast Portland to be capable of meeting high expectations, of achieving academic success?

What if she really saw me?

As an educator, I try to see my students. I encourage them to embrace all parts of their culture-where they come from, what they eat, the music they enjoy, the joyous and disastrous parts of their neighborhoods and families. I strive to learn their individual and collective histories. I share my stories with them, and we grow and heal together. We laugh at ourselves for sometimes being the stereotype. We proudly proclaim that we are more than the stereotype. We mourn and rejoice over our ancestors-their struggles and victories, their shortcomings and strengths. We commit to sharing our true selves. We commit to seeing each other.

black like me

and suddenly everyone would see

how black i am.

black like collard greens & salted meat simmering on a stove.
black like hot water cornbread & iron skillets, like juke joints & fish frys
black like soul train lines & the electric slide at weddings and birthdays
black like vaseline on ashy knees, like beads decorating braids
black like cotton fields & soul-cried spirituals.

my skin is black

like red kool-aid, red soda, the red blood
of the lynched and assassinated and the african man
those skinheads killed with a baseball bat when i was in the fifth grade.

i am as black as he was.
my science teacher knows this. she sees
my black and is blind to my brilliance.
can't believe i passed the test with an a
when all the white kids failed.

and when she says to the white students,
"you ought to be ashamed of yourselves . . ."
what she really wants to say is, "i can't believe this black girl is as smart as you."

all the white kids look at me
and this is when we learn that the color of our shells
come with expectations.

i stop being good
at science and math.

my english teacher gives me books and journals
and i read and write the world
as it is, as i want it to be.
i read past my black blues, discover that i am black
like benjamin banneker and george washington carver
black like margaret walker and fannie lou hamer

i am not just slave and despair.
i am struggle and triumph. i learn
to live my life in the searching, in the quest:

can i be black and brilliant?
can i be jazz and gospel, hip hop and classical?
can i be christian and accepting?
can i be big and beautiful?

can i be black like me?
can anyone see me?

-Renée Watson

Renée Watson ( reneewatson.net) is an author, performer, and educator. Her children's books have received several honors, including an NAACP Image Award nomination. She teaches poetry at DreamYard in New York City.

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When I was in middle school, I was bused to the other side of town for my education. Portland Public Schools wanted to integrate middle schools in Southeast Portland. This meant that a handful of black students-most of us from Northeast Portland who had attended elementary school together-boarded a yellow school bus before sunrise to ride across town.

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Watson participated in an interview with Pine Manor College in 2010 in which she reveals why she is motivated to write for young people and how her influence as an educator has been shaped because of her experiences. “I very much feel inspired to write for children because, as Rudine Sims Bishop so poignantly said, children need both mirror and window books—books where they can see themselves in the pages, books that open up a new world to them.” Watson walks readers through her process for character development, and how her personal life drives her to be a voice other outcasts can identify with and possibly uncover to them they are not outcasts like they may think they are. Watson suggests MFA writing students to watch Chimamanda Adichie’s TED talk, “The Danger of a Single Story.”

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By Jenn Strattman

"To be seen - truly seen - is to feel that all parts of who I am are recognized not as compartmentalized pieces of myself, but blended truths of my identity. So when my white friends told me they didn't see me as a black girl that meant they didn't see me. When white teachers seemed shocked to hear me speak black vernacular in the hallways when I "spoke so well in class," what they didn't understand is that code-switching came natural to me - I talked both ways and I wasn't trying to fit in with my friends or impress my teachers. I was being myself." - Renée Watson "Black Like Me"
You identify as a writer but also as a performer and an educator. How do performing and teaching impact your writing?
My teaching impacts my writing because I mostly teach young people. So often, their stories inspire the themes I write about and their voices show up in my work. Then, there are the transferable skills that apply to performing, teaching, and writing like understanding your audience, having a plan (script, lesson plan, outline) but leaving room for the "magic" to happen. All three require a great deal of empathy. As a performer, the more I put myself in the mindset of a character, the more I express emotion through body language, the stronger I become as a writer when developing characters who are so different than me. I'm very grateful to be in all three worlds-they all feed off of each other.
What were your favorite books growing up and how have they shaped your work?
My favorite books were anything by Beverly Cleary, partly because she wrote characters who lived in Portland, Oregon, where I grew up, and I knew those streets and people well. I also loved that Ramona was a flawed character-not acting how a girl "should" act but nuanced and layered. I try to shape my characters in that way, making the reader root for them, but also, at times disappointed or frustrated.

I also loved The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. That book changed me in so many ways-I knew what it was like to live "there" in a place that was misunderstood, in a place where the pain and beauty were tangible. I write about these kinds of places in my books. Cisneros is a master of juxtaposing the bitter and sweet. I definitely draw from her example.
What inspired you to write for children and young adults?
When I was a young girl, I didn't have many books that reflected my reality. There weren't a lot of books where black girls were the protagonists and oftentimes stories that featured black characters were about struggle-slavery or martyred activists. Poetry was the place where I saw my experience. Poets like Lucille Clifton, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Maya Angelou spoke to me in a deep way-they spoke about the struggle of African Americans, yes, but they also spoke of our everyday experiences of loving and living, and being brilliant, and being, well human-not victims or victors, just everyday people living life. I want to create books in that vein.

I very much feel inspired to write for children because, as Rudine Sims Bishop so poignantly said, children need both mirror and window books-books where they can see themselves in the pages, books that open up a new world to them.

I enjoy writing for young readers because their lives are forever changing. Everything is intense - they have strong feelings, beliefs, and reactions. It's a limitless supply of story and conflict.
After growing up in Portland and residing in New York City, how have these ever-changing cities influenced your writing?
Leaving Portland and moving to New York helped me write setting. It wasn't until I moved that my senses were heightened and I saw home in a new light-I missed the color green, I missed walking on wide sidewalks, I missed the smell of rain, the taste of huckleberries and marionberries. I longed to sit on a porch and talk with my mother. All of these things found their way into This Side of Home as a part of the setting. Living in New York, I hear and smell, and feel so much-the honking horns, different languages, the chills of winter, the breeze that carries roasting nuts from a street vendor's stand. Having these two very different places in my life, I am constantly comparing and contrasting and this attention to my surroundings in my real life helps me build a full world for my characters.
Place emerges in many of your books such that it becomes a conduit for internal and external change. How might writers successfully integrate place in their stories?
I believe that our environment impacts and influences our personalities, actions, fears, and ambitions. I am always asking, "How is the neighborhood influencing this character?" and "How does the changing seasons or space move the story forward?" I think there's so much depth a writer can add to a story by layering metaphors that show up in the weather, the seemingly mundane drive through town, the reading of a headline-all of this is the story. Whenever I have my characters interact with their environment, the richer and more nuanced the story becomes.
In your personal narrative "Black Like Me" from Rethinking Schools, you poignantly chronicle how it feels to be invisible in an environment leaden with stereotypes. In the classroom, how might we talk about identity and race?
I think books by and about people of color are great tools to use in the classroom to talk about identity and race. Discussing the characters and themes in the book can be a safe way to begin conversations about social issues that are first about the characters-so there's some distance and then gradually move into students sharing their own stories. I think it's important to note that "safe space" doesn't necessarily mean the conversations will be comfortable. The hope is that as an educator, I provide a space where people are comfortable being uncomfortable, where true listening and sharing is happening with openness and trust.

I also believe it's important to not make talking about identity and race a special conversation that only happens once a year. The posters on the walls in a classroom, the diversity of the curriculum, the covers of the books we give to young people are all apart of the conversation. Young people are listening to our actions as well as our words.
If you could choose one book for MFA students to read and discuss, what would it be? What would you like students to gain?
I actually don't have a book that I think every MFA student should read and discuss. I do have a go-to list: Jacqueline Woodson, Meg Medina, Jason Reynolds, and Sherman Alexie. The truth is I think every MFA student in the Writing for Children program should watch Chimimanda Adichie's TED Talk, "The Danger of the Single Story." It should be required, with a follow-up discussion about our responsibility, power, and influence as storytellers.

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By Jenn Strattman "To be seen - truly seen - is to feel that all parts of who I am are recognized not as compartmentalized pieces of myself, but blended truths of my identity. So when my white friends told me they didn't see me as a black girl that meant they didn't see me.

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Caskey, M. M., & Ruben, B. (2007). Under construction: The young adolescent brain. In S. B. Mertens, V. A. Anfara, Jr., & M. M. Caskey (Eds.), The young adolescent and the middle school (pp. 47-72). Charlotte, NC: Information Age.

Scales, P. C. (2010). Characteristics of young adolescents. In This we believe: Keys to educating young adolescents (pp. 63-62). Westerville, OH: National Middle School Association.

Strattman, J. (2010). Interview with renee watson. http://www.pmc.edu/interview-with-renee-watson

Watson, R. (2014). Black like me. https://www.rethinkingschools.org/articles/black-like-me

Watson, R. (2017). Piecing me together. NY, NY: Bloomsbury.

Watson, R. (2015). This side of home. NY, NY: Bloomsbury.