How Are You Inspired to Choose the Dedications in Your Books?

In the front matter to my book, “Red Clay and Roses”, there is a dedication, as many provide when they author a book.  I want to share with you the story behind the dedication.  It is not an ordinary dedication for supportive family and friends.  It is a dedication to a man whose name I never knew.  Well, it is to some degree, because I do mention my loving and supportive husband, Greg.   Read as follows and then I will explain:

While visiting my grandparent’s farm in my youth, an elderly African American man told me,

“If your children can look at my grandchildren and not see color, then we have made progress.”

This book is dedicated to him, the progress that we have made,

and to my loving and supportive husband, Greg.

Back story:

I am more than a half century in age at 52 years.  I was born in 1960 in Georgia.  Schools in my hometown were not integrated until 1971.  In 1972, I went into Foster Care.  In Foster Care, I was at home with other children of many races.  I did not give race much thought.  Same was true after I went to live in an orphanage in 1974.  By then, all of the schools in the area were integrated.  Most neighborhoods were exclusive, and many still are in the Deep South.  Things were very different in my grandparent’s time.

My grandparents lived on property that has been in my grandmother’s family since the land lottery of 1827.  My greatest American ancestor, Thomas Holland, won this 500 acre lot and one other lot for his war service in the American Revolutionary War.  It has been occupied by my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins ever since that time.  Though only one home survived the Civil War, the land did.  My grandfather’s family’s Baptist Church stands on one end of the property and my grandmother’s family’s Methodist Church stands on the other end.

During my time growing up, throughout the time spent in Foster Care and the Orphanage, I was able to spend time with my many cousins and the hired help (mostly black) and their families on my grandparent’s farm.  This was primarily weekends, holidays, and summers

As I matured, I spent six months in New York City, and a few years in Atlanta Georgia.  City life was much different than time on the farm or in my small hometown.

The dedication and why it is meaningful to me:

I was not as deeply indoctrinated with racial opinions and bias as many others in my community growing up.  My grandparents; however, were very deeply indoctrinated.  While they were respectful in many ways, treated their hired help kindly, and paid them well.  They still had their set ways of thinking and acting.  Not having been very much influenced by the Civil Rights Movement, being way out in the country, they internalized the community around them, as most do.

The story:

When I was 19 years old, had a small child, and was already divorced, I spent some brief time in my grandparent’s home.  A female friend from North Georgia had come down to visit.

We were gathered at the dining room table having the noontime meal (called dinner in the South, not lunch).  The dog started barking and we heard a truck pull up into the driveway.  My grandfather got up from the table to go see what the ruckus was all about.  A few moments later, we heard him call out, “Mama, yo nigger is here to plow yo field!” very loudly.  He slammed the front door.

My friend and I looked at each other with our mouths agape.  Grandfather came back to the dining room and continued his meal, while Grandmother went to the bedroom to fetch her purse to pay the man.  A black man, an African-American, on invitation, had come with his rototiller to prepare Grandmother’s garden.

I got up from the table and went out onto the front porch where the elderly black man stood with his hat in his hands on the front steps.


“Sir, I am so sorry for my Grandfather’s behavior,” I apologized.

“Whatever are you apologizing for?” he asked.

“Well, he called you a nigger and slammed the door in your face.  That was rude and I am ashamed for him,” I went on.

“Little lady,” he said with a wide smile, “I ain’t never been nothin but a nigger. For all my long life, nothin but a nigger.  Your Grandpappy, he ain’t never knowed me as nothin but a nigger, all his long life.  But if your children can look at my grandchildren and not see color, well then, we has made some progress!”

His statement resonated with me for my whole lifetime.  I raised my children to not see color.  We sang “Everybody’s Beautiful” and “Jesus Loves the Little Children” before they were able to talk good.  Their friends were always welcome in our home regardless of color or national origin.  My two grandchildren are of mixed race, although they look nothing alike.  I could not imagine not accepting their father as family.

We are, each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another.

~Luciano de Crescenzo

After I wrote “Red Clay and Roses”, which was highly influenced by my life experiences and those of my family, I had to come up with what I felt was a meaningful dedication.  I did not feel the typical, “Thanks, to my supportive….,” would suffice.  The book has a significant amount of racial tension in it.  This African American man’s words came back to me.  We have made progress, and for that I am grateful.


How do you decide what to write as a dedication in your books?  What inspires you to be grateful?  What progress do you see?

25 thoughts on “How Are You Inspired to Choose the Dedications in Your Books?

  1. Inspirational dedication. Love the backstory. I’ve been reading my grandmother’s diaries. She was a northerner and they were called coloreds in her time. But on the date of MLK’s assassination, she wrote “May God forgive all of us white people.” I was always taught that we are ALL the same. Color, culture, race – none of that matters. We are all the same.


    1. Thanks. I agree. “God forgive us white people,” pretty well sums it up. I was taught to say colored or negroes. People sometimes shortened that to Nigra, a more respectable word than nigger, presumably. As a teen, the blacks prefered “black”, but now it is “African American”, which the Island girls here in Florida can’t stand because they don’t see themselves as African. It is not their heritage or their history.


      1. I’m a creature of habit. I have trouble not saying ‘blacks’. I try. Actually, I try not to say anything. They have names. Just a darker skin or different heritage than I do. Unfortunately, Warren grew up very differently than I did and he just cannot accept anyone different. It makes it very difficult for me some days. Although he adores Soren and doesn’t have any problem with him, we have many other very tense conversations. I know at 67 I will not change him though.


      2. I see your point. I say black, out of respect for my Haitian, Jamaican, Trinidadian friends who prefer it. Also because it is what I learned as a teen with the “Black Power” movement. I use names when directly addressing but sometimes have to make a general reference, and I still say black and probably always will. For that reason alone, I would have to forgive my grandparents.


  2. I love this post, which blends in a different way with the racially biased school-days songs you read about in my post today. Kudos to you for the apology to this good-hearted man! Your photo in the post suits just perfectly, even the hat. By the way, we country folk up North called the noon meal dinner too. (Gotta keep enough fuel in those farmers!)

    As to dedications, I can’t speak to that point as I’m not a published author yet, but I’m sure mentors and family members would be among my choices.


    1. I thought about mentors and family members who have been most supportive, and I could not fail to include my husband. With the story in the novel, and his influence on my own personal life, I had to include this anonymous man, because his well recalled words had such a great impact on my adult life.


  3. Great backstory and dedication. Mine is rather vague because a lot of people edited, beta read, and were part of game my books are based on. So I did an umbrella dedication and part if me thinks I’ll be using it for awhile.


    1. That is nice also, when so many have supported us. It is a challenge to select just a few. That is one reason I went for the anonymous figure who influenced my writing. I did not know him and I never will. Yet, he supported the way I viewed my world.


      1. hahaha….sometimes I feel like we should….after all….we put so very much of ourselves into it! Maybe you should try that. Might come across as a bit egotistical though.


  4. I had wondered about the old man and his words. It is great to know the story behind it. Now I remember the book quite a lot- some stances from the story come across my mind at random times. And that is how you know you have read a good book because it doesn’t let you forget it.


    1. I am so glad to hear you say so. That makes me very happy, as I intended it to be a book to leave one with thoughts to linger on and to think deeply about. I hope it’s ending was satisfying enough not to leave a taste of bitterness about the racial issues.


      1. I hope the next generation is less discriminatory than our grandparents. My grandmother, bless her heart, believed skin color mattered more than character, and I don’t agree with that. Character matters more than most things.


      2. Wow, I guess his message has changed this country forever. Here I was, thinking those were my words and thoughts. Now, I’m not sure. I’m honored you would make that comparison. Warmly, Brenda


  5. This is beautiful, Susan. I love the story behind the dedication. I also love the fact that this man, who didn’t think he had much influence, inspired you to write a story that will be read by many. That’s pretty powerful.


    1. Thank you Melissa. Once the book was done, I had to ask myself, “Who really had the greatest influence on whether or not I even wrote the story?” It wasn’t so much my cousin Sybil. It was the concept of social progress. This man’s words came back to me, so I felt it needed to be.


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