Discrimination at Dread Con, and the Prejudiced Practices of Eerie River Publishing
An exposé
I would rather be writing many things other than this. This exposé that will bring more drama to my life than the zero I usually allow. But, as the title of this post indicates, I was recently discriminated against at Dread Con by the organizers of the event, namely, Michelle River, who also runs Eerie River Publishing. I considered not writing this post and just going on with my life. I even reached out to a few people to ask their opinion on what course I should take, if any. And I was surprised to find that most people I spoke to told me that I shouldn’t call out a publisher who has just started what may eventually be Canada’s biggest horror convention. They said I would ruffle feathers, upset those in the Canadian horror community. They said I would be burning a bridge that might lead to future opportunities. But how can I burn a bridge I was never allowed access to?
Dread Con is a Canadian dark fiction convention, created by Michelle River and sponsored by Eerie River Publishing. The inaugural Dread Con, which is the event I am referring to in this post, took place in September of 2024. You might be wondering why I’m writing now about something that happened so many months ago. The reason for my delay is because an accusation of discrimination isn’t something I make arbitrarily. I wanted to ensure that when I spoke about this publicly, I had sufficient evidence to validate my claim. Below is what happened at Dread Con, and all that has happened since.
When I got to Dread Con on the morning of September 14, it was made clear to me from the start that my experience likely wasn’t going to be a good one. I greeted the organizers warmly and handed them a box. The response I got made me feel as though I were passing them a contagion rather than the thirty-one books I was donating to the event. I attributed the cold welcome to the organizers being busy dealing with this first-time ever occasion, and I brushed it off. I went to look for my table, which, after circling the floor of the convention several times, I could not find. I went to Michelle River and let her know I couldn’t locate my table, to which she brusquely replied, “Did you look at the seating plan?” Again, I attributed her shortness with me to her being busy.
After letting an obviously agitated Michelle know that the seating plan was no help to me, she showed me where my table was. The reason I couldn’t find it was because my table wasn’t on the main floor. It was up a brief flight of stairs, near a large column, and close to an exit that led to the bathrooms. There were a few other tables in this general vicinity, but mine was inarguably in the worst spot of the convention space. It was just about as far away from the main flow of traffic and the majority of the vendors as was possible without me being entirely wedged in a corner. Speaking of the other vendors, what I’d noticed as I had searched for my table was that all of the vendors were White or White passing, other than a well-known, award winning Chinese-Canadian author. Of over fifty vendors, I was the only brown-skinned person there. This wasn’t a complete surprise to me. Weeks before the event, those who had purchased tables were asked if we would like to volunteer to be on one of the several author panels that would be held throughout the day. I volunteered and was ignored. When the list of panelists was emailed to the vendors, what I had hoped for was a diverse group. Seeing as I was excluded, it would have been nice to know that another brown-skinned author or two would be there to represent. But every panelist for the event, other than the abovementioned Chinese-Canadian author, was White.
I believe that my exclusion from the panel was purposeful, and I thought the same about the placement of my table. But, you know, whatevs. This was a bit of light discrimination, a level of which I had dealt with before, so my focus was on making the best of a bad situation. I began unpacking my belongings when, enter stage right: Irate White Woman.
As I was sorting my books, a woman showed up in a huff and began to put her things on my table. When I let her know that the table was occupied, she said something along the lines of, “That’s too bad. Because a guy down there took my table. If you have a problem with it, take it up with Michelle. She’s the one who sent me here.”
And she continued to place her belongings on my table. Not far behind her was another White woman, who was working for the event in some capacity; whether she was an organizer or a volunteer, I don’t know. But she approached us and confirmed that Michelle River was aware of what was going on, and that her solution was to give the angry White woman my table while they would “try to find another table” for me. Keep in mind, friends, this was a table I had paid for. And it was being taken from me. I was being told to collect my things, stand in the corner, and wait to see if maybe I would get another table. It was never even a consideration that they try to find another table for the angry White woman.
Some of you might be familiar with the term “I am not a monolith” or “We are not a monolith.” This is a phrase some Black people use when reminding others that the behaviour of one of us is not representative of the behaviour of all of us, regardless of whether that behaviour is commendable or condemnable. Unfortunately, while this is true, it is also not true. Because truth is sometimes dependent on societal conditions and expectations. Our society makes it so that when a White person behaves a certain way in public, most folk observing will consider the individual, their mental capacity, their emotional tolerance. Our society also makes it so that when we see a Black person behaving a certain way in public, we reduce that person’s behaviour to their race. That person is just doing what Black people do.
Me arguing with a White woman in a place full of White people is not a situation that would go well for me. No good would come of me reacting to this obvious mistreatment. So, I bit my tongue. Swallowed it. Said nothing. And when the same member of the event staff came back with my new table and shoved it as far into the corner as the venue space would allow, as I waited with my belongings on the floor, on a chair, in my hands, she smiled at me, and, I suppose, in some misguided attempt at humour, she said to me, verbatim:
“Are you going to behave yourself now that you’ve been put in the corner?”
If there was any point that I might have lost my patience and told the event organizers about themselves, it was then. But monolith, monolith, monolith. I did my best to contort my face into what I hoped resembled a polite smile, then I went about setting up my new table. No one apologized. No one said, “Sorry for the inconvenience, but…” I just had to sit there and eat it. At that point, I thought to myself that I would stick around for an hour, see if things improved. If not, it would be a short stay and a long drive home.
But things did improve. I sold six books that first hour, and twenty-eight total for the day. Which was far more than I had expected to sell. The woman who had taken my original table turned out to be a publisher, and we ended up getting along fine. By the end of the day, after seeing me interact with the eventgoers, she gave me her card and asked me to consider submitting my work to her in the future. That won’t be happening, but it was nice that our interactions remained positive throughout the day. As were my interactions with all the awesome readers and authors I was able to meet at the event. It would have been a wonderful occasion if it hadn’t been tarnished for me by the organizers. The day was tainted to such a degree that, despite the positives of the event, I’ll have to forego future opportunities to network and make money at subsequent Dread Cons because, well,
I want to make it clear that I am not writing this out of anger. You will find no outrage here. Life’s too short, my blood pressure is too high, and this sort of thing happens too often for me to feel outraged each time I’m discriminated against. And I really don’t want anger to be the response to this post. What I want is positive change. Anger tends to change things for the worse. Which is why, when I got home from Dread Con, I had to carefully consider what to do. I believed I had been subject to racism that day. A belief that was bolstered by the overall brownlessness of the event. An event that was held in Waterloo, Ontario, an hour away from Toronto, which is the most multicultural city on Earth. And that’s not hyperbole, that’s a trivia answer you can thank me for later. I have done several bookish events in and around the great city of Toronto. From local library events in Ajax and Pickering, to being on panels during huge conventions like Frightmare In The Falls in Niagara Falls, and Fan Expo Canada in the heart of the megacity. Even when I was the only Black person present, I have never been treated the way I was treated at Dread Con. And I have never been made to feel the way I was made to feel at Dread Con. I wanted to say something, but I needed to make sure I had something substantial to say. And that’s where Eerie River Publishing comes into play.
Prior to Dread Con, I had submitted a story to Eerie River for an anthology of theirs. The story I submitted is one of the best things I’ve written, but I was certain it would be rejected. Because I didn’t believe Eerie River would publish a story by a Black author. When I received my rejection email, I wasn’t surprised, other than by the wording of the rejection. I’ve had my work rejected before. That’s part of the process. Unfortunately, part of my process, as a Black author, is wondering which rejections are fair and which are based on my race. That is the reality for all Black writers. But, regardless of why I believe my work is rejected, a rejection is a rejection and I go on with my life. Unless the discrimination is blatantly clear to me. So, when I saw Eerie River’s rejection email, which stated, “…the decision comes down to us only being able to take a certain number of stories due to our budget constraints. Sadly, this has resulted in us having to turn down several great stories,” I thought it would be fair to wait and see who they had the budget for.
I told myself that if, upon release of the names of the authors who would be in this anthology, any one of those authors had brown skin, I would put this all aside and move on to writing the things I actually enjoy writing. They didn’t even necessarily have to be Black. They could have been a Hispanic person, a person of South Asian heritage, someone from the Middle East, maybe even someone with a really deep tan. If I saw any brown-skinned diversity, you wouldn’t be reading these words. But it turns out that Eerie River’s budget doesn’t cover anyone with brown skin. After looking up the authors in the anthology (other than two whose photos aren’t available online) Eerie River’s budget was reserved exclusively for White authors and, again, the same well-known Chinese-Canadian author who appeared at Dread Con. I even looked at Eerie River’s author list and entire catalogue and saw that, based on their website, they have never worked with a Black person at all despite dozens of publications over several years. Again, this is a publisher located next to the most multicultural place in the world.
For those of you thinking that a publisher doesn’t have to publish brown-skinned authors, or any diverse authors at all, you are correct. There is no law saying that a publisher must be inclusive or diverse. But the thing is, when you go to the Eerie River website, under their submission guidelines, this is what you will find:
“Eerie is and has always been an inclusive publishing house. We would love to read manuscripts from all walks of life including BIPOC, 2SLGBTQIA and marginalized humans.”
And on the Dread Con website, you’ll find the same sentiment with different wording:
“As a Canadian-based, woman-owned independent publisher, we recognize the importance of supporting and providing a safe platform for diverse voices and stories.”
If a publisher were to come out and say that they aren’t inclusive, that they don’t care about nor want diversity, I would actually appreciate that candidness. They’ve stated what they are, and I know to go elsewhere. I would prefer that to the plethora of insincere and unacted upon inclusivity and diversity statements out there. But when a publisher states that they are and have always been inclusive, and that they recognize the importance of supporting and providing a safe platform for diverse voices, and then they treat me like I was treated at Dread Con, and their track record shows they almost exclusively publish and work with White authors, well, that is worthy of a public conversation. And that is what I hope to gain from this post.
If you are someone who doesn’t care about inclusion or diversity in your reading, here’s what I have to say to you: That’s fine with me. Whether all your favourite authors happen to be White, or you have made the conscious decision to not read authors of a different race, I’m not here to condemn you. You’re an adult, and no one has the right to tell you what to do with your money or your free time (unless you’re doing murder-y or other such unsavoury things). And I have no interest in telling adult human beings what they should and shouldn’t do. But for those of you who have expressed an interest in change, in difference, in diversity, what I’m politely asking you to do is ask politely. I’m suggesting that you suggest. Because unactionable online outrage is meaningless; outrage makes people become defensive and reactive. But if you let some of these homogenized, White publishers or convention organizers politely know that you would like to see them switch it up from time to time, that you would like to spend your money on some new perspectives, they might listen. If you talk about it, maybe something will change. I hope. Who knows. But it’s worth a try.
Trying is all we can do, which is why I write things like this. I said I wanted my blog to be somewhat of a journal of my experience as an author trying to make a living with my writing. Unfortunately, being a Black author, discrimination is a part of that experience. If I didn’t speak on it from time to time, if I didn’t at least try to use the negatives to highlight changes that still need to be made, then I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I just want people to consider what is happening in the publishing industry, both independent and otherwise. I want you to understand and appreciate the obstacles that Black and other marginalized writers go through just to be read, to be seen. Imagine being the only Black person at a convention and being placed in a corner nearest to the bathrooms. Imagine the person responsible for that also ran the publishing company that told you they didn’t have the budget for your story but had the budget for nearly twenty White authors while claiming to be inclusive. And here you are (we’re still imagining), Black writer, saying, while praying to be heard but knowing that you won’t be,
We exist.
I exist.
I’m not writing this in hopes of you boycotting Eerie River Publishing. I don’t want Michelle River to be cancelled. I would very much prefer it if you did not message them angrily or insultingly. I’m not asking their existing readers to stop buying their books. The authors under their banner worked hard to get their stories published; they shouldn’t have to suffer because their publisher behaved in a discriminatory manner. It’s the same with Dread Con. I want people to go there and support those writers. Because authors are my people, too. And Canada desperately needs more dark fiction conventions. Me wanting people to boycott Dread Con would be a disservice to the authors and readers who deserve such an occasion. And from what I could see, tucked away in the corner, it seemed like good times. But if you do attend Dread Con, or any other such convention, and you see pretty much only White faces, I would hope you inquire about that. Those of you who care about diversity and inclusivity, I would hope you mention wanting to see more of those two things. Because it’s going to take your care and your commerce to break down these kinds of barriers. Most reasonable publishers, unless they are Klansman levels of racist, would be willing to supply what their customers are asking for if the result means increased business. Even if that forces them to overlook their own prejudices.
At the end of the day, it’s up to you. You readers, you who show your regard or disregard for a publisher with the spending of your money. You influencers. You who, once upon a time, used the word ‘ally’ when referring to yourself. You who have, at any point, said you want more diversity and inclusion in what you read. You, mainly White people.
The burden of change is on you.
Because I’m easy to tune out, turn away from. Because most people who read this will think nothing of it. I’ll be easily dismissed as just another Black guy complaining about Black guy things, none of which may seem to be a big deal. It’s on you readers because my voice is muted, my words easy to overlook. It’s on you because to them – these exclusive publishers, influencers, gatekeepers of the publishing industry both independent and traditional – to them I am nothing. Less than. To them, I am one of many who they have excluded and ostracized with no questions asked, no consequence met, no second thoughts. Simply because they could, and they did, and no one said a word. To them, I am just another Black man who belongs in a corner.
These Are The Things That Keep Me Up At Night
Below are links to the Lee & Low Diversity Survey, and other articles relevant to this post. Thanks for reading.
The Lee & Low Diversity Baseline Survey 3.0
Black Writers Continue to Face Challenges in the Publishing Industry by Michelle D. Jackson
We Need to Talk About the Publishing Industry's Diversity Problem by Jing Xuan Teo
When I grow up, I want to be like you because you're better than me. I’d let it all burn to the ground. That was some shady stuff you dealt with, and I’m sorry it happened.
Well, that's some bullshit. I'm sorry you went through that. Where do you recommend that I start with your work? I'd love to support.