We were lucky to catch up with Cassidy Dyce recently and have shared our conversation below.

Alright, Cassidy thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. It’s always helpful to hear about times when someone’s had to take a risk – how did they think through the decision, why did they take the risk, and what ended up happening. We’d love to hear about a risk you’ve taken.

When people think about risk, they often imagine a single big leap. For me, risk has been a series of choices, each one scarier and more meaningful than the last.

In 2019, I turned down an offer with a government agency, a “safe” job with benefits, to chase something less certain but far more aligned with who I was becoming: my dream of becoming a full-time writer. Many people in my family thought it was a mistake. Stability was on the table, and I was walking away from it. But I moved to Seattle, Washington, and moved in with my sister, determined to make it work.

During that time, through a mutual friend, I was introduced to Kwame Alexander, a Newbery-winning author and children’s poet whose show is now on Disney+. One thing led to another. Kwame was looking for a part-time writer’s assistant. I was working a full-time sales job I didn’t love, but I juggled both roles, hoping that somehow it would open a door.

Then one Friday, right after a phone call from my dad telling me he felt something big was coming, Kwame offered me a full-time role. For two years, I worked as his full-time assistant, learning and growing in ways I could have never imagined. After we eventually parted ways professionally, we agreed to become co-authors on a graphic novel series called Brainstormerz, with the first book releasing next year.

But the risks did not stop there.
After working with Kwame, I decided to step into the world as a full-time creative writer on my own. No famous name attached. No safety net. It was isolating. It was humbling. Without the Kwame identity, doors did not swing open as easily. It was a season of grief, grief over what felt like lost opportunities and lost momentum.

But in that grief, I saw a need.
There were other Black creatives like me, wildly talented and full of dreams, who were struggling to find their way into artistic communities. They did not always have connections or support systems to lean on.

That is when Writing Black @ The House (WB@TH) was born.

WB@TH is a creative community prioritizing Black artists across all disciplines. Writers, painters, singers, dancers, dreamers. It is a space where Black creativity is preserved, protected, and celebrated. We focus on visibility, support, and building a future where every Black creative knows they belong.
This fall, WB@TH will enter its third year, a milestone that feels both surreal and sacred.

Now, as I write this, life looks very different.
I have moved back closer to family because Seattle was no longer working for me. Some people would call it a failure. They would say, “She should have taken the safe job. She should have stayed on the predictable path.”

But what they do not see is what I gained.
Without those risks, I would not have met Kwame Alexander. I would not have co-authored my first book. I would not have discovered my deep, unwavering love for graphic novels.
And I would not have founded a creative community that is bigger than my dreams alone, one that is helping to sustain and inspire a generation of Black artists.

Risk taught me that failure is not falling down.
It is refusing to get up.
And every time, I choose to get up, with a bigger dream, a stronger heart, and a deeper belief in what is possible.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

I am an author, educator, and founder of Writing Black @ The House (WB@TH).
At the heart of my work is storytelling, whether that takes the form of fiction, community-building, or both.

I am represented by Jenna Satterthwaite of Storm Literary Agency, and I write across age groups, from children to adults.
My creative work spans graphic novels, adult thrillers, psychological thrillers, and dystopian fiction. At the center of every story I write is a core belief that literature can be a form of social commentary, a way to have real conversations with the world as it is, and also to imagine the world as it could be. I am always striving to paint futures I wish to walk into, using storytelling as both a mirror and a map.

Writing Black @ The House is very much an extension of that same vision.
While my fiction captures my dreams and ideas on the page, WB@TH is about building those dreams into reality. It is not about exclusivity. It is about offering real tools, real support, and real community for Black creatives. It is about uplifting, celebrating, and protecting the art that has always been at the core of our survival and brilliance.

More than anything, I want people to know that everything I create, whether it is a book, a gathering, or a conversation, comes from the same place: a deep love for story, community, and imagining better futures.

How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?

When we think about supporting artists and building a thriving creative ecosystem, I believe it is essential to understand that art is not just about making a moment. It is about making a movement.

Some art exists purely for joy, escapism, and simple pleasures, and there is nothing wrong with that. But we also have to recognize that art sparks conversations. Art inspires change. Throughout history, art has shifted the world for the better. That is why it is often targeted, why it has been suppressed or devalued in different eras, and why institutions like the Kennedy Center and other arts organizations are so critical to protect.

When we think about creativity, and especially about writing, it is important to remember that at the center of everything is a story. Every cause, every campaign, every change begins with a narrative that either draws people in or pushes them away. Artists are the ones who help shape those narratives.

My hope and prayer is that society can begin to truly see the value that artists bring to the table. Not as an afterthought. Not as something extra. But as vital contributors to how we move, heal, and imagine forward.
We need to find ways to collaborate with artists, not deter young people from pursuing creative careers. We need to make artistic work more sustainable, because art is not just a luxury. It is a powerful tool for building community, culture, and possibility.

Those who have the calling to be an artist feel it in their bones. It is not just something they do. It is who they are.
Art should not be selfish. It should be collective. A gift offered from one creative spirit to another, building something bigger than any one voice alone.

Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?

I knew the moment I stepped on CNU’s campus that I want meant to be a Captain. I felt right at home in the small community. I visited when I was a junior in high school, and by the time the tour was over, I was already decorating my college dorm room in my head. The only problem? CNU didn’t agree with me.
When I first applied to Christopher Newport University (CNU), I was rejected. It was a tough blow, because deep down I had this feeling that CNU was where I belonged. I could not explain it at the time, but I knew it was the environment I needed.

Instead of accepting the rejection, I picked up the phone and called the Dean of Students. I asked if there was anything I could do to change their decision. We made a deal. If I earned strong enough grades during my final semester of high school, they would reconsider me for admission to the Class of 2019.

I worked harder than I ever had before. I stayed focused, kept believing that it was still possible, and pushed through the uncertainty.
And it worked. I was admitted.

Looking back, that moment was pivotal. CNU ended up being a cornerstone of the person I am today.
The friends I made there, the professors I studied under, and the creative environment I was able to grow in shaped everything that followed. Without CNU, I am not sure I would have become the writer, creator, or community builder that I am now.

What is wild is that when I was applying, I had no idea how big an impact CNU would have on my life. I just knew there was something inside me pulling me toward it.
Resilience, in that moment, was about listening to that feeling, refusing to give up, and trusting that the work I was doing would open a door. And it did — a door that led to the life I was meant to live.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.cassidydyce.com/
• Instagram: @cassidy_dyce
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/cassidydyce/
• Other: Writing Black @ The House Ig: @writing_black

Image Credits

Libby Lewis
Ronnie Smith