Memphis lives and breathes Black history. This February, We Are Memphis presents Black Legacy Lives Here—a month-long celebration of Black excellence, past, present, and future. We’re spotlighting four educators and leaders shaping the next generation.
We caught up with Victoria Johnson, a professional and creative legacy writer, who is doing amazing work with individuals as well as youth in the city to use their voices to narrate their stories as a form of healing.
WAM: Can you describe the unique work that you do and what inspired you to pursue it?
I am a professional and creative legacy writer, as well as an impact speaker. My work centers around facilitating healing writing communities and curating safe spaces—through dinners, Storytelling shows, community conversations, and more. I create spaces where language is used not just to communicate, but to heal rather than harm.For a long time, I knew the purpose and need for these creative and honest spaces, but I struggled to believe I could be the one to bring them to life. Life didn’t always make room for it, support was scarce, and I wasn’t sure how to make it happen. But one thing I’ve learned is that the gifts we carry don’t let up—they call to us, no matter how much time passes. After years of doing my own work and healing, I knew it was time to step fully into this purpose. Writing, creating, and building community are not just things I do—they are who I am. And now, I use them to support others in a way that is both natural and deeply meaningful to me.
WAM: What are some key lessons or values you hope to impart to those who engage with your work?
I hope people learn to breathe again or rediscover what it means to truly exhale—to release the weight & to set down the burdens they’ve been carrying. I hope people find the unspoken versions of themselves and greet them well. I hope that in these moments their spirits feel unburdened, unbound, and full. More than just leaving inspired, I want them to leave impacted. I always say, “Do not let your dreams die in draft mode.” I want them to walk away believing in the power of their own story, knowing that their voice matters, and that their life is meant to be fully lived.I hope they remember that their worth isn’t tied to how much they produce or how hard they work. There is just as much value in being—in being seen, heard, loved, and held exactly as they are. Their experiences, their truth, their existence means something. I want them to feel the freedom to create, to express, to take up space without questioning if they deserve to. More than anything, I want them to leave with a renewed sense of self—lighter, unafraid, and willing to embrace the life that is still unfolding before them.
WAM: What aspects of Memphis’ community or legacy have influenced your journey or mission?
When I was in college, Native Son, by Richard Wright was at the top of every required read list. I would soon realize why. It has steadily become one of my favorites. Reading this naturally caused me to invest my efforts into getting to know the author. I remember stumbling across some information that indicated he was denied access to a library card at Cossitt Library, in Memphis TN. While disheartened by this I didnt think too much about it over the years. Until two years ago, I found myself walking through the doors requesting a library card. As I read some random pieces of paper I kept repeating “ Cossitt, Cossitt Library, why does this sound so familiar?” I would ask myself until it hit me heavy-like. Here I am casually getting a library card in a space where one of the most prolific writers was denied the chance to read. While he found a way to get reading materials from Cossitt ( which continued to feed and spark his curiosity to becoming a writer / author), his skin color tried to dictate his worth at that time. We share the same skin color. We share the same desires and wants to communicate to the world through words. As speakers, authors, creators. One of us is living while one of us has passed on and left LEGACY between each page written. That day, standing in Cossitt Library, I felt the weight of history press against my shoulders. I pulled out my phone and looked up the details: In 1927, a young Richard Wright had to rely on a white co-worker’s library card to access books here, forging notes that said “Please let this Negro boy have some books.” He would carefully select his reading material from a distance, never allowed to browse the shelves himself.
Now, nearly a century later, I stood at the front desk as the librarian smiled and handed me my own card – no questions asked, no subterfuge needed. I ran my fingers across its smooth surface, thinking of Wright writing in his memoirs: “I forged my first works of fiction, writing the notes that would enable me to get books.” That simple piece of plastic in my hand represented not just access to books, but the distance we’ve traveled and the distance still to go. I found myself wandering through the stacks that day, pulling out books at random, simply because I could. I touched their spines, opened their pages, breathed in their scent – all the simple freedoms Wright had been denied. Before leaving, I checked out a book at my leisure. As the librarian scanned it, I imagined Wright’s ghost watching from the corners of this renovated space, nodding in quiet acknowledgment. His determination to read and write despite the barriers placed before him had helped pave the way for future generations of Black writers and readers. Now, every time I use my library card, I remember: I’m not just checking out books – I’m continuing a legacy of literary persistence, of turning words into weapons against injustice, of transforming pain into prose that changes hearts and minds. In the end, Wright’s legacy isn’t just in the books he wrote, but in the doors he helped open – including these library doors – for those who would follow. His story reminds us that sometimes the simplest acts, like getting a library card, carry the echo of hard-won battles and the promise of victories yet to come.
WAM: Why do you think Memphis is an important place for the work you do?
I did not grow up here, but my roots grew here. They were watered here. Some still remain, while others had to be uprooted for different reasons. Moving to Memphis felt like finally coming home.This city carries so much history, resilience, unspoken pain and undoubted joy. There is so much healing needed in this space but also so much beauty that is already showing itself proudly. So many people are longing to be cared for, to be given space, to be seen in ways that don’t require them to perform or prove their worth. Memphis is a city of storytellers, of legacy builders, of those who have fought to make something out of nothing. And I believe the work I do—creating spaces for healing, writing, and self-expression—helps nurture that legacy. Memphis is a place where voices deserve to be heard, where stories deserve to be honored, and where people deserve to be reminded that they are worthy—not just because of what they’ve endured, but because of who they are. My work belongs here because the people here deserve spaces that remind them they are not alone, their experiences matter, and they still have the power to write what comes next. My story started here, the chapters traveled, and now it is back here to tell the stories to come.
WAM: Why do you believe your work is especially important for the Black community in Memphis?
My work is especially important for the black community as it focuses on empowering Black Memphians to become the authors of their own narratives. Whether it’s helping a grandmother document her family’s journey from the Delta, guiding young writers to find their voice through poetry, or working with community elders to preserve oral histories, each project adds another vital thread to our collective tapestry. This work isn’t just about preserving the past—it’s about building bridges to the future. When a young person discovers they can write their truth, when a community member realizes their story matters, when a family’s history is documented and celebrated, we’re not just creating literature—we’re creating legacy. We’re showing future generations that their experiences are valid, their voices are powerful, and their stories deserve to be told.
In Memphis, where the echoes of struggle and triumph still resonate, this work becomes even more crucial. We’re not just writing stories—we’re reclaiming our narrative sovereignty, one word at a time. It’s about breaking generational cycles of silence, finding clarity in our stories, and speaking our truth in a way that feels real and unapologetic. Because when we own our stories, we own our power to shape what comes next. This is how we ensure that our history doesn’t just live on, but lives forward, inspiring and empowering generations to come. We are becoming the wisdom that was once down passed to us, it now runs through us. My work is also used to strengthen organizations and businesses with their internal struggles.
WAM: How do you see your work contributing to preserving or advancing Black legacy and culture?
Black legacy and culture live in our stories—our truths, our triumphs, our struggles, and the wisdom we pass down. I see my work as a way to honor and preserve that legacy by helping Black writers in Memphis and beyond reclaim their voices and document their journeys with intention. Writing is a powerful form of resistance, healing, and transformation, and through my programs, I encourage people to tell their stories as they were, but also to write the futures they want to see.
By creating a space where Black voices are nurtured, validated, and amplified, I’m contributing to a legacy of storytelling, writing, creating, and educating, that has always been central to our culture. Whether through personal narratives, letters to our ancestors, or visions of the future, we are archiving our existence in a way that ensures our stories don’t just survive—they thrive. My work isn’t just about words on a page; it’s about building a bridge between where we’ve been and where we’re going, making sure that our history is preserved and our future is written by us, for us.
WAM: What are your hopes for the future of your work and its impact on Memphis?
I envision this body of work growing into a deeper movement—one that inspires a culture of storytelling and writing , self-discovery, healing through words, and empowerment within the Black community in Memphis. I want writing to be more than just an art form; I want it to be a tool for healing, transformation, and social change. My hope is that more people will step into the power of their own narratives, using their voices to break cycles of silence, reclaim their truths, and shape the futures they deserve.
Ultimately, I hope this movement sparks a lasting ripple effect—where the stories we tell today become the foundation for the legacy we leave behind.
