August Wilson was born Frederick August Kittel Jr. on April 27, 1945, in Pittsburgh’s Hill District — a neighborhood rich in African American culture, known for its music, storytelling, and tight-knit community. His mother, Daisy Wilson, a Black cleaning woman from North Carolina, raised six children largely on her own. His father, a German immigrant baker, was mostly absent.

Wilson left high school at 15 after being accused of plagiarism by a teacher who couldn’t believe a Black student could write at his level. Rather than return, he continued his education at the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, reading history, poetry, and the work of Black writers who reflected his own experience. This act — walking away from a space that refused to see him — was his first declaration of creative independence.

When Wilson began writing plays in the 1970s, he already knew who he was writing for. As he famously put it:

“I don’t write for white people. I write about the Black experience, and white people are welcome to eavesdrop.”

That is clarity — the kind that comes from knowing your audience and refusing to dilute your truth to be more “marketable.” It’s the question I ask in my own work: Who am I really speaking to? Am I being palatable, or am I being powerful?

Wilson’s greatest achievement, The Pittsburgh Cycle, is a series of ten plays, each set in a different decade of the 20th century, chronicling the African American experience. From Gem of the Ocean (set in 1904) to Radio Golf (set in 1997), he documented eras of migration, struggle, resilience, and change. He didn’t just capture moments; he bore witness to decades.

Reading about his work made me ask…

What’s happening in my industry, market, or community right now that I need to be naming, shaping, and designing for — so the record of my work shows I wasn’t just present, I was leading?

His characters were never one-dimensional. They were complex — brave, flawed, joyful, bitter — often all at once. In Fences, Troy Maxson is a man shaped by exclusion from Major League Baseball because of the color line, and yet he repeats patterns of control in his own family. Wilson refused to flatten his characters into easy categories.

It’s a reminder that alignment includes accepting that I contain multitudes — and that the seeming contradictions in who I am make me a better guide and creator.

Despite his success — two Pulitzer Prizes, a Tony Award, and Broadway acclaim — Wilson kept returning to the Hill District. It was the ground his work stood on.

That rootedness made me consider: Where do I feel most at home in my voice? And am I letting that place guide my decisions?

Wilson didn’t build his reputation on reacting to headlines. He built a cycle of plays over decades — a body of work born from devotion, not distraction.

In my own work, I’m asking: Am I building a legacy, or am I just reacting to the noise and trying to be like everyone else?

And through it all, Wilson gave dignity and voice to characters mainstream narratives ignored — the washerwoman, the ex-convict, the dreamer with no resources but their vision. He wrote them into history without apology.

It makes me look at my own tendency to soften at times — to hold back what I really see. Am I truly helping clients if I don’t name the real issue? Can I be respectful yet firm, clear in my conviction, without collapsing into currying favor just to stay in the clique? Wilson’s work reminds me that truth-telling, done with respect, is an act of service.

From what I’ve researched and read about August Wilson, I’d call this standing in your Zone of Genius — knowing exactly who you are, who you’re here to serve, and refusing to translate your brilliance into something safer or smaller. It’s about building a body of work, not just a string of reactions. It’s the courage to speak your truth and trust that the people who need it will hear it.

Strategic Reflection Prompt

What is your equivalent of August Wilson’s Hill District — the ground, the clients and the truth you stand on without compromise — and how often are you letting that shape what you create?

Call to Action

If you’re ready to stop softening your truth, to build from your Zone of Genius without translation, and to speak from the ground you stand on, let’s talk.

Book a Clarity Conversation with me, and together we’ll uncover the audience you’re truly here to serve, the voice you’ve been holding back, and the legacy you want your work to leave.