Vanessa here, writing with tongue in cheek about Regency transportation.
News of the heroine’s abduction has made its way to the hero. With a quick prayer for strength, he yanks on his tailcoat and readies to chase after the villain and reclaim the lass. How will the hero get to his sweetheart in time? It all depends upon the hero’s fortune and location.
I was introduced to Modern Regencies, you know the ones written by after Austen, Heyer and Veryan while in college. Nothing I liked more than to unwind with a witty, Regency with everything on the line in the story after calculus.
One novel, A Proper Marriage by Debbie Raleigh is one of my favorites. I reread it each year, at least once.
What’s not to love about A Proper Marriage. First, the hero and heroine are married, to each other. Not a marriage of convenience (those are great) or gun-induced wedding from a compromise, but an arranged marriage one year in between noted war scholar, Adam Drake and the formerly free-spirit, Adele Morrow.
Here’s Adam explaining to Vicar Humbly, the man who wed the two, the problem:
Adam winced in spite of himself. “No, I made very certain before we wed that she understood I would not tolerate the scandalous behavior of her parents,” he admitted. “I made a precise list of what I expected in my bride. I even chose her wardrobe to ensure she would not be an embarrassment when we arrived in London.”
“And Addy agreed to this list?” he (Humbly) at last demanded in carefully bland tones.
Adam waved a restless hand. “What choice did she have? Her parents had managed to squander their fortune years ago and only survived in the knowledge they would receive a settlement when Addy and I wed.”
“Ah.” The Vicar nodded in a knowing manner. “Well, you should be pleased. Addy has become a most proper lady.”
“Yes, I should be delighted,” Adam agreed grimly.
“But you are not?”
Adam polished off the brandy in a single gulp. He thought of the months with Addy in his home. No, he was not bloody well delighted. No man would be delighted to possess a shadow that slipped from his grasp whenever he reached out to take hold.
“It is not pleasant to live with a woman who is clearly miserable,” he conceded with a pained grimace.
Second a smart but bored heroine:
Here’s Addy dealing with a rake.
Addy reached out to reclaim her fan. “I am sensible enough to know you are a reprehensible rake! If you wish to polish your fatal charms you should choose a more gullible victim.”
“You have it wrong,” he (Barclay, the rake) protested. “I have been felled by your beauty.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward, but before she could take him to task for his foolishness, a sudden shadow fell over her.
A familiar tingle of awareness rushed through her and slowly she turned to confront the glittering gaze of her husband.
Third, real arguments about cross-purposed souls with the richness of history, duty, and commitment that you don’t always find with unmarried couples.
He (Adam) had thoroughly ruined her evening and worse, he had wounded her pride with his blunt confession he did not trust her.
Dash it all. It had been uncomfortable enough living with Adam in a state of polite, frozen courtesy. She might have disliked guarding her every word and being abandoned for hours in this great tomb of a house, but at least she did not have to worry over sudden squabbles and sharp words that seemed to cut her very soul.
Through the vicar’s counseling, Addy and Adam manage to reconcile and even find love, with each other. I adore this book so much, I even cut a trailer for it.
So, if you are looking for a good Regency to curl up with try this old Zebra Regency Romance, A Proper Marriage.
Have you ever felt like the walls were closing in — like doors were shutting and you couldn’t figure out why?
Today’s essay is about that season. The P & P season.
Persecution… and the paranoia that follows.
If you’ve ever wondered whether you deserved the storm you were in, this one is for you.
Persecution is an odd thing.
When everything starts going wrong, I feel myself shrink. I feel extremely small. Then every slight becomes magnified. A look. A tone. An unanswered email. And suddenly we’re dangerously close to the other P word — paranoia.
Your once-hopeful persona begins to fade. You start waiting for the next blow.
As a type A person, an engineer at heart, I look for cause and effect. I try to pinpoint the moment I FAed and FOed. While I search, I double down on hope, prayer, and producing. I can be one productive fool when I feel the walls closing in.
Still, I will lie awake trying to figure out what I did to deserve this.
And for the whole of last year, I couldn’t find the culprit. Did I cross a line? I would like to know. Did I cut somebody? Did I punch somebody really, really hard? Did I steal your chair or your parking space?
No.
I didn’t take anybody’s anything. Nope. I have my own.
In our twisted parasocial world, I will wonder if I liked the wrong posts, which now give you beef.
You can see how the paranoia can ramp. Deep down, I think many of us want to feel like we deserve this punishment. If I earned it, at least there’s logic. At least there’s control.
But the painful lesson I’ve had to grapple with is this:
Other than being overly eager and overly enthusiastic, I didn’t do anything wrong. Persecution is not necessarily earned.
Somewhere in the strange karma of the cosmic universe, you were chosen. And we all want to be chosen, right? But just not like this.
Congratulations, you were chosen to have doors slammed in your face. Sometimes your hand was still on the seal — so you get that extra sting. You were chosen to lose. You were chosen to have your integrity questioned. You were chosen to decide whether you were going to grow up, go high… or sink low. If you’ve contemplated being the villain and getting revenge, put it in the comments.
Now I’ve said before — and if you’ve read Fire Sword and Sea, you know — I believe in something called holy anger. There is a righteous anger. As a woman, I was urged to hold it in. To not sin in my anger. Yet, you can be angry and still be whole.
Nonetheless, that is the struggle. How do we keep ourselves together as we wait for relief?
I won’t pretend I’ve mastered survival. I haven’t. But I can say I didn’t curse anybody out — at least not where it could be recorded. I kept my cool for the most part. And when it came time to fight the battle, I didn’t yell. I let other people stand in the gap. I brought my hurt to those who could counsel me. I found fellowship. I found sisterhood. I saw rapiers lifted to defeat an armada.
I found in real time who was on your team, my crew, and who wasn’t.
My blessed crew found the time to encourage me, and gave me grace to rise above every point of contention. The P&P season, it’s very shocking. It’s hurtful.
When you find you’re in the P&P-season, hold yourself together even when you find traitors in your midst.
Persecution shows you who’s pulling for you. You find out who will show up, and the ones who have your back, even when it costs them something.
It’s priceless the perspective I now have. And let me say this clearly: persecution is momentary. It may feel fresh, but there is an expiration date.
Despite the pain, I am grateful for the experience.
Why?
Because it has made me more appreciative of those who advocate for me. It has made me more discerning about praise and opportunity. It has made me double down on what connects me most to you.
This podcast–I do this podcast every week because it allows me to express what I’m going through — not just as an author, but as a human being. And in putting a voice to thoughts and sharing, I feel closer to you. My books may move you, yes. But when I talk about the shared experiences we are all living through — just in different forms — something deeper happens.
We bond. We may commiserate. And maybe I’ve given voice to shared pain, shared struggle.
When I started writing weekly essays, I was angry at the world. Frankly, I was pissed off. Somewhere along the way, this became therapeutic. I often write about the past. This podcast became a bridge to our shared present. It’s our bridge. And this bridge energizes every facet of my heart and mind.
Every week, I look forward to this space, to sharing a revelation. A story. Something that made me angry. Something that brought me joy. Something that might shift your perspective.
Listen to me. I know some of you are hurting. Some of you are still in the storm. I wish you comfort and safety. When you get close to the other side of through, I want you to see the sunlight breaking through the clouds.
I want you to be amazing.
I want you to have clarity.
I want you to be stronger than before.
If you’re in the middle of the dark season, ask yourself:
1. What are the facts versus your interpretation?
2. What was said?
3. What was done?
4. What evidence do I truly have?
Document everything. Emotion fades. Records protect you.
5. Is this a “you” thing or a “we” thing?
6. Have you conferred with trusted people? Not just those who validate you — those who will challenge you gently.
7. Have I accounted for my own actions or inaction?
8. What is within my control?
You cannot control other people’s actions. You can control:
Your documentation.
Your tone.
Your boundaries.
Your next move.
If you’ve done all these steps and sufficient brooding, stop and rest. Don’t spend another minute trying to figure out someone else’s motivations. It’s at best a waste of time. At worst, it becomes a list of things that keep you angry, that shift someone else’s bad attitude, poor behavior, or evil onto you.
Who cares if the persecutor is motivated by fear, competition, bias, malice, or worse? If the response is from the system, higher-ups, etc., you will not change their minds.
A few more tips:
1. Seek grounded counsel. A mentor. A therapist. A minister. Legal advice if necessary. Someone who will steady you.
2. Protect your mental and strategic position.
3. Don’t react publicly in anger.
4. Don’t overshare emotionally. I’m not saying not sharing your feelings or even asking for help in these social streets. I’m saying leave all the emojis and expletives behind.
5. Don’t isolate.
6. Self-preservation is a strategy.
Direct confrontation doesn’t always work, especially in systemic situations. If a system knows you’ve identified it, it may escalate your demise — and by demise, I mean reputation, perception, and future references.
If persecution is real and systemic, you may need an exit plan.
A graceful exit is not defeat. It’s wisdom.
I will say this with my whole chest. My P-season is over. There are big moves ahead, and I can’t wait to share them with you.
So here we are. On this journey. Some of us are on the other side, some—finding a new normal. Some—waiting for daylight. Some—waiting for a breath with no pain, I see you and wish you love and endurance.
And I am thankful, my listeners.
Thankful for the clarity. Thankful for strength. And grateful that even in persecution, there is an end and a hope for a brighter tomorrow. Just know we are writing the future together.
This week’s booklist includes titles like:
The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah — A moving WWII novel about two sisters resisting oppression and finding courage in impossible circumstances.
The Color Purple by Alice Walker — A classic of oppression and triumph, showing how relationships and community empower a woman to reclaim her life.
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood — A powerful dystopian story about identity and agency under systemic control.
If I Ruled the World by Amy DuBois Barnett — A sharp, juicy coming-of-power novel about a young Black woman navigating misogynoir, ambition, and authenticity in 1990s New York media and hip-hop while fighting to keep her soul intact.
Set across postwar Germany and the United States, this novel explores abandoned mixed-race children, chosen family, and how love and responsibility can reshape lives history tried to discard.
A sweeping historical novel that exposes pirates, sisterhood, and survival in the chaotic and diverse 17th-century (1600s) Caribbean.
This week I’m again highlighting East City Bookshop, because I forgot to post about them.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from East City Bookshop or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.
Come on, my readers, my beautiful listeners. Let’s keep everyone excited about Fire Sword and Sea.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.
Let’s keep rising and creating together. Please like, subscribe, and share the podcast. And stay connected to Write of Passage.
Thank you for listening. I want you to come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
Author Talks presents Vanessa Riley, Fire Sword and Sea: One of the best happening Lit/Bookish Scenes in Atlanta is Author Talks – Music, Crafted Cocktails, Tapas, and Great Conversation about Pirates and Resistance! Don’t miss it.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
There is a time and a season for everything.The real question is: Are you ready to move?
Right now, it’s a scary time to be a Black creative. Honestly, it’s a scary time for everybody in the arts. I’ve shared in a previous episode how the Canva bots came for me — they told me that the word slavery was political and banned in their system of tools.Banning books is all the rage. Banning concepts or ideas — stopping the writer or artist at the very beginning — is unfathomable.
Vanessa speaking at the Conyers Book Festival.
You might say, “Vanessa, AI and bots are just part of the times.” And yes, there are many great uses for AI in research and algorithmic approaches. But until we figure out how to train AI without stealing from artists and writers, we are going to continue to have a problem.
If you tell me that the season we’re in now involves AI writing novels and creating drawings and graphics to replace artists, I will encourage you to consider the following:Nothing can replace human creativity, authenticity, and zeal.Those impacted by theft or imitation must press boundaries, pursue legal actions when necessary, and most importantly — outlast the wave.Sometimes, winning is simply about longevity.
Outlasting your haters is definitely one way to gain victory.
For those who follow me, I’m Vanessa Riley. I write in three genres: historical fiction, historical romance, and mystery.
Lately, in the book world, I’ve seen so many friends — so many writers like myself who focus on history — getting hurt. Series are being cut short. Book options aren’t being picked up. Doors that were once wide open are now being slammed shut.
The reasons are many:They tell us the market is soft.They whisper there are “enough” Black books now.They say history—the kind that reveals hidden figures and rich, complicated lives—is suddenly being gutted, looted, or dismissed.
For someone like me, who loves history and is just now finding my footing in historical fiction, it’s dark. It’s absolutely terrifying.
The visual arts, films, and TV have also suffered. In January, I heard similar feedback from filmmakers.
Hollywood is still “recovering,” they say.Budgets are tighter. Risk tolerance is low.Historical pieces, they say, are too “hard to place”—too expensive, too niche.
And then—everyone gets dazzled by Ryan Coogler’sSinners, a historical piece set in the 1930s that genre-bends horror and drama.The film is a hit.
Annie and Smoke from the Movie Sinners shot by Eli Joshua.
At the time of this podcast, Sinners has grossed over $161 million and is now projected to gross between $300–400 million. A diverse audience of moviegoers—Black, White, Asian, and more—people from all walks of life are coming together to experience this masterpiece of storytelling.
Ryan Coogler, I salute you. You had a daring vision, found or created the systems and opportunities to execute it, and made magic.
Now is the time of opportunity.
We have to shake off our fears and create.We must figure out new ways to tell the stories burning in our souls.To innovate. To evolve. That is pathFinding way through the wilderness is the answer.
Sinners showed us the way—not just by being excellent in storytelling, photography, cinematography, and research—but by knowing exactly who the story was for.
Ryan and his team pushed the right buttons—the necessary buttons. The heart of the film is Black-centered storytelling: Jim Crow South, inclusivity, and vampires.
Because when you know who you’re speaking to and what you want to say, you don’t have to dilute the truth to make it palatable.
As a Black creative, I’ve often been pressured to center pain and trauma in my stories—because that is what some believe (and still desire) is what sells.
Ryan Coogler’s Sinners proves that de-escalating trauma works.It sells.Even in the scariest genres.
He took care in how the story was told.Care in how every scene was shot.Care in the research, the respect.
He cast with authenticity—from hair to skin to clothes to dialogue.He didn’t slap diversity on just for clout—the script lived it.
To succeed only by limiting our stories to an audience that believes in our humanity through our suffering is inexcusable.
We must push boundaries, push different buttons.And I believe it is our mission to find new ways to share the lessons of the past—without reducing ourselves to victims or spectacles.
And if Sinners has taught us anything, it’s this:Audiences will reward care.They will reward newness.They will reward stories told with humanity, dignity, and love.
When I first started writing, my mission was simple:Educate the world about the history of Black people across the diaspora.Show our humanity through love stories.
But missions shift with the seasons.Right now? For me—and this pen or keyboard—it’s time to move, to be more daring, to try new approaches to story.
Looking back, I know there were times I softened words, edited scenes, chose tenderness over rawness—because I wanted to make sure readers were comfortable.I wanted the message to reach as many as possible.And I don’t regret the stories I told. I’m proud of every one of them.
But the filter is gone now.And here’s the hard truth:If you still need convincing of my humanity in 2025, I say this with all respect—You probably aren’t going to get it.Keep your coins.Find your own Damascus road.You need divine intervention.
I’m not St. Peter.I’m not standing at the gate any longer, waiting to explain myself—or my people—to you.If you want my knowledge, you’re going to have to do the work yourself.
This new season? This new phase?My stories will be as unapologetic and as free as they’ve ever been.
Because I am a storyteller.And with that comes a duty:To honor my people.To carry the sagas of our ancestors.To bridge the distance from “over yonder” and back to “right here.”
Of course, I want everyone to feel welcome reading my books.I understand I live in a system I didn’t build—but I’m here, and I intend to win.
But my stories?They’re for my people.
And if you’re still listening, you are my people.I write for you.I labor for you.I see you.
I’m ready to move and adjust.And I will be your guide—to happy-ever-after, happy-for-now, or to some bigger definition of freedom and faith. What say you?
What say you?
Some books to guide you in your quest for more authentic storytelling:
“We Do This ‘Til We Free Us” by Mariame Kaba — Essays on abolition and hope, but also about how storytelling and imagination drive social change.
“The Prophets” by Robert Jones Jr. — A deeply poetic novel about Black love and resistance set during slavery but centered on love and humanity, not suffering.
“Bloodchild and Other Stories” by Octavia Butler — Speculative short stories about survival, community, and power dynamics.
“Ring Shout” by P. Djèlí Clark — A daring, genre-bending novel mixing horror, history, and Black resistance during the Jim Crow era (very much like Sinners).
“Island Queen” by Vanessa Riley — A real-life figure’s story told with dignity, richness, and depth.
You can find my notes on history and writing on my website, VanessaRiley.com.
Enjoying the vibe? Go ahead and like this episode and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
I am all a twitter, (not the recently IPO’d kind) but excited about planning a baby shower for a dear friend. As I become steeped in color choices and decorations, the need to play games or not to play games, I begin to think about childbirth or the expectation of childbirth during the Regency.
Bibs and nappy cake for a Girl -Wiki Commons
Sadly, I couldn’t find any corollaries to anything we know today as a baby shower. No cards, or nappy cakes, no diaper genies unless you count the wealthy woman’s servants.
No one seemed to plan any kind of celebration for the expectant mother. What we now call baby showers have their roots in Victorian times.
Why No Regency Celebration?
Let’s face facts. It might be a little hard to plan a tea or invite friends and family over to celebrate an event that had a 20% or greater chance of killing you. Poor hygiene, lack of knowledge of difficult pregnancies, unsanitary practitioners, bloodletting, the discouragement of using midwives (ladies versed in how save women, turn babies coming breach) etc. all played a role in the not so great outcomes for pregnant women during the Regency.
Moreover, the pressure to have a male child could be daunting. Knowing the dire need to produce an heir to protect your husband’s entailed property (and your future comfort upon the death of said husband ) had to decrease the need for pre-birth celebrations.
Boy’s diaper cake – Wiki Commons
Though Aristotle (384BC to 322BC) tried to clear things up with his theory of men determining the child’s sex, it was still easier to blame the woman for the child-rearing failings. Good thing science cleared that matter up. Just in case you are new to the world of scientific discovery, the male’s X (female) or Y (male) chromosome determines the sex.
Yet, I did find celebrations or at least acknowledgements of surviving childbirth. People would gather and offer support. They brought food to the mother. During the Renaissance and still practiced during the Regency, visitors (the gossips -Middle Ages term for women and family who gather during the birth) gave painted trays with words of encouragement for the women. Some trays were so pretty, they were hung along the walls to surround the mother during her confinement . With confinement potentially lasting up to 40 days, seeing these kind words and beautiful images had to lift the new mother’s spirits.
Painted for the Birth of Lorenzo de Medici – 1449, Wiki Commons
As baby shower details are finalized, I will be looking to add a few Regency touches. I’m sure my friend will enjoy these little sentiments to make her prenatal and postnatal time encouraging.
What are some encouraging words or gifts that you would offer to a first time mother?
“If you get… me out of this … Lord…” No, she was not supposed to bargain with God. “Please God?”
The shrub tore a little further. Only Honore’s arms and hands clung to the earth. Only two thread roots still clung to thin soil. So, apparently God did not please. -A Reluctant Courtship
We have all been there, begging God to get us out of some trouble, something horrid we wrought upon ourselves. Laurie Alice Eakes showcases a fallen woman, Honore Bainbridge, whose past mistakes make her shunned in society and threaten to steal her chance at true love.
This is the gripping tale, the concluding story of the Daughters of Bainbridge House Series, A Reluctant Courtship. The rich message that God’s forgiveness is real, even when we don’t feel it, is meshed with this suspenseful romance.
Hanging from a Cliff
When we meet Honore this time, she’s literally hanging on to a cliff, trying to save her life. The memories of her past sins wash before her eyes. A part of her heart tires of the shame, causing her to wonder if it would be easier for everyone if she just let go.
Now, Honore’s crime was heavy for the 1800’s. She’s been caught kissing two bad men, a traitor and a murder. Everyone ostracizes her, yet God still gives her a caring chaperone as a friend. God never leaves or forsakes us, even when we think He has.
No one wanted to marry Honore, any longer. If her escapades with a handsome rake during her first Season hadn’t been bad enough, getting caught kissing another gentleman in her brother-in-law’s organgery—and then that man turning out to be a murder—sent Miss Honore Bainbridge flying beyond the bounds of acceptability. -A Reluctant Courtship
Everyone has those moments of discouragement when we know we aren’t good enough. The taunts are unforgettable.
You’re not good enough. You are worthless. No good, just like your father.
Even the hero, who has questions of his own character, judges poor Honore (Pot and kettle syndrome).
“Such beauty and courage shouldn’t be connected with a morally suspect character.” -A Reluctant Courtship
Neighbors and peers judge Honore.
Not a yard away, the Devenish ladies tittered behind fans or gloved fingers.
“Little more than she deserves,” was followed by “Worst misalliance yet.” -A Reluctant Courtship
Fans a Twitter
So, she loved a few bad men. Who hasn’t? But in the 1800’s, connections in the war weary England meant everything. With her earthly protector (her father) gone, Honore has to withstand shunning and evil gossip, even at church. At one point, Honore internalizes the guilt.
I make so many mistakes I think God no longer listens to me. -A Reluctant Courtship
But Laurie Alice doesn’t leave Honore or the reader without hope.
For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God -Romans 3:23
She allows the saving grace of Jesus Christ to touch Honore.
You are not alone. God promised to never forsake us, and His promises are true.
Your willfulness does not stop God from loving you. -A Reluctant Courtship
Finally, Honore allows God’s hope to shine through her.
“I do not deserve Your help, but I am asking for it anyway. This time I am simply going to believe You are here with me.” -A Reluctant Courtship
When Honore surrenders to the fact she is forgiven by the One Person that matters, she is able to focus on doing what she does best, throwing her whole heart into saving the hero. Hopefully, she’ll live long enough to know the love of a good man.
I asked Laurie Alice, what she wants the reader to take away. Her message is clear:
No matter what you have done, no matter how many mistakes you have made, God’s love reigns supreme and He loves you regardless. Nothing is beyond redemption.
May everyone be blessed with this understanding.
For a chance to win a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift card today, answer the question below in the comment section. If you answer the question, your name will also be entered into our Regency Grand Prize giveaway in honor of the release of A Reluctant Courtship. The giveaway includes a tea cup, a package of tea, a box of chocolates and a $10 gift card (to either Amazon or Barnes and Noble).
A Reluctant Courtship
Today’s question: Have you ever made mistakes you think are beyond God’s redemption? If you can, we would be blessed to learn how the Lord worked in your life.
At the Super Bowl, it wasn’t about the score. It wasn’t the teams. It was a moment during the halftime show when Bad Bunny turned his back, leapt into the unknown, and believed—without hesitation—that someone would catch him. I don’t have the faith that. Somehow, I’d love to find it again.
Hands. Hands. Hands
Like many of you, I got ready for Super Bowl Sunday. I wasn’t particularly invested in either team—though, fine, go Seattle. Super Bowl LX, played on February 8, 2026, at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, gave us a familiar matchup: a rematch of Super Bowl XLIX between the Seattle Seahawks and the New England Patriots. The Seahawks won decisively, 29–13. But I’m not here for the game.
I’m here for the halftime show.
In a previous essay, I talked about what I half-jokingly call the Kendrick Bowl (and the Beyoncé Bowl)—those halftime performances that feel less like entertainment and more like cultural moments, collective storytelling events we prepare ourselves to receive. We tune in expecting meaning. We expect to be told something about who we are.
Bad Bunny delivered exactly that.
As the solo headliner of the Super Bowl LX halftime show, Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio made history with an almost entirely Spanish-language set—the first of its kind on this stage. The 13-minute performance was unapologetically Latin, deeply Puerto Rican, and expansively American. With guest appearances from artists like Lady Gaga, Ricky Martin, Karol G, and Cardi B, the show pulsed with energy and intention. It honored elders and entrepreneurs, community and culture, sugarcane and sweat—the histories on which this nation, and particularly the Caribbean, were built. The theme might as well have been spelled out in lights: Together We Are America.
But that’s not why I’m writing today.
I’m writing because of a single image—a still photograph taken during the performance—that I will not soon forget.
At one point, Bad Bunny turns his back to the stage and vaults into the air, committing fully to a trust fall. There is no visible harness. No safety net. Just the assumption—no, the certainty—that he will be caught. The photograph captures him midair, body arched, while dozens of hands reach up toward him. Many hands. Many skin tones. All extended in the same direction, united by purpose: we will not let you fall.
It is a breathtaking image.
Ishika Samant’s Getty photograph freezes that moment of collective trust and shared responsibility. It is not about celebrity. It is about belief. And when I saw it, I felt something click into place.
At first, I thought of 2020—the flood of performative black squares, the hollow gestures of solidarity that required nothing and risked nothing. But no, this image goes further back. Much further.
It took me to November 4, 2008.
The New York Times ran a photograph by Doug Mills of supporters of Senator Barack Obama cheering at a rally in Chicago as news broke that he had won Pennsylvania. Hands raised. Faces lit with hope. That night, as Adam Nagourney wrote, Barack Hussein Obama was elected the 44th president of the United States, “sweeping away the last racial barrier in American politics.”
Welp. That didn’t last.
Yet, the photo still exists. The image of hands raised high—reaching, open, expectant. It’s hopeful.
Hope, that’s what the Bad Bunny photograph reminded me of: that version of America, diverse and unfinished, but leaning forward together.
That moment in 2008, or 2026, seems a distant dream.
Leaders chuckle at racist cartoons. Organizations kill Americans because they dared to protect a brother or a sister. Young folks question the American dream and if they’ll be able to afford half the things their parents did. Millions of people don’t know if they will ever be able to retire, because the economy many voted for has stripped them of their dignity and security, and quietly tells us what many of us already suspected—that in the eyes of the state, you are disposable, especially if you are not part of the vaulted class chosen to run industries, sit on boards, or make lists.
I don’t like that picture of America. It’s hollow. It’s performative. It’s as empty as a black square aka 2020 on Instagram.
I want a hopeful America again. I want the shining city on a hill—not the slogan, but the promise behind it. I want to believe that yes we can find unity and forgive division.
Lately, when I talk about Fire Sword and Sea, I use the metaphor of a pirate ship as a meritocracy. Stay with me. Yes, pirates stole other people’s things, and by today’s standards that’s somewhat illegal. In the 1600s, it was disturbingly legal.
A pirate crew survived because . everyone worked toward a common goal. Picture it: Africans, Europeans, Indigenous people, people from across the Caribbean—the very nations Bad Bunny called out in his performance—thrown together with a dream to win. On that ship, you voted. You were equals. No one asked who you were or who you loved. They asked: Can you rig the sails? Can you scrub barnacles? When the fighting starts and you’ve got a rapier or a sword in your hand, can I trust you to strike the enemy and not stab me in the back?
That’s it. Contribution. Trust. Shared survival.
So when I look at that Super Bowl photograph—Bad Bunny suspended midair, many hands reaching up—I want that America again. I want the America of 2008, when people didn’t hate again, so openly or so loudly.
Oh, what a time that was.
And what we see now is how fragile those moments are—how quickly they can erode. Division waits patiently for fear, resentment, and weak thinking to give it an opening.
Division takes root. It’s loathed to let go. It would never trust and dive into outstretched hands, diverse hands, hands with color.
So I want to thank the Super Bowl. I want to thank everyone who stood up during Bad Bunny’s performance and danced, who took in the imagery of Puerto Rico and its rich history, as well as all our neighbors to the south, in the Caribbean—the Americas as a shared, complicated whole.
For a brief moment, we saw unity on that stage, and it was beautiful. I don’t know how we get back there.
Set across postwar Germany and the United States, this novel explores abandoned mixed-race children, chosen family, and how love and responsibility can reshape lives history tried to discard.
Consider purchasing Fire Sword and Sea from East City Bookshop or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.
Come on, my readers, my beautiful listeners. Let’s keep everyone excited about Fire Sword and Sea.
You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.
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Thank you for listening. I want you to come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
Author Talks presents Vanessa Riley, Fire Sword and Sea: One of the best happening Lit/Bookish Scenes in Atlanta is Author Talks – Music, Crafted Cocktails, Tapas, and Great Conversation about Pirates and Resistance! Don’t miss it.
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Last week was a weird one. The algorithms—the bots—seemed to come for me. Canva, of all places, led the charge. It made me feel like I wasn’t just wrong in opinion, but wrong in essence. As if the characters I write—rooted in history, full of breath and heart—were somehow unworthy. Handcuff me now, because it felt like I was being told it was a crime to write them at all.
Caption: Two Scaredy-Cats watching the must see movie, Sinners.
And in this current climate? That kind of doubt sticks. There’s so much anti-DEI noise. So much effort to “protect” people from truth. Heaven forbid someone learns something. Heaven forbid someone dares to be better, more moral than their ancestors.
I thought I’d shaken it off. Thought I’d moved on. I got back work on my manuscript and typed out another 6,000 words. Then came another note from Canva, gently suggesting I find another word—something less “triggering”—than “enslaved” to describe Jacquotte of the upcoming Fire Sword and Sea, who had in fact was enslaved. So I turned to friends and asked them for other ways to phrase “enslavement.” Here’s what we came up with:
* Bond servant
* Stolen laborer
* Forced job training
* People in the condition of slavery
* Held in captivity
* Kidnapped
And y’all—I laughed to keep from crying. Because all I could think of was: Lord, have mercy.
I might have sinned right then—if not in word, then in thought. I wanted to cuss out the machine. I was disappointed in technology. That’s a hard place to be for a data girl. Yet, I was more disappointed in me for even entertaining the idea of appeasing the bot—the faceless, soulless thing that some biased, flawed, or agenda driven human had created and enabled it to think it knows what’s best.
Surrendering is not how we honor truth or the stories we’re called to tell.
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Welcome to the Write of Passage family. Now, back to the podcast.
Fear is a seductive thing. It whispers: Don’t speak too loudly. Don’t shine too brightly. Don’t center stories on Black truth, Black joy, or Black progress.
And lately, I’ll admit—it’s been taking me longer to bounce back. It’s getting harder to hold on to the vision of a brighter morning just ahead when everything feels handcuffed and ready to be jailed or deported.
In the past forty-eight hours. The visuals that I allowed my eyes to see have been, stunning, heartbreaking, and even holy.
On Easter Sunday, my church goes all out for a dramatization of the Crucification: lights, drama, music, the whole thing. But this year, there stood a Black Jesus—bloodied, whipped, brutalized. It hit different, terrifyingly different. Then came Black Simon, stepping in to carry the cross, basically taking on his shoulders the oppressor’s burden given to Jesus. I’m watching it and something cracked, fracture into hundreds of pieces on the inside.
It’s been a long time since I cried in church. The first time was when I said the sinner’s prayer and I admitted that I was scared and I needed salvation.
Side note: Did you know the “Sinner’s Prayer” doesn’t actually appear anywhere in the Bible? There is no biblical record of anyone praying those exact words. It emerged around the Protestant Reformation and took shape in the early 20th century—barely 125 years ago. For context, the Civil War officially ended 160 years ago. Both of those things are not that long ago.
On Easter Monday, I saw Sinners—the Ryan Coogler film with Michael B. Jordan, Wunmi Mosaku, Hailee Steinfeld, Li Jun Li, Miles Caton, and Delroy Lindo. On a gorgeous widescreen, I watched this emotionally rich tale saturated with period details and truths. Spoilers alert: Two brothers are seen watching the sunrise, just in awe of the majesty and their freedom. Then I focused on people dancing, singing, loving.
Then comes destruction.
The movie has all types of monsters. The obvious hate-filled men of the Klan, who are hungry for blood and money. Then monsters disguised as your own kind. The evil is often invited in. He feasts of fear and death.
The violence didn’t make me jump. The gore wasn’t any worse than the makeup used at church for the crucifixion. Eventually, dread arrives. It settles in your chest. It steals all joy before the next morning can come. I found myself waiting for that other foot to fall, for when that bad was coming.
So what does this all mean? Anticipating doom or consequence can be as draining as when the threats or violence comes. We can’t surrender in advance.
It means we must guard our eyes—not to shield them from truth, but to make sure they still see beauty, even in chaos. Still see family. Still see hope.
We must guard our ears—because false praise can lull us into stillness. It can lie to us that we are safe and leave us vulnerable to brokenness. Yet we need music, sweet music, true music, ancestral rhythms. All can cut through the noise and remind us who we are, who we are striving to be.
We must remember:
This little light of mine… I’m gonna let it shine.
A light can be seen.A light reveals what’s nearest—what needs our care.A light casts shadows, warning us of what’s creeping in the distance.A light tells the truth of our circumstances. And it gives us the chance to see the true face of things lurking in the dark.
So keep your light burning. That is your protection.Keep your voice strong. That is how you inspire hope.Then revel in each new day, letting your truth-telling, joy-making, world-building self be known.
To help encourage your soul, try:
Call Us What We Carry by Amanda Gorman – Poetry that engages with history, hope, and the responsibility of bearing witness.
Sula by Toni Morrison – A meditation on Black womanhood, loyalty, and community through beautifully painful prose.
And of course, go see Sinners in the movie theater. Watch creativity and inclusiveness on the widest screen you can find. Thank me later.
The winners will be those who kept their light shining, who believed in truth. And who dared to cry out: It’s me. It’s me, oh Lord, standing in the need of prayer.
Darkness is real. We tend to invite into our life, our work, our sanctuaries.But remember dawn is also real. Dawn, I hear comes with new mercies, too. I pray we find them.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting The Book Cellar through their website and Bookshop.org You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
Help fight the bots by hitting like and continuing to share this podcast. You are essential to its growth.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe
I stepped out on my porch to a slight breeze. The air kissing my cheek had abandoned all hints of Atlanta’s signature heat. After a summer of mostly Seattle like-weather full of rain or horrid humidity, I looked up to spy rain clouds. Nothing. Only sunshine beamed overhead. I guess summer has passed. It’s autumn’s turn to color my world.
And what colors! Soon reds, yellows, oranges will surround the deep emerald greens of my evergreens.
Fall Leaves Wiki Commons
In Madeline’s Protector, I used the change to warm-coloured, cozy Autumn to contrast the hero and heroine’s chilly relationship.
If Madeline’s eyes were daggers, she’d be a widow.
“I suppose you won’t show me your hall of Hampshire sculptures.”
Her lovely jade eyes clouded, and she looked away.
He balled up his leather evening gloves. “Pray let’s start over.”
She gazed at her dainty slippers. “Why? Are you afraid to disappoint my father?”
Now that strike hit close to home. “I like to pass tests. That’s what my father impressed upon me.” Justain swallowed a deep breath. “What will it take to restore your opinion?”
She stuck her chin in the air. “To get this visit over as soon as possible.”
He peered through the window. “The leaves are starting to turn. I hope the good folks of this county take the time to admire the colours. The hillside’s striated in three shades of red. This is stunning country, not the moors of Devon, but beautiful.”
“Why are you tormenting me with a place I’ll never see?” She released a heavy sigh. “The tree roots cling to different sections of the steep ridge adding to the variety. Watch the sunset.” She pointed to the clouds. “Sometimes the sky tries to match the hues of autumn.”
Perhaps as the sun came closer to earth, it’d thaw the frost between them. “Magnificent,” he said. It was simply beautiful. “God’s paintbrush, I think you called it.”
I asked my brethren, my fellow Regency writers, what lets them know Autumn has arrived, and they were kind enough to share:
Naomi Rawlings
Trees – Wiki Commons
The first sign of autumn for me is the leaves changing. We almost always have cool
nights and warm days where we live, but it seems as though the leaves start
changing the beginning of September. Right now, half the leaves across the road
are already yellow. School starting is another good indication. In Michigan,
school doesn’t start until after Labor Day . . . right about the time I notice
the first bit of color on the trees.
Personal Note: Why does school start so early? Back in my day….
Susan Karsten
For my family, fall arrives on the heels of an interesting weather phenomenon. Almost every year, there’s a day on which we feel fall arriving. The scenario is this: we’ve had week after week of hot (80s or more) weather, then we’ll have an out of the blue cold/cool day. Sometimes the cool day has come while we are at the lake. On those occasions, we somberly ride around on our boat, feeling summer slip away and remarking on it.
Boating in Autumn Wiki Commons
For me, individually, fall arrives when I notice crunching leaves underfoot. That takes me back to the days when I walked to and from school, crunching through elm leaves. Other signs around here are the apple orchards opening their salesrooms, the Canada geese assembling at the nearby wetlands, and for my husband’s business, there’s often a flurry of activity in the real estate business around this time.
Apple Orchard – Wiki Commons
Kristy Cambron
The first sign of fall for me is not Regency
related. I admit that I love a good college football game and when my team takes the field for that first game, autumn is officially here! It’s okay to
break out the sweaters, drink apple cider, and write books where heroines walk through a fiery-skied and leaf-blown twilight! : )
Laurie Alice Eakes
Autumn is one of my favorite times of year. Only one of my books is set over the summer, to autumn time, and they, as I do, look for the way the days cool off sooner and get hot later, especially since I moved to Texas. I love the way the breeze goes from hot, to a hint of coolness. Back in Virginia, the humidity dropped and the smell of the air turned crisp. I haven’t yet noticed a difference in the fragrance to the air here (in Texas).
Kristi Ann Hunter
Happy Birthday Wiki Commons
For me, the first sign of fall is a sense of new beginning. I moved around a lot growing up so when the weather turned cold always changed, but the new start was always there.
Even though I’m out of school there is still a sense of the new year actually starting in September. Could possibly maybe have something to do with my birthday…
Do you love Autumn? Share an Autumn memory with us, then get out and enjoy the colors.
When I am reading about a heroine lost or frolicking in the woods, I love when an author surrounds me in the sights and the sounds of the wilderness. Yet, nothing can pull me out of this setting quicker than the majestic description of birds or flora… that wasn’t native to Regency England or worse not possible to be in the landscape because of the time of year.
Excuses
But Vanessa, I’m world-building. Yes, that’s nice and freaks of nature do occur, but careless research or non-research is not world-building. Alas, it shouldn’t be.
Nonetheless, Vanessa how would anyone know? A bird’s a bird and the 1800’s was a long time ago. Yes, but there are resources that can help. The best place to start is the Time’s Telescope, a magazine circulated during the Regency.
Time’s Telescope, 1817
From the Time’s Telescope a section called the Naturalist’s Diary details the weather, indigenous plantings, and of course fowls in the air.
September Birds
In Regency England, September begins the transition to autumn and with it a change in vegetation and fowl.
“How sweetly nature strikes the ravished eye Through the fine veil, with which she oft conceals her charms in part, as conscious of decay! September is, generally, accounted the finest and most settled month in the year. The mornings and evenings are cool, but possess a delightful freshness, while the middle of, the day is pleasantly warm and open.” – from the Time’s Telescope
What birds are available during the month of September, well in 1817?
“Partridges (tetrao perdix) are in great plenty at this season of the year: they are chiefly found in temperate climates, but nowhere in such abundance as in England. Partridges pair early in the spring: about the month of May, the female lays from fourteen to eighteen or twenty eggs.”
The Crested Partridge From Wiki-Commons
Partridge are a short-tailed game birds, which are part of the pheasant family. Their feathers are primarily brown in colour.
“The sea- stork’s bill (erodium maritimum), on sandy shores.”
Sea storks are long necked birds, which are part of the crane family. They are typically heavy billed, large weighty birds with long necks and legs.
Sea Storks From Wiki-Commons
“The thrush, the blackbird, and the woodlark, are now conspicuous.”
Part of the Turdidae family, thrush are plump birds that often feed on the ground. The blackbird is a black thrush and if you have five and twenty you can make a pie. The woodlark is a short-tailed bird known for its melodious songs. It frolics in open grounds such as meadows rimmed with trees.
The Woodlark Wiki-CommonsThe Thrush Wiki-Commons
The Blackbird Wiki-Commons
“The chimney or common swallow (hirundo rustica) disappears about the end of September. The congregating flocks of swallows and martins on house tops, but principally upon the towers of churches on our coast, are very beautiful and amusing in this and the succeeding month.”
Swallows and martins are also part of the passerine family. Swallows have fork-tailed feathers and martins have squarer tails.
The Swallow Wiki-CommonsMartins Wiki-Commons
“Many of the small billed birds that feed on insects disappear when the cold weather commences. The throstle, the red-wing, and the fieldfare, which migrated in March, now return; and the ring-ouzel.”
Throstle are part of the Turdidae family. The males are known for their airy melodic songs. Fieldfares are also Turdidaes. They often nest in colonies to protect themselves from predators. The male and female both feed the babies. The babies nest for a fortnight then are turned out. Can you see an author’s metaphor on this bird?
The Throstle Wiki-CommonsThe Fieldfare Wiki-Commons
Red-wing’s are blackbirds. The males are glossy black with bright red and yellow bands on their wings. The females are brown and often mistaken for sparrows. More metaphor ideas.
The Red-wing Blackbird Wiki-Commons
Closing Thoughts
This is a little primer on the birds of September. Nature was a big part of the Regency World, so I know I want to get it right. The Time’s Telescope is a great firsthand account of much more than birds. It’s also a good text on the natural surroundings of England. Many issues of the magazine are available in Google Books. When you read them, just be prepared for its folksy advice.
“All these birds feed upon berries, of which there is a plentiful supply, in our woods, during a great part of their stay. The throstle and the red-wing are delicate eating. ”
Nothing like good eats. I wonder if the author tried them in a pie?
