If you don’t recognize the phrase “Sexual Chocolate,” then you might be too young or too sheltered—or simply overdue for a viewing of Coming to America. The phrase hails from a hilarious moment in this 1988 cult classic when Prince Akeem (played by Eddie Murphy) attends a church service in Queens hoping to find a “good woman.”

He does find one—but not before the audience is treated to a cringe-worthy performance by a band called Sexual Chocolate, fronted by the deluded Randy Watson (also played by Eddie Murphy in disguise). Randy sings off-key, struts like a super star, and owns the moment.

He even drops the mic to a silent crowd. Except one diehard fan leaps to his feet, clapping and shouting, “That boy is good. That boy can sing!”

It’s iconic, ridiculous, and strangely affirming. Because in a world that’s often silent—or even worse, critical—every writer, every artist needs their own version of that one fan in the crowd. Every writer needs a little Sexual Chocolate.

In today’s publishing landscape, the pressure to produce, perfect, and promote your work can be overwhelming. The road is long, the milestones are often invisible, and the validation? It’s often non-existent.

And even those at the top of their game need well wishes and love. I send some now to Ali, a real advocate who has people so pressed that find fault over ridiculous things. Ali, you are love and light. Signed, your Atlanta Hype woman.

That’s where your hype person comes in. We need a cheerleader, someone who sees your potential even when your proses are shaky, your plot is flat, your characters are still finding their rhythm. These cheerleaders shout encouragement when you feel invisible. They believe in your words—even before they’re ready for the world.

But this kind of fandom isn’t just blind praise. We have rules.

Rule #1: Be Sensitive.

A good hype person knows the difference between when a writer is ready to hear feedback and when they just need a boost. Some days are for critique; others are for comfort. Sometimes what we need most is for someone to say, “Keep going. I see you. You’ve got this.”

Rule #2: Be Strategic.

Cheering doesn’t mean enabling bad decisions. Don’t let your writer friend send out a draft that isn’t ready. Don’t let them self-sabotage by skipping the hard (but necessary) parts of the process—like working with an editor, developing a marketing plan, or cultivating industry relationships. Praise their progress, yes. But also give gentle nudges to help them remember to do the work that success requires.

Rule #3: Know Their Creative Love Language.

Every writer is fueled by different things. Some need words of affirmation. Some need gifts (like good chocolate, please and thank you). Some need a like or share of a post. Some need you telling one person or one library about their books.

Others need quality time—just someone to sit with them in the mess and say, “You’re not alone.”

The truth is, even the strongest voices waver. Even the most confident writers have moments of doubt. That’s why it’s more important than ever to be a person in someone else’s corner. Check in on your writer friends. Call up the creatives. Remind them they’re not crazy for chasing the dream, battling blank pages, or daring to tell a story that hasn’t been told before.

So today, be someone’s fan. No matter how off-key they feel, your belief in them might be the thing that gets them through.

Now say it with me: That writer can write.

Some books to help us be better encouragers are:

Keep Moving by Maggie Smith it’s

a collection of affirmations and reflections that feel like encouragement from a friend.

Untamed by Glennon Doyle is especially for women creatives, teaching how to step into your power—and to surround yourself with people who cheer for you, the fully realized version of yourself.

The Light We Carry by Michelle Obama is not just for writers but this beautiful meditation offers hope and helps us navigating tough seasons.

This week, I’m highlighting Kindred Stories through their website and Bookshop.org

Help me build momentum for Fire Sword and Sea—spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about female pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers large and small who have set up preorder.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

You can guess my love language? 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

Originally posted 2025-06-17 13:10:00.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire! ” On the playground we used to yell this at someone who did something dishonest. We were in their faces. We demanded better.

Somewhere along the way, that simple standard faded. Now, lies don’t get called out—they get likes.

Scrolling yesterday on Twitter, and I saw a tweet about A$AP Rocky cheating on Rihanna—that thing was completely false, yet it spread like melting butter on warm toast.

Saw bits of a speech claiming to have decimated Iran’s capabilities only to have two of our airplanes shot down. I think someone was lying. Politicians bend the truth, put our troops in harm’s way and get mad when they are fact checked by bombed wreckage.

Then there’s the lies we’re all guilty of— picking up pictures that look so polished that they barely resemble reality.

It makes me stop and ask: whatever happened to the truth? Does it exist? Has it been trampled on these social streets and stomped on, crushed into the pavement like dust beneath our feet?

According to Statistica, internet users around the globe average 6 hours and 38 minutes of being online daily. We, here in the United States, average around 10. Imagine the amount of curated illusions, we’ve soaked up. Edited photos, staged luxury trips, and even fake relationships have become some kind of digital currency.

And with AI tools, bots, and filters, it’s never been easier to lie. Anyone can build a perfect life or post an outrageous Am I the A*****e Tweet, something so patently false but meant for catching casually, scrolling eyeballs.

And when we see digital attention, those “likes” appear to translate into status, attention, and brand deals, the temptation to lie grows stronger.

But what does that do to our souls?

At first, it seems harmless. A little extra filter here. A small exaggeration there. But over time, these little distortions pile up. Truth shouldn’t be flexible. Authenticity should never be optional.

And yet, we now kinda expect it.

When lies are constant, they stop shocking us—and that might be the most dangerous part how easily we now accept this reality.

That’s a deep cost. We compare our real lives to someone else’s fabricated one, and feel like we’re falling short. We measure our accomplishments against illusions.

Then some of us feel the tug, the draw to keep up. How can we ever compete with lies.

It amazes me what we are now willing to accept as normal. Dishonesty has become normalized. We see it in headlines and in speeches.

Lies which would’ve gotten me kicked off the playground or grounded at home are now laughed at as everyday conversations.

The line between truth and fiction keeps blurring, until it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. And yet, we all know—deep down—that our values are being lost.

I want to go back to a time—real or imagined—when integrity mattered. When being a “good man” or a “good woman” meant something solid. When your word carried weight. When truth wasn’t negotiable, even when it was inconvenient.

Integrity is more than just telling the truth—it’s about who you are when no one is watching. It’s about choosing honesty even when a lie would be easier, faster, or more rewarding. It’s about building a life that doesn’t need filters to look meaningful.

The internet may reward illusion, but real life should still depend on truth. I want to trust in relationships, the credibility of our leaders, and see respect in our communities. None of this exists without honesty. Once trust is broken, it’s very far hard to rebuild any reputation crafted online.

So maybe it’s time to bring back not just “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” but the will to challenge ourselves and others back to being real.

In a world full of curated lies, the truth should be the one thing that binds us together, the one thing that doesn’t need editing.

Speaking of Liars – How about murderous liars, today, is the release of the audiobook for Murder in Berkeley Square. Get cozy, as our intrepid Lady Worthing is snowed in with murderers. You know some bodies.

Need More Liars?

Let’s not forget the our ladies who have to fib about their identities. Female pirates in disguise. Have you gotten a copy of Fire Sword and Sea—the audio is amazing. And come out to see me April 11th, Come to Conyers Book Festival. April 12th, meet Michigan at the Detroit Public Library. All my friends and General Motors buddies come on out. I am not lying when I say, I want to see you.

This week’s book list all lies:

The Death of Truth, Notes on Falsehood in the Age of Trump

by Michiko Kakutani Examines how political rhetoric, media, and culture have eroded respect for facts.

Algorithms of Oppression, How Search Engines Reinforce Racism by Safiya Umoja Noble Reveals how search engines and digital platforms perpetuate bias and misinformation.

The Boyfriend Project by Farrah Rochon Follows a woman rebuilding her life after a viral cheating scandal.

Need more liars?

A Deal at Dawn coming June 31, 2026 – The Duke of Torrance and Lady Hampton have to find new spouses, and definitely not each other, not again.

Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea or preorder A Deal at Dawn (Lies are getting exposed in that one) from The Book Worm Bookstore or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in the trenches with me.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.

Enjoying these essays? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.

Thank you for being here. I want you to 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

Whenever I finish writing a manuscript, there’s always this unexpected wave of sadness that hits me. It shouldn’t be unexpected. This is like my 27th or 28th book.

But yes. You heard me right—sadness.

Because now I’m done with these characters.

Characters I’ve lived with for three, sometimes four months. Characters whose voices echoed in my head, who made me laugh, who made me cry, and made me question everything. And once I’ve typed “The End,” there’s a sudden stillness. And in the silence, creep doubts:

“Could I’ve done this better?”

“What if I’d added one more scene?”

“Did I do them justice?”

But here’s the truth—you need to let it sit.

You need space. You need time.

You need to send it off to your editor, beta reader, or mother, and let someone else hold the story for a while, because you’ve been holding it close for too long. And when it comes back—marked with notes, questions, maybe even a few praises—you’ll be ready. You’ll have distance. And perspective to guide you.

Still… I get a little sad. Because I’ve grown attached.

My brain still wants to write more scenes, dream up alternate endings, give side characters more airtime. But the book is done when it’s done. There’s no need to stretch a moment or linger more than necessary.

⸻

With A Deal at Dawn, I’ve wrapped up the Betting Against the Duke series.

It’s been a journey.

• A Gamble at Sunset was Georgina’s story—a fake courtship that turned into something real, when she found her voice.

• A Wager at Midnight followed Scarlet, a woman fighting for public health alongside a handsome doctor and the complicated Duke we come to love.

• But A Deal at Dawn… this one’s different.

It’s a second chance romance, yes—but one that deals with what happens when forgiveness feels impossible. When tomorrow isn’t promised. It asks: what does happily ever after look like when you’re living with chronic, debilitating illness?

Maybe that’s why this book lingered. Because it’s heavy. It’s real with my trademark foolishness thrown in.

I want to be respectful of those finding themselves in this position. I want to tell a story that isn’t often told in historical romance. A story about two people—Jahleel and Katherine—who’ve made serious, tragic mistakes. Who are struggling. And yet… still worthy of love.

It was hard to write.

But I think you’re going to feel every bit of it.

⸻

Now that the manuscript is done, I ask myself:

What comes next?

The summer months are my time to dig into the “wish list” projects. Those ideas that won’t let go. Stories that whisper in the back of my mind. The ones I dream about while I’m supposed to be sleeping. Between conferences, revisions, and promo—it’s my time to play again.

But also… it’s hard not to look around at the world and feel the weight of everything. We’re pretty cooked.

The news? Bleak.

Protests are erupting. People suffering from natural disasters are being ignored. Prices rise. Patience runs low.

It’s like we’re all trapped in satan’s pressure cooker. I don’t want be chopped steak. I want off the menu. Please rewind the clock to a time when we were all filet mignon—delectable, tender by nature, and expensive by choice.

But I watched a reel the other day—just a young woman speaking truth.

She said:

“If our ancestors survived war, enslavement, displacement, disease…

If they survived laws written to break their spirits—

Then so can we.”

And she’s right. We have survived darker days.

So I have faith that we’re going to get our acts together.

That somehow, everything will shake out.

That it’s going to be okay again.

So take a deep breath with me—

Everything is going to be all right.

⸻

But in the meantime, preserve your mental health.

Hold close the things and people you cherish.

And let yourself rest. You’ve done a lot.

You are doing a lot.

And then—when you’re ready—start asking:

What’s next?

What project is going to consume you for the next three or four months?

Which story or idea wakes you wake up early?

What is it that keeps tugging at your thoughts like a child in want of attention. It needs nurturing.

It needs your love to be poured in to it. lt cries out for your energy, and clutches at your heart until it’s finally complete.

That’s where I’m headed.

That’s what I’m looking for right now.

Even while revising, promoting, preparing for launch days—I’m dreaming of that next passion.

And speaking of what’s next—I’ve been talking a lot about Fire Sword and Sea. We’re getting closer to a cover reveal, and I can’t wait for you to see how that story’s shaped up . It’s going to be a wild ride.

⸻

So, I’ll leave you with this:

Don’t give up.

Find that passion.

Let it move you, stretch you, heal you.

And when it shows up? Let it consume you—in the best possible ways.

Books to help us let go are:

Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life by Dani Shapiro. It’s a deeply personal meditation on writing, grief, self-doubt, and creative renewal.

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. This is a classic that embraces imperfection, persistence, and yes, the sadness and relief of finishing a project.

Ordinary Notes by Christina Sharpe is not a traditional writing craft book, but it’s deeply reflective, exploring memory, loss, Black life, and the power of language. It’s perfect for writers processing the emotional weight of finishing something.

This week, I’m highlighting Detroit Book City through their website and Bookshop.org

Help me build momentum for Fire Sword and Sea—spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about female pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026. The link on my website shows retailers large and small who have set up preorder.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

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

Originally posted 2025-06-10 13:10:00.

Time is spinning. Faster than truth. Faster than publishing. Faster than we can think.

Half the workforce is going gig—but writers? We were the prototype.

Now AI wants in, the rules are changing, and the question isn’t can you write…

It’s can you survive the revolution?

Create. Deliver. Disappear?

Time keeps spinning.

Lately? It feels like it’s whirling faster than any of us can keep up with.

I saw an article last week—data pulled from Statista and reported by Fast Company—that said by 2027, 86.5 million people in the United States will be freelancing, That’s over half the workforce.

Half.

Half of American workers won’t have a steady paycheck or dedicated pension. Half will be finishing one job while waiting and watching for the next.

Half will be part of what they call the “gig economy” . But as I look around. The gig isn’t just coming. It’s here.

As I chat with friends, I think we can commiserate. We are the original gig workers.

We write a thing—out of nothing but imagination, research, and discipline—and then we send it out into the world. Sometimes directly to readers. Sometimes to agents who sell it to publishers.

No matter the distribution, at the core, it’s the same model:

Create. Deliver. Hope it sells. Do it again.

Sound familiar?

Nonetheless, something feels different right now.

Time itself feels different.

It’s March 31st, and I swear January was just yesterday.

I was hawking Fire Sword and Sea- and folks don’t forget about it. I need your bookclubs to pick it up and discuss. We still need revolution.

The air of oppression is the only thing that’s not speeding up. Anxiety has us constantly scrolling, looking for endless updates, the noise—wars, prices rising and Druski sketches. People are stockpiling water. And everyone’s trying to figure out is it Ai or truth? Where do we get news from. Substack? YouTube? TikTok? If it’s IG how do you fit all in 60-second posts?

Everything is whirling, spinning faster.

And layered on top of that acceleration is AI.

What was supposed to be a technological revolution.

With Hachette pulling the novel Shy Girl from publication because of AI editing…

and New York Times parting ways with a Gig Book Reviewer —who used AI to help write a review that inadvertently borrowed elements of a Guardian review of “Watching Over Her” by Jean-Baptiste Andrea.

The AI revolution is feeling a little French, as in the French Revolution. It’s chaos with forces pushing to AI – I’m looking at you Grammarly and Microsoft Copilot, And other forces trying to shame you for em dash usage— it’s chaos.

Authors, like many other Gig workers are frightened.

Let’s just say it plainly.

Many of us have had our work scraped, borrowed, absorbed into systems we never consented to. And while companies like Anthropic have at least begun conversations around accountability and repair, the larger landscape still feels unsettled.

Unclear.

And very unstable.

But—life keeps moving.

So here we are, at the end of the first quarter, and I have to ask you—and myself:

Have you accomplished what you thought you would this year?

I’m sitting here thinking about everything that’s happened already with Fire Sword and Sea, how many of you made sure it wasn’t drowned out. They’re are more events happening. April 11th, Come to Conyers Book Festival. April 12th, meet Michigan at the Detroit Public Library. All my friends and GM buddies come on out.

You will never know how good it feels when readers show up.

There is joy in that.

Real joy.

And I’m grateful.

Truly.

But I would be lying if I said there wasn’t also fear, that the gig I love keeps evolving.

We are living in a time where storytelling itself feels contested.

There is pressure on what stories get told.

Pressure on whose histories are preserved.

Pressure on whose voices are amplified—or silenced.

And publishing, like every other industry, is trying to find its footing in shifting political, cultural, and economic ground.

Which means writers—especially emerging writers—are asking:

Is there space for me?

Will my story be welcomed?

Or will it be turned away before it ever has a chance to live?

I think about the next generation a lot.

Are they being nourished?

Are they being encouraged?

Or are they being pushed out by chaos, by confusion, and systems that don’t yet know how to hold onto them?

These stories don’t just disappear.

They get lost. And when they get lost, we lose pieces of ourselves.

So what does this all mean?

We’re back to where we started.

With the gig. And a marketplace that’s getting more crowded as we all become gig workers.

Writing has always been uncertain.

Always.

There has never been a guarantee that the next book sells. That the next contract comes. Or that markets will hold.

This isn’t new.

It’s intensified.

So what happens if the book gig dries up?

That’s a real fear I’ve been sitting with.

Luckily, I’ve done indie publishing and tech startups. I know what it means to build something from nothing. To pivot.

I’m working on my next book with my eyes on other lanes—screenwriting, content creation, serialized storytelling, digital platforms—those are new gigs that haven’t been fully explored.

But all this writing, book adjacent gigs require the same things:

Adaptability.

Speed.

Clarity.

And the AI that was supposed to save time, is out there with a wrecking ball.

All the noise is exhausting.

And I just want to write.

To sit with a story. To shape it. To honor it.

Not chase algorithms or decode platforms or constantly reposition myself in the marketplace.

To keep calm and carry on, I:

Find time for devotion.

Find time to learn something new.

Research questions and time periods and people that touch my heart.

I’m not so good at limiting scrolling.

But when I do I engage, I find trusted content creators.

And friends, I’m not bereft. Each day, something good always happens.

A reader posts.

A message comes through.

Someone is smiling, holding one of my books—or a book by one of my peers—talking about how it made them feel seen, understood, entertained, transformed.

And in that moment, I am the luckiest gig worker in the world.

This week’s book list is all about the hustle and the AI times.

Gigged – Sarah Kessler – A clear look at what gig work actually means—freedom vs. instability.

Sister Outsider – Audre Lorde – Why voice, truth, and storytelling are always political.

One and Done by Frederick Smith – One prime target for gig work, a consultant, and a university administrator try to find that forever thing, but might end up one and done.

And some Preorders:

Writer in Residence by Rhonda McKnight – A blocked writer retreats to the Lowcountry to reclaim her voice—and rewrite her future.

A Deal at Dawn coming June 31, 2026 – The Duke of Torrance and Lady Hampton have to find new spouses, and definitely not each other, not again.

Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea from Baldwin Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in the trenches with me.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.

Enjoying these essays? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.” It’s time to getting ready to write the next book, I’d love to take you behind the scenes and maybe you’ll write one too. Keep listening.

Thank you for listening. I want you to 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

Have you ever not known how empty you were—until a weekend of feasting showed you just how hungry you really are?

That was me, this weekend. I spent it in the company of 1,500 readers and fellow authors at the Black Romance Book Fest, and I left with my heart and spirit overflowing. Now, you might say, “Vanessa, I get your newsletter. I follow you on Instagram and Threads. I see the pictures. You go to a lot of events.” And yes, that’s true. I do. I’m the type who soaks everything in—the people, the place, the energy, the reason we gather.

But this? This was different.

When you’re marginalized, stepping into spaces where you’re one of only a handful can be daunting. I still remember sitting in a ballroom at an RWA conference, surrounded by people who wouldn’t meet my gaze—blue eyes turning away, avoiding eye contact as though acknowledgment might cost them something. In those moments, I’ve wished for a sign that read: Conversation is free. I don’t bite.

And then back in my hotel room, I’d recite poet Gwendolyn Brooks’s work, To Black Women. She begins with:

“Sisters,where there is cold silenceno hallelujahs, no hurrahs at all, no handshakes,no neon red or blue, no smiling faces prevail.”

It’s as if Gwendolyn herself had walked the conference floors with me. You learn to prepare yourself, to build armor against the lack of hurrahs, the absence of handshakes. You remind yourself that rejection isn’t always personal—people read what they relate to. Unless they choose to diversify, most gravitate toward characters who look like them or have shared lived experience. Unless, of course, if we’re talking werewolves or vampires—those stories get an all-access pass, while Black, brown, or queer stories are often left outside the gates.

And then there was this weekend.

At Black Romance Book Fest, no one turned away. People smiled. They hugged. They talked to everyone.

You heard Nice boots, cute T-shirt, Girl!!! those nails, and cool—a pirate costume, etc.

The halls were crowded with people, laughter, and cheer. Hallelujahs rang out online buddies met in real life. Hurrahs echoed down halls. It was a beautiful thing—to feel welcomed and seen in a space filled with so many faces who wanted to get you. There was a collective joy, an ease in being present, that’s hard to put into words, but you feel it. It vibrates across your skin and sinks into your soul.

The breadth of representation moved me. Every genre and subgenre had a seat at the table—fantasy, paranormal, historical, contemporary, romantic suspense. I remember chatting with a fantasy author who was stunned, and delighted, to see how many Black readers were there for fantasy and speculative fiction. No genre was out of bounds. Everything—every moment—felt welcoming and grounded in sisterhood and solidarity.

Of course, no event with 1,500 people and limited elevators can escape a little drama. But that’s every conference. I’ve experienced worse. I remember once, dressed in full Regency garb for a costume party, being stopped at the door because someone assumed—that I was in the wrong place. Apparently, I didn’t look like the kind of person who belonged in a Regency gown. That’s the kind of foolishness many of us with Black faces in literary spaces are familiar with. And unfortunately, it still happens, it just looks different—lack of support, lack of proper editing and marketing. Or simply turning the other way at a book signing. But that’s why I pour so deeply into my people, if you’ve made it this far, you are my people, but I especially want to bless the Black sisters who’ve supported me across every step of my career.

They honor that I write something different. They honor everyone who does. They uplift the wide spectrum of Black storytelling—because at the core of it all is love: love of beauty, love of self, love of each other. And that love creates room for fantasy, horror, sci-fi, thrillers, historicals—genres long denied to us but reclaimed through our voices, our pens, and our varying visions.

Gwendolyn Brooks ends her poem with these lines of quiet hope:

“But there remain large countries in your eyes.Shrewd sun.The civil balance.The listening secrets.And you create and train your flowers still.”

This weekend helped me remember my own gardens. That I can conquer large territories or conferences. Black Romance Book Fest refreshed my soul. It restored my balance. It reminded me that I’m still called to create and train my flowers. That even in the face of rejection or erasure, there are places for my stories—and yours.

To my fellow authors: you’re not crazy. Your readers are out there. They are waiting, hungry for what only you can bring. And they’ll be (mostly) patient while you take the time you need to grow and train your flowers.

Because they believe in the bloom that’s coming. And so do I.

Books to help us to grow and train our minds are:

To Black Women by Gwendolyn Brooks, it can be found in the public domain, but

A Street in Bronzeville by Gwendolyn Brooks is available. It’s her debut collection. It that features poems of everyday life with dignity, tenderness, and piercing realism.

For Read Caribbean Month I recommend,

How to Say Babylon by Safiya SinclairA searing memoir about a Rastafarian girl finding her voice against a backdrop of patriarchy.

And lastly, I am asking for your support for Fire Sword and Sea—spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about female pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting Joseph-Beth Booksellers 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.

If you believe like me that stories matter—please like, share, and hit subscribe to Write of Passage.

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

Originally posted 2025-06-03 13:10:00.

journal they could find.

Vanessa, that sounds odd.

Hear me out.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for yourself is something small that will nurture your soul.

Give yourself something beautiful to focus on. In a world that feels chaotic, overwhelming, even war-torn—surviving is learning how to vibe.

And you vibe by writing or singing or thinking or journaling.

Let me have a few minutes. Let’s vibe together.

We are on the verge of something—call it world war three, call it chaos, call it the moment before everything shifts.

In the middle of it all—TSA lines wrap around terminals, travel anxiety hums the background, people are forced to work with no pay. I could go on about how every headline is filled with hostilities. They escalate hourly.

I’ve made the practical decision to vibe, to be above the moment rather than in it.

Vanessa, what does that mean?

I’m stocking up on the essentials:

Water.

Toiletries.

And goodwill.

Since the world feels unstable, the least I can do is stabilize my corner of it.

But how do you reset when gas prices feel like they’re climbing without end? When groceries—something as basic as beef—begins being priced like silver?

When the weather can’t decide what season it belongs to, and you’re running both the heat and the air conditioning in the same week? You give up. Nothing, absolutely nothing is under our control.

I’m not telling you anything new. But I am sharing with you my survival rules 101:

First, protect your peace. The crazy train’s not stopping. There’s no switch we can flip to slow things down. It has to run it’s course and teach hard, painful lessons.

And it’s so difficult when the people we love—especially those in uniform—will be called into harm’s way.

So what do we do?

This weekend, I found part of the answer.

I joined the Tanya Time Book Club and met a room filled with readers and vibed with food, fashion, friendships and books.

These readers were engaged, joyful, present.

Beautiful women. Supportive, diligent men.

These were people who chose, intentionally, to gather.

This was nourishment, to be with bookish people.

I saw laughter, felt the collective breath release and reveled in this moment: we are safe. We are together.

The vibe struck me:

We need this. All of us.

I’m tired of watching chaos. Tired of those who thrive on fear winning. I’m deeply disappointed in those who profit from division.

But as I said, there’s no stopping the crazy train. Our leadership has lied and failed us.

So yes—we have to buckle up.

Crazy has the keys and we’re in the back of station wagon.

Back to those practical steps:

Stay hydrated.

Stock up—little by little on essentials:

Water. Staples. Medicines. These things disappear first when systems get strained.

And then—just as importantly—feed your mind.

Escape, escape into a book.

Because stories are more than entertainment.

They are a refuge. They are resistance. They are hope.

If you crave manageable chaos with a side of humor—let me offer you A Deal at Dawn, releasing June 30, 2026.

This is Katherine Wilcox, Lady Hampton’s story.

This stubborn woman has spent her life believing that secrecy equals safety.

It’s not. It’s betrayal.

This story is packed with a secret baby, hurt-comfort, and herbs.

And my dear girl is ready to walk over hot coals to make things right.

And opposite her—Jahleel Charles, the Duke of Torrance.

The master chess player is a man shaped by legacy—a Black Russian princess for a mother, an English duke for a father—and now faces a crisis that could take everything from him.

His health.

His independence.

His future. His one chance to be a father.

So the question becomes:

What does forgiveness look like when trust has been shattered?

What does redemption cost?

And what happens when the child—once hidden—has grown old enough to understand that she’s been lied to all her life?

Will Katherine make amends?

Or will she give up? Or will time run out?

Yes, we need more escape. I still do suggest to picking up Fire, Sword, and Sea. These pirates fight back. We can learn something.

So let me leave you with this.

Please take time to care for yourself.

If you need to disconnect from the noise—do it.

If the news feels like too much—step away.

Find voices you trust. Platforms that inform without overwhelming.

Guard your home front.

Prepare wisely.

And don’t underestimate the power of small joys.

Watch something that makes you laugh.

Call someone who reminds you who you are.

Go hang with a book club.

And above everything, read.

Let a story carry you somewhere safe and full of laughs even if it’s just for a while.

And be prayerful.

Pray for leadership with backbone.

Pray for those called into service.

Pray for wisdom and mercy and endurance.

Pray for creators.

Creators keep creating.

We need you.

We need the stories written.

Art painted.

Words spoken, rhymed, sung, or acted.

In times like these, art is not a luxury.

It’s vibe to survival.

This week’s book list includes:

Legendborn by Tracy Deonn

Secret societies, grief, legacy, power. Feels like stepping into a world where truth fights back.

The Neighbor Favor by Kristina Forest

Soft, warm, affirming Black love story. A gentle reset kind of read.

And a little nonfiction vibe:

Rest Is Resistance by Tricia Hersey

Think of rest as rebellion.

Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea or preorder A Deal at Dawn from Baldwin Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.

Please keep spreading the word. Fire Sword and Sea is the vicarious adventure you didn’t know you needed and a guide to resistance, not exactly rest.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.

Enjoying these essays? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.” It’s time to getting ready to write the next book, I’d love to take you behind the scenes and maybe you’ll write one too. Keep listening.

Thank you for listening. I want you to come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

Conyers, GA and Detroit, Michigan – Both Cities are on my April tour schedule. If you live near, I want to see you. Check my website for updates.

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

n 2020, America and the world were spiraling. COVID. COVID shutdowns, high COVID deaths, and the divisive uproar over wearing masks frayed nerves and divided communities. Then, in the middle of the chaos, we witnessed the killing of a man.

George Floyd, a man who’d run afoul of the law in the past, was approached by police under the false suspicion of using a counterfeit $20 bill.

At 8:20 p.m. on May 25, 2020, outside Cup Foods in Minneapolis, Officers Tou Thao, J. Alexander Kueng, and Thomas Lane encountered George. Kueng and Lane approached first, with blue lights twirling—maybe even a siren. George was visibly distressed and repeatedly said, “Please don’t shoot me,” referencing past traumatic experiences with the police.

At 8:21, officers attempted to place him in a squad car. George, unwisely, resisted, expressing intense anxiety and claustrophobia. “I’m not a bad guy… I’m scared, man,” he said.

By 8:25, Officer Derek Chauvin arrived. George was dragged out of the squad car and forced to the ground. Chauvin then placed his knee on George’s neck.

George was already handcuffed. Already on the ground. Already submissive. But Chauvin kept his knee there, applying his full weight to George’s neck.

Kneeling is supposed to be an act of humility—of reverence, of supplication, a gesture one might use to beg God for mercy.

But Chauvin wasn’t begging God. No, it was George who begged for his life. He cried out in search of humanity—for his humanity. He said more than 20 times: “I can’t breathe.”

Still, Chauvin didn’t move. George then cried out for his mother: “Mama, I’m about to die.”

A grown man, pleading for a breath, for his mother. Yet Chauvin kept kneeling, confident that no one would care about this Black man. To some, a man with a record deserves no second chance. So Chauvin kept kneeling, submitting not to justice but to cruelty—for 9 minutes and 29 seconds—until George Floyd died.

This moment shattered the stillness of a world already shaken. For a brief period, it seemed like nearly everyone agreed: This was wrong. This was murder.

I vividly remember the black squares on Instagram. The companies racing to fire employees who lied on peaceful protestors or weaponized stereotypes to suggest somehow George deserved this.

Companies finally acknowledged what many of us had known for years: that they had a diversity and inclusion problem. They made promises.

Penguin Random House pledged to increase diverse representation in its workforce and publish more books by Black authors and authors of color.

HarperCollins promised to amplify underrepresented voices in acquisitions, create fellowships, and increase donations to racial justice causes.

Simon & Schuster announced a new imprint for social justice and pledged to acquire more BIPOC authors. They donated to We Need Diverse Books and Black Lives Matter.

Macmillan acknowledged the lack of representation in its publishing and staff. They committed to more inclusive hiring, employee training, and outreach to BIPOC writers.

Hachette created a Diversity & Inclusion Council and mentorship programs for BIPOC employees. They donated to civil rights organizations and promised to publish more Black and Brown voices.

It wasn’t just publishing jumping to be counted in the righteous number. Target, Microsoft, Apple—major corporations pledged millions to diversity initiatives and underserved communities.

But here we are, just five years later.

Reports from The Washington Post, Reuters, and business analysts show a corporate backslide. Hachette has made notable progress in BIPOC hiring and acquisitions. But others—Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, and Macmillan—have not provided updated public reports on their commitments. There’s a lack of transparency.

And when BIPOC authors speak up about their experiences with these opaque publishers—about the lack of marketing, the minimal support at launch, the inadequate investments in advertisements—it becomes clear that many of those 2020 commitments were performative. Empty, breathless gestures.

The biggest offender? We all know—Target. After loudly promoting their DEI programs, they rolled them back—loudly and publicly. And sales have significantly declined. I doubt they’ll ever fully regain the trust of the loyal customers they betrayed.

There’s been talk that Target’s retreat has caused some Black authors to miss major bestseller lists. That’s not the full story. The truth is: momentum makes the difference. Local bookstore buys matter count just as much—often more.

Don’t get me wrong—I love walking into a big store and seeing my book face-out on the shelf. I’m deeply grateful to every bookseller, clerk, and sales rep who’s done that for any of my titles.

But let’s be honest: many Black and BIPOC authors lack consistent support from publishers. A publisher can create magic. They can generate momentum—or they can smother it. And I’ve wondered, more than once, if some of these acquisitions with no follow-through are just another version of the black Instagram squares. A performance. “Look, Mama—we did something.” But then the cover’s bad, the e-book or audio launch is botched, and the book disappears, drowning in wrong or limited search results.

So I ask: Did some publishers in 2020 merely shift their knee slightly off the necks of Black writers—just enough to say they weren’t actively killing careers?

George Floyd didn’t deserve to die. He was a man. A father. A person with a past—but one who had a future, until it was stolen.

I use George’s first name throughout this essay because this is personal. I want you to remember how it felt. You saw the video. As a Black woman, that could have been my husband. One of my brothers, my uncles, or my beloved nephews.

I’m not going to lie—my heart still races when I see flashing blue lights. I don’t want to be Sandra Bland. Or Breonna Taylor. I have books to write, stories to tell, a family that I need to be here for. Yet, unless you sit beside me, you’ll never hear the sound I make—the soft, involuntary gasp of relief—when a patrol car passes and doesn’t pull me over.

That breath I’ve been holding finally escapes. And in that moment, I relearn how to breathe.

Books to help us process what happened and where we find ourselves:

His Name Is George Floyd by Robert Samuels & Toluse Olorunnipa is the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography that details Floyd’s life and the systemic racism that shaped it.

Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? by Beverly Daniel Tatum – Examines racial identity development and institutional bias, including in schools and publishing.

Well-Read Black Girl edited by Glory Edim – Celebrates Black women writers and the importance of being seen in literature.

Help me build momentum for Fire Sword and Sea—spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about female pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting The Dock Bookshop 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.

If you believe like me that stories matter—tap like, share with a friend, and hit subscribe to Write of Passage.

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

Originally posted 2025-05-27 13:10:00.

My husband, a retired military man, doesn’t talk much about his service.But when he does, he’s careful—measured—about the details and the conflicts he may have witnessed.

I did get him to share a little about evacuating citizens during Hurricane Katrina.

But then (Saturday) I got a call while I was on the road in Baltimore.

A woman who had been his office mate…a navigator who became a pilot…someone he once gave a check ride to…

She had a beautiful laugh—the kind that filled a room.Always encouraging. Always steady.

She died this weekend.

She—and her crew—became casualties of a U.S. war.

I just came back from a quick dash to Baltimore.I spent time in a beautiful bookstore, wandered through a wonderful library system, and got to greet Maryland readers—people who love stories the way I do.

I brought work with me.My next novel is brewing.

But I didn’t touch it.

Instead, I let myself be wrecked by Kin by Tayari Jones.Because I needed escape.Not distraction—escape. The kind that reminds you why stories matter when the real world feels like it’s unraveling.

Right now, I’m living in a dichotomy.

On one side, there’s the book world—my world.Deadlines. Promotion. Strategy. The constant push to get our stories into as many hands as possible.

On the other side… there’s everything else.

Every time I leave my house, gas costs more. It has jumped from $2.65 to nearly $3.90.Every headline feels heavier than the last.

And now, we’re in a war I didn’t want—a war I didn’t vote for.

Let me be clear—I support the troops. Always.But that does not mean I support everything that puts them in harm’s way.

Because this isn’t abstract to me.

My husband—retired military—flew with a young pilot.She sat at the desk next to his.She is now a casualty of this war.

This isn’t policy.This is personal.

When things get heavy, I put my feelings in a box. I believe in compartmentalization.

Put your grief in one box.Your anger in another.Your ambition somewhere else.

It’s how I’ve survived rooms where I knew I wasn’t valued.Rooms where people smiled politely while quietly wishing I’d disappear.

And yes—sometimes you smile to keep from crying.Sometimes you grin and bear it because the future matters more than the discomfort of the present.

I thought I was good at that.

But this?This is harder.

When things were impossible for Jacquotte Delahaye and Sarah Sayon in Fire, Sword, and Sea, they turned to fire. The wish to burn it all down and clear away the rubbish, that they were presented.

That feeling must be universal. I am very tempted to point out to those who enabled this hellscape why they need fire. It might feel good to curse out the people who deserve it.

You’ve watched the news. I’m sure some very choice words have come to mind.

But that’s not me.

I have faith, a moral compass, a soul that won’t be damned because of enablers.

Which means I enter rooms—and exit them—with grace, poise, and dignity.I will not let anyone steal that from me.

Racism will not stumble me.Misogyny will not humble me.

And those who don’t value stories—especially stories about history, power, and women—will never shut me up.

So I will not let them win by becoming something I’m not.

Nonetheless, let’s not pretend. Let’s open the compartment where the rage is.

The world feels like it’s on fire. Self-inflicted fire.

There’s a part of me that wants to point fingers.To call out everyone who said, “both sides are the same.”Everyone who reduced complex decisions to a single issue.Everyone who believed nothing truly bad could happen.

Because now we are here.We are off the guardrails.

And maybe—just maybe—these are the consequences people needed to feel, and unfortunately, they must bear witness to the blood that has been spilled.

“Vanessa, you are being hyperbolic. No one wanted this.”

Are we sure?

Many of us have been talking about book bans and hiding history. Yet must they see an executive order force the National Park Service to dismantle the panels depicting enslavement at the President’s House on Independence Mall?

“Oh, that’s a one-off, and now the panels are back.” So a cleanup on aisle nine makes everything better?

And let’s look at the rest of the cleanup items.

People say they voted for lower gas prices.But prices in Atlanta climbed from $2.65 to $3.85.

Some say they voted for no new wars.But now we have Operation Midnight Hammer in June 2025—striking nuclear facilities in Iran.And Operation Epic Fury, launched February 28, 2026—starting a war.

And the cost?

A strike hit Shajareh Tayyebeh, a girls’ elementary school, killing at least 175 people—the majority schoolgirls between the ages of 7 and 12.

Thirteen U.S. service members are dead.At least 200 are wounded—many with traumatic brain injuries, burns, and shrapnel wounds.

A nation’s leader—Ayatollah Ali Khamenei—was killed in a precision strike,along with generals, officials, and their families—hardening resolve against the U.S. We are less safe because of this.

And for those who said they voted for a stronger economy—the numbers tell another story:

92,000 jobs were lost in February 2026.Unemployment ticked up to 4.4%.GDP growth slowed to 0.7%.

Inflation, now at 2.4%, is projected to rise toward 3 to 5%, and oil prices could surge past $110 a barrel.

I could add the occupation of ICE in several U.S. cities—American citizens being unlawfully detained and unlawfully killed.

So I ask again—what did they really vote for? Misery? The right to “own” the left? The ability to stew in misogyny and privilege? Or the foolhardy belief that the harm they saw aimed at others wouldn’t boomerang back and hurt them?

Here I thought I was good at compartmentalization. It seems the majority of voters—and those who sat out the election and ushered in this hellscape—are masters at it.

Exhale. Inhale.

I guess it doesn’t matter. We are here.

There are a lot of good books to read and escape into. Amy Barrett has a delightful one that will take us back to the safe ’90s.

Everyone should be reading and writing. Put your insides onto paper. Read and build your empathy and comprehension. Escape to a magical library. Kate Quinn has a lovely one for you.

But more than ever, everyone must create. Creating saves our souls.

I have to believe that creating matters more now than ever. Creating stories helps us remember. We need to remember how things can go horribly wrong—as well as righteously right.

When I write, my characters, rooted in history, show how to resist—how to imagine something better.

So yes, I will keep writing.

For everyone, I will compartmentalize my frustration and fears and keep showing up.

I will be here with grace.With dignity.With truth.

Even now, when it’s hard.Especially now, because it’s so needed.

To the family of Capt. Ariana G. Savino and all love ones of the military men and women killed in this war, I pray for your peace.

This week’s book list:

If I Ruled the World by Amy DuBois Barnett – A fast-paced novel set in late-1990s New York, following a Black magazine editor navigating the cutthroat worlds of fashion and hip-hop while fighting to save a struggling publication.

It’s OK That You’re Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand by Megan Devine – A compassionate and validating guide that challenges how we think about grief, offering permission to mourn without rushing healing.

Kin by Tayari Jones – A deeply moving and intimate novel that explores family, love, and the enduring bonds that shape identity and belonging.

The Astral Library by Kate Quinn – A fantastical, immersive adventure about a hidden library where readers can step inside beloved books and live new lives.

Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea from Mahogany Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.

Please keep spreading the word. Fire Sword and Sea is the vicarious adventure you didn’t know you needed and a guide to resistance.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.

Enjoying these essays? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.”

Thank you for listening. I want you to 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

This week, I went through a whirlwind of emotions—yes, whirlwind. That’s the word. It captures the highs and lows, the unpredictable moments, the shared grief, reflection, and the surprising grace that shaped these past few days. All these feelings—they live in pictures.

Picture this: an artist gifted in creating larger-than-life floral and celebratory installations-roses, sunflowers, and even huge gift boxes with perfect bows. I found one of her creations buried among the thousands of photos on my phone. I went searching for it after hearing she died—suddenly—of a heart attack. She was in her mid-forties. I’d only seen her two or three times, but every encounter was vibrant. She was joyful, always present, always tweaking one last detail so others would want to take a picture beside her work. Her name was Mary. She made an impact. I look at that photo and smile, remembering her smile.

This loss was sudden. Mary was very close to a friend of mine. Mary was central to my friend’s community. When your friend grieves someone central to their world, you grieve with them. And in that shared sorrow, something happens. You become deeply grateful—not just for what you have, but for the very fact that your people are still here. You reflect. You look at your own life, and the things you were grumbling about five minutes ago suddenly don’t matter so much. Perspective shows up, kicks you in the pants—uninvited, but necessary.

Then, another picture: a fire. Not just any fire—the one that consumed Nottoway Plantation, the largest antebellum plantation that was still standing in the United States. A place layered with contradictions, history, and pain. The blaze left it gutted. I studied the photos—before, during, and after. I watched the memes—because TikTok, Threads, and Instagram are unmatched when it comes to irony and reaction. Beyond the satire, there is truth.

No one died in the fire. But that doesn’t erase the deaths that still haunt that land—the men, women, and children who lived, labored, and died under a brutal system of forced servitude. Some say Nottoway is haunted. It should be. The owners memorialized the slave drivers’ quarters. I like to think the spirits of the enslaved were there, too, watching the flames, bearing witness as the restored “Massa’s house” turned to ash.

Nottoway was a tourist site, a wedding venue, a workplace, a symbol. People will be out of work. The state will take an economic hit. These are facts. But there is a deeper truth that sits beside those facts: Nottoway was a sugar plantation. And sugar plantations were among the worst of all plantation systems.

I know this because of the research I did for Sister Mother Warrior and Island Queen. The facts still haunt me:

* The death rate on sugar plantations in the Caribbean and southern states was three to four times higher than on cotton plantations.

* Enslaved people on U.S. cotton plantations had a life expectancy of 30–35 years. On sugar plantations, it was often 10 years or less.

* The work was brutal—cutting cane, operating machinery, surviving the suffocating heat of the boiler houses.

* If you were sentenced to work the boiling vats, it was basically a death sentence. Dehydration, exhaustion, and the relentless heat killed faster than the whip. And that doesn’t count the beatings, the rapes, and the starvation.

I made a post about the fire on Instagram. Most of the responses were respectful. But some fixated on the “grandeur” lost—as if it were Notre Dame. Others insisted I should “get over it.” That all the perpetrators are dead. That the world should move on. Let’s put in pin in this moving notion. I’ll circle back.

Another disturbing image circulating came from still of Nottoway’s scripted tours praising the “humanity” of the plantation, claiming it trained a nurse and built a hospital for the enslaved. That is a lie. There was no formal training. They likely identified a woman who showed skill with herbs and healing and used her ancestorial knowledge. The hospital was not about care—it was about profit. It was cheaper to repair a broken body than to buy a new one. These “hospitals” weren’t acts of mercy. They were maintenance hubs for human chattel.

One of the worst stories I came across still wakes me up at night. A method of execution used on some sugar plantations: the “sugar death.” An enslaved person would be buried up to the neck in sand. Then, boiling sugar syrup was poured over their exposed skin—usually the head. The syrup burned and blistered, but that wasn’t the end. The spilled sugar attracted the ants. The person would die slowly, in excruciating pain, as ants devoured them alive. It was sadism as spectacle. A warning. A lesson. A horror.

How exactly do you “get over” that? How do you erase the knowledge that human beings chose to do that to others—and passed it on, generation after generation? How do you get over knowing that, given the chance, there are people today who would do the same?

But then, a final image. This saved my writing week. It was a photo of frolic. Two Black women—one in a sleek column dress, the other in a romantic, flowy one—running joyfully through a green field in Vatican City. The sun is shining. I imagine the smell of olives in the air, the promise of wine at sunset. Gayle King and Oprah, radiant, laughing, free. That image brought me back to smiling Mary. Not because it was glamorous, but because it reminded me of joy, personal joy.

We need joy. We need moments of frolic. In the middle of pain, of grief, of hard histories—we have to fight for joy. We must protect it, speak to it, defend it. Frolicking is resistance. It’s choosing self, choosing family, choosing rest, choosing humanity.

So yes—we mourn. We reflect. We carry reverence for the past, the true past. But we must also touch grass, run barefoot through a field, choosing self, friends, and family.

To those who are grieving, I offer this: find one photo. One memory. One moment that brings you joy. Hold on to it. Then look for more. Or make more, one moment at a time.

Books that can help you focus on joy and history in meaningful ways are:

Before I Let Go by Kennedy RyanA second-chance romance that explores grief, healing, and Black joy.

The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel WilkersonEpic account of the Great Migration—deeply researched and emotionally charged.

What the Fireflies Knew by Kai HarrisA coming-of-age story told through the eyes of a young Black girl navigating grief and growing up in 1990s Michigan.

The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBrideA community of outsiders in 1920s Pottstown, PA, comes together around a hidden deaf boy—tender, funny, and full of humanity.

And of course

Island Queen: A historical novel based on the real-life rise of Dorothy Kirwan Thomas—her rise from enslavement to one of the wealthiest women in the Caribbean.

Sister Mother Warrior: An epic saga of resistance, sisterhood, and revolution—based on the true story of the women who helped shape the Haitian fight for freedom.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting Hub City Books 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.

If this essay touched you or lit a spark, show some love—hit like and subscribe to Write of Passage!”

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

Originally posted 2025-05-20 13:10:00.

What if I told you the most dangerous weapon most of us carry… isn’t a gun or a knife?

It’s a keyboard.

Millions of people every day wake up, pick up their phones, and step into a strange theater of human behavior—where cruelty spreads faster than truth, outrage travels farther than kindness, and strangers feel emboldened to destroy someone they’ve never met.

And the worst part?

For some people… it feels good.

That rush. That attention. That viral moment.

Today I want to talk about the dark side of something we all do.

The Vicarious Vicious Keyboard

Human nature is something I study.

It’s one of the tools I use to make my characters feel real—solid… and undeniably human.

People aren’t perfect. So my characters aren’t either.

Sometimes they want to do something selfish. Something indulgent. Something that brings them no real benefit at all.

And that impulse? That foolishness?

It speaks to the heart of all our pent-up reckless desires.

After all, don’t we love reading about things we’d never do ourselves? Not in the real world.

Things we lack the guts—the raw courage—to do?

I remember the first time I learned the word vicarious. It was on one of those weekly vocabulary lists in school. You remember when we had homework, and Mom would drill you on the list, while she cooked.

Vicarious—adjective

According to the Britannica Dictionary, vicarious means experienced or felt by watching, hearing about, or reading about someone else rather than by doing something yourself.

Light bulbs flashed. Thunder rolled.

I understood this. My life changed a little. Suddenly I had a word for something I’d always felt but couldn’t name: and the dangerous desires of the human heart had a vehicle.

That thrill of experiencing something through someone else.

I can be an astronaut. I could be a Duke. I could be a NASA mathematician. I could be a hockey player. I could be a cowgirl riding backwards on a horse. Anything, even a serial killer.

But like most things… we in the digital age take things too far.

We don’t know when to stop.

And the internet—well, the internet makes it easier for us to keep going.

Yes, social media and endless scrolling. I’m look at you.

Have you ever put up a post and suddenly—miraculously—it get clicks? I’m talking serious clicks.

Once I made an IG post about the imagery in the Sinners movie poster; it reminded me of Ernie Barnes and his iconic painting The Sugar Shack—the same painting immortalized on Good Times and on Marvin Gaye’s I Want You album cover.

“That swirl of limbs.

That sense of joy, rhythm, resistance.

The juke joint as sacred space.”

Well, that post—that simple observation—went viral in April of 2025.

Almost a million views.

Over ninety-five thousand likes.

And I’ll be honest… it felt good.

It had me checking the app again and again like an addict. Refreshing. Watching the numbers climb. For a few moments I even wondered—what could I do to capture that magic again?

I liked that rush. If I could do it again, I would. But that’s the magic of viral.

A scroll through threads or a dash through Twitter will show you the posts with the most likes are often vile or viscous.

Some of the most toxic posts go viral. The same feeling I had checking art comments must be the same for those who post hate or speech about harm.

Are people willing to chase the clicks even if it means posting cruelty?

Are these fiends, checking their toxic feeds for engagement? Does negative attention spur them to post something even crazier?

Is there a craving for attention, so strong that negativity will do.

Have we grown so safe behind a a keyboard that we lean in at a greater propensity to bully?

Or is it something darker—something more insidious? Does the hurt inside bubble up until it spills out online?

Do endorphins kick in when the crowd joins the pile-on.

Let’s be honest—every nasty thread post or tweet can’t be a bot.

I keep asking myself: what’s in it for someone to be that hurtful? That’s the part of the vicarious journey I don’t get.

But I do see the consequences:

Actors doing their jobs—playing fictional characters—suddenly have to issue statements condemning racist or homophobic harassment from so-called “fans.”

Any given day on Twitter—and honestly, I don’t recommend it—you’ll see people wishing harm on others simply because they didn’t like a character… or because someone attended an award show.

This newfound comfort with cruelty makes me wonder if our lives have become so hollow that we now live evil vicarious lives, victimizing others with a keyboard?

When I was writing Jacquotte Delahaye (Fire Sword and Sea), I had to wrestle with her darkness.

She’d endured terrible things, the cruel deaths of people she loved. Betrayal. Loss.

And I had to walk a fine line. I don’t do trauma porn. I believe we write of violence without hurting or triggering readers, if at all possible.

For Jacquotte, I wrestled with her resolve to survive and achieve her dreams with her thirst for vengeance.

Jacquotte was angry.

And if she hadn’t had people around her—people to talk her down—she could have become something far more violent.

Yes, she’s a pirate. Violence is part of that world.

But even pirates are human.

I had to find her humanity. I had to lay it bare on the page.

Even the most conflicted person must retain some trace of it. Rage and anger cannot pull you so far away from your essence that nothing remains but darkness.

Today, I read Psalm 38:11–12

My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague,

and my nearest kin stand far off.

Those who seek my life lay their snares;

those who seek my hurt speak of ruin

and meditate treachery all day long.

David wrote many of the Psalms while literally running for his life.

But the line that stopped me was this:

“Those who seek my hurt speak of ruin and meditate treachery all day long.”

Meditate on treachery.

Think about that.

We have too much to do in this life to sit around meditating or posting on someone else’s downfall.

Yes, the world feels chaotic right now. Politics alone can drive you crazy if you dwell on it. Believe me—I want to shout about how I warned …

If I lived inside that frustration every hour, I’d lose my mind. No. I choose to vicariously teleport into a book, movie, or research. I know I will not meditate treachery all day long.

So to the keyboard warriors, I’m asking something simple:

Step up.

If you see a friend posting or sharing nonsense—talk to them. Help them pull back before they become one of those treacherous people treachery.

And if you yourself posted something that seemed funny in the moment but later you realized it caused harm…

Apologize.

A real apology.

Not the fake kind that says, “I’m sorry if anyone was offended.”

And read the Psalms, you will see David fully anguish in his sorrow. He names it. He owns it.

That honesty matters.

When I wrote Jacquotte, there were moments where she was unrepentant in her anger… and moments where she was broken by the consequences of her choices.

I put all of it on the page so readers could see it, feel it, and understand it.

I’m grateful for the technology that allows us to reach people all over the world in seconds.

With that power comes responsibility. We never know what will go viral.

Before you post ask yourself:

Am I posting nonsense about someone I don’t know – delete.

Am I posting something that could cause harm: reputational, self-harm, mobs—delete.

Did I think not only about intent but possible impact—delete.

In the meantime… I suggest we all touch a little grass.

Get some air. Take your allergy meds. And read a good book. This week’s booklist will have some recommendations.

This Ain’t Our First Rodeo — Liara Tamani — A heartfelt contemporary romance where former sweethearts reconnect amid Houston’s rodeo culture. It’s a messy ride.

Hate Crimes in Cyberspace — Danielle Keats Citron — A legal and cultural examination of how online harassment and hate speech flourish on digital platforms and the real-world harm they cause.

Life in Motion: An Unlikely Ballerina — Misty Copeland — A powerful memoir in which the groundbreaking ballerina recounts her journey from a difficult childhood to becoming the first Black principal dancer at American Ballet Theatre.

Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea from Mahogany Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.

Please keep spreading the word. Fire Sword and Sea is the vicarious adventure you didn’t know you needed.

On March 14th, 2026 I’ll be in Baltimore at Mahogany Books.

And on March 15th I’ll be at the Baltimore County Library in Owings Mills for the Book Lovers Bash Author Panel, talking about books, storytelling, and the many-splendored wonder of love—with Wade Rouse and Matthew Norman.

Hey. Sometimes the best antidote to the noise of the internet is a room full of readers.

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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